Book Six

The Last Train to Nowhere

 

The red signett, despite looking like a monstrous spider, is, in fact, a mammal. Its eight angular legs are each tipped by a single, wicked claw, which it uses to grip branches and the throats of its prey. Its long, slim body is covered with auburn fur, hiding a face that the children of the Everstall Song see in their nightmares – one bloodshot eye and a grin of dagger-like teeth.

Emerald knows all of this because it is interesting, not because it is in any way relevant to her safety. She sweeps beneath the creatures menacing forearms and jumps, catching its bottom jaw in her talons and using it as a pivot to kick up into the signett’s throat, effectively beheading it. Blood cascades over her head and paints the undergrowth with a sick splash. Emerald grabs a pair of the creature’s legs and begins dragging it through the forest. The most important thing she knows about the red signett, is that it is edible.

Rolleck the Lost raises a single neat eyebrow at Emerald. The eye beneath it is completely black, with a narrow red slit across it. Although he earned it fighting what should have been Emerald’s battle, she still feels uncomfortable looking at it.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“A red signett.” Emerald lays the carcass out by the fire. “It’s all fine to eat apart from the guts.”

“This forest continues to surprise me,” Rolleck says, parting the fur hiding the creature’s face with the tip of his sword. He grimaces. “Still, I suppose they all look pretty much the same once they’re in bits and on skewers.”

“Will it be enough?” Emerald asks, glancing from her catch to the clearing behind the fire where their tent is being erected.

Rolleck followed her gaze. “I think so.”

“My ears are burning,” Riyo Falsemoon says from within the tent.

“Your stomach is rumbling, too,” Rolleck says.

She pokes her blonde head between the flaps of the tent and grins at him. “That’s because I’m hungry. Get cooking.”

Rolleck’s sword makes light work of skinning the signett, and soon its pieces and parts are staked out around the roar of the fire. The smell draws Ravi Matriya down from the tree where he has been acting as lookout.

“Is it done yet?” Riyo says, watching one of the chunks of meat begin to glisten with melting fat.

Nobody bothers to answer her, so she reaches for it.

Emerald sighs and catches her hand before she can grab it. Riyo looks up at her, dejected.

“Fine.” Emerald takes the meat herself and breaths on it. Gentle pink flames wrap it, sending its surface quickly through brown and towards black. She relents before it is charred completely, then hands it back to Riyo.

“Thanks,” she says, before taking a massive bite. The juices run clear down her chin, and she makes a delighted squealing noise around the mouthful. “Red signett is so good,” she sort-of says.

“I’ve never met someone who can speak and chew at the same time,” Ravi says.

Riyo grins at him, then swallows. “I’m a woman of many talents. Do you really think I could find the sunlight stone if I couldn’t even do that?”

“The two things are unrelated,” Rolleck says.

“That’s what you think. This is really good though,” she says, turning to Emerald. “We should take some extra with us for tomorrow.”

“That would mean not eating it all tonight.”

“Oh.” Riyo frowns. “Can’t we catch another one?”

“Do that yourself, you glutton,” Rolleck says.

“Maybe I will,” Riyo says, going in for another bite.

“She’ll go straight to sleep after she’s eaten,” Ravi says, quietly enough that only Rolleck can hear him.

“It’s like travelling with a toddler.”

Ravi nods with a smirk.

Riyo polishes off the signett, graciously deigning to leave enough for the others to satisfy themselves on. They chatter between mouthfuls and let the fire grow dimmer, the whipping of flames replaced by the soft orange glow of embers. Riyo yawns.

“Ready to hunt up another signett?” Emerald says.

“Eh. The fire’s too low to cook it now.”

“Uh huh.”

“And besides, we need to get up early tomorrow if we want to cross over into the Frosthold Song before sundown.”

“Uh huh.”

“Besides, it probably wouldn’t taste as good cold.”

“Uh huh.”

“And-”

The twilight tranquillity of the forest is flattened by the clamour of a bell, startling birds to flight all around them. The chimes are rapid and incessant, bringing a sense of imminence with them, but the shadows between the trees around them remain still.

Ravi hops to his feet. “I’ll see if I can find where its coming from.” He leaps up to a nearby branch, which barely shakes from his passing. He moves from limb to limb in great bounds that carry him all the way to the canopy. He stops at the very top of a shatterbark pine and scans the forest. Above him, the night’s darkness is redressed by a billion stars, scattered haphazardly across the sky. Far to the east, a reddish-purple light makes wavering shapes on the underside of the heavens, marking the border of the Glittering Sands, beyond the Frosthold Song.

Much closer, a sharp white light beams up from between the trees a few hundred metres away. The ringing is coming from that direction, so Ravi drops back to the ground through a rush of swishing greenery.

“There’s something over there,” he says, pointing to the northeast.

“We could ignore it?” Rolleck says.

Riyo is already striding off into the trees. “I can’t sleep with that racket going on.”

“It might stop.”

“Then we’d never know what it was.”

Rolleck sighs.

The sound grows louder as they walk, cutting through the night at a perfect angle to contrast the relative peace of the chorus of insects and animals that usually fill it. The curtains of foliage suddenly part to reveal an old building, buried by trees. There is another shatterbark pine growing straight up through the roof, and its west wall presses up so close to a sycamore that the branches have pushed through the stonework.

The interior is vacant. They climb a short set of crumbling steps into a large room with a low wall along one side. Fragments of rotted wood cling to it, suggesting it was once a counter. A set of rusted bollards don’t quite bar another door on the other side of the room, and the ringing is coming from just beyond it.

“Wow,” Riyo says as they emerge onto a raised platform. Surgically clean white light beams down from spotlights on the wall above them, illuminating the point where the stone ends and the forest begins once more. “It’s a train station.”

“A what?” Emerald asks.

“A place where trains stop,” Ravi says. He sounds excited.

Emerald sighs. “What’s a train?”

“It’s essentially a series of carts, pulled by an engine. They’re used to carry people and cargo over long distances.” Rolleck twirls the end of his moustache thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised you’ve never encountered one – they don’t come into the Everstall Song. At least, I thought they didn’t.”

“I thought they only started building the rail network up a decade or so ago,” Ravi says. “I heard a bunch of stories from travellers when the idea caught on in Ragg. Arianne and I were excited to ride one.” His excitement fades as the memories resurface, his sister’s look of wonder as they listened to a third hand tale of bulky metal horses pulling lines upon lines of carriages.

Rolleck puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Your sister wouldn’t want her passing to sap the joy from the rest of your life, Ravi.”

Ravi nods, but it is difficult not to think of her, and when he does it is difficult not to feel responsible for her never getting the chance to ride a train.

“When you ride a train, enjoy it for both of you.” Rolleck squeezes his shoulder one more time.

“This train station is weird,” Riyo says. She has hopped down from the platform and stands a short distance down the line. “The tracks just stop over here.”

“This building has been here more than a decade,” Emerald says. The tree growing up through it is proof enough of that – shatterbark pines take at least forty years to reach that height.

“They stop over here, too,” Riyo says, now at the other end of the station. “And it’s not like the forest has eaten them. There isn’t so much as a hint of them beyond this point.” She turns to look up at them. She’s grinning. “It’s a mystery.”

“Not all mysteries need to be solved,” Rolleck says, but he has a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Yes, they do,” Riyo says. “Otherwise what’s the point in them being mysteries?”

Ravi and Rolleck share a glance, and Ravi shrugs.

“So,” he says. “A train station built long before trains were invented in a place where no tracks run.”

“Why do the tracks not run here?” Emerald asks.

Rolleck scratches his head. “Too much effort for not enough profit.”

“They’d have to cut down a lot of trees, and there just isn’t much out here worth going to,” Riyo says.

“There’s a station in Dole, right on the edge of Everstall,” Rolleck says. “They use it to take lumber out to the rest of the Songs.”

“Okay,” Emerald says. She looks around, but there are few clues as to why someone would build something like this out here. Aside from the platform and the tracks, there is only a slim pole with two alternately flashing lights on it. “What does the bell mean?”

“Usually, it means there’s a train coming,” Rolleck says.

They all look to one end of the tracks.

A handful of expectant moments wash by.

“I guess it just chose now to malfunction,” Emerald says.

“Does anybody hear that?” Ravi says.

“We’ve been hearing it for ages,” Emerald says. “It’s the whole reason we’re over here.”

“Not the bell,” Ravi says. “It’s like… a sort-of… chuffing sound.”

Rolleck rolls his eyes.

The tracks are suddenly rinsed in a silvery-blue light as two spinning portals open, their edges sparking white. The sort-of chuffing sound becomes a sort-of chuffing roar, and Riyo dives back onto the platform just in time to avoid being splattered by the train.

The engine is painted in flaking purple, with a few fragments of silver highlights still clinging around the edges. The smokestack releases a snapshot of steam and smoke into the Everstall air, and Ravi catches a glimpse of an empty cabin before the engine vanishes through the portal at the other end of the tracks. It is followed by carriages. Hundreds of them. They whiz by so quickly that only Ravi sees more than a crumbling purple blur. Each carriage is identical, and each is empty. Their wheels make a rhythmic drumbeat that fills in the dead space between the chimes of the bell.

Clack, ding, clack, ding, clack, ding.

“It’s slowing down,” Riyo says.

It is. Clacks and dings fall out of time, turning harmony to discord. The carriages become clearer, blurs of soft lavender becoming rows of upholstered seats. Each carriage has an emblem on it – a rearing unicorn.

The train’s deceleration leads it to an inevitable stop and, beneath the unicorn, a pair of doors slide open. A thin carpet of mist slinks out around their feet, and the bell falls silent.

“That was a bit dramatic,” Ravi says.

Rolleck looks to the portals at either end of the platform. “It would be extremely foolish for us to get on that train.”

Riyo is already on it. “Come on,” she says.

“Absolutely not,” Rolleck replies. “We have no idea where it goes or when it will come back. We don’t even know if there’s air on the other side of that portal.”

“There are no other passengers,” Ravi says. “There’s probably a reason for that.”

“Maybe they were eaten by something,” Emerald suggests.

“Maybe they were eaten by the train,” Ravi says, his eyes going wide.

The two of them share a look, then take a simultaneous step back.

“Guys, come on,” Riyo says. “It’s a magical train. It has a unicorn on it. It might take us to a mystical place where all our dreams come true and talking chickens feed us ice cream and stuff.”

“Or it might eat us.”

“Well I’m going,” Riyo says. “So I guess this is where our adventure together ends.” She turns her back on them. “It’s been fun.” She goes and sits by the window on the other side of the carriage.

“That’s childish,” Rolleck says.

“It’s Riyo,” Ravi says. He takes a step closer to the train. In Folvin, he had chosen to follow Riyo wherever she went. He wasn’t going to back down at the first sign of danger. She might be right. It might be a pleasant trip to a pleasant place. Besides, trains don’t eat people.

He hops onto the train and is not eaten. The seats are surprisingly comfortable despite their frayed material, and Riyo grins at him across the carriage.

Emerald has also chosen to travel with Riyo. She did so to see the unknown and experience the world. This, she supposes, counts as the unknown. She glances at Rolleck, who is staring grumpily at Riyo and refuses to acknowledge it. Then she sighs and steps onto the train. She, too, is not eaten. Her wings, still healing from her battle with Bronze, make sitting on the chairs difficult, so she holds on to a metal bar near the door.

An ephemeral whistle sounds, seeming to come from everywhere at once while still sounding distant. The bell begins to ring again.

“There is no way I’m getting on that train,” Rolleck says.

 

 

 

“If its any kind of salve to your pride,” Ravi says to Rolleck, “you were right about the air thing.”

The train is moving once more, and Rolleck sits opposite Ravi on a plush purple seat. His arms are as crossed as they can be for a man with a sword strapped to one of them.

If Ravi slouches, the view outside the window is similar to the view he saw from atop the canopy of the endless forest. A perfect bowl of blackness reaching from horizon to horizon, dotted with twinkling lights.

If he sits up, it becomes clear that this is not a bowl of blackness so much as a sphere. There are no horizons for it to reach for, so it just keeps going.

Emerald groans. She is sat in the middle of the aisle, her arms wrapped around her knees and her eyes firmly shut.

“I mean,” Riyo says, her face pressed up against the glass of the window, “we don’t know for sure that there’s no air out there.”

“It’s space!” Emerald wails. “There’s no air in space! There’s no ground in space! There’s no food, or plants, or fire, or spiders, or… or… There’s nothing! Nothing in space!”

“There’s a train,” Riyo says. She turns to Emerald. “You should really take a look. It’s beautiful out there.”

Emerald sobs and shakes her head. “When can we get off?”

“The next stop will be ffffffffffffffffkgibnt. We will arrive in rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrftbpudding.”

They all swivel to look at the door between their carriage and the next. A figure stands on the threshold, dressed in an immaculate suit that includes tails and a cravat. Though it is human in shape, its head resembles a purple balloon. Where its face should be is a mirror of rippling static, like the surface of a pond in heavy rain. Its white-gloved hands are held very still in front of it.

“Who are you?” Riyo asks.

“We will arrive in pudding?” Ravi says.

“I am H.E.R.T.Z. I am the train announcer. I am here to make your journey enjiiiiiiiiiiibrugft.”

“Huh. Okay. What does H.E.R.T.Z stand for?” Riyo says.

“Error. Data restricted. Passengers do not have access to zzzzzzzzzzzzktriflpsaveme.”

H.E.R.T.Z. is gone. Riyo hasn’t blinked, and yet she saw nothing. He was there, and now he isn’t.

“He seemed odd,” she says.

“In what way?” Rolleck says.

Riyo proves immune to his sarcasm, but Emerald interrupts her before she can speak.

“I think it’s rude to assume they were a ‘he’.”

“That’s fair,” Riyo says. “They seemed odd.”

“High Energy Robot Train Zombie,” Ravi suggests.

“What?”

“H.E.R.T.Z. High Energy Robot Train Zombie.”

“How could they be a robot and a zombie?” Riyo says.

“I don’t know. He said, ‘save me’ that time, though.”

“They,” Emerald says.

“Sorry. The first time they said ‘pudding’, that time they said, ‘save me’. Is that a coincidence?”

Riyo stands up and stretches. “I don’t know, but the mystery of the train still needs solving, so we’ll probably end up solving the H.E.R.T.Z. mystery on the way.”

“Where are we going?” Rolleck asks.

“To the front,” Riyo says, pointing to where H.E.R.T.Z. had been. “Everyone knows the best part of the train is the front.”

“I didn’t know that,” Emerald says. “Besides, what if we miss the chance to get off the train?”

“We’re not getting off until we’ve solved the mystery,” Riyo says, striding for the door. “So it doesn’t ma-”

There is a crackle of blue energy, and Riyo is flung back down the train. Emerald leaps to her feet and catches her.

“Ouch,” Riyo says.

“Passengers are advised to remain within their Carraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabtrbiscuit,” H.E.R.T.Z. says. They are now at the other end of the carriage, on the line that marks the very end of the aisle.

“Seems like we’re not allowed to leave our butter biscuits,” Rolleck says. He looks amused.

Riyo pouts at him. “Well I’ve never been one to stay in my butter biscuit for long. Ravi, there’s some kind of barrier. Destroy it.”

Ravi draws his bow over his shoulder and looks at it. “Do you think I can?”

“Probably!” Riyo says. “Oh, you can put me down, Emerald.”

Emerald has been focusing on H.E.R.T.Z. and the conversation in order to avoid looking out of the window. Thinking this reminds her of it, however, and she can’t help but glance at the emptiness. She whimpers and drops Riyo on the floor before crouching down and closing her eyes again.

“Ouch,” Riyo says, standing and rubbing her bum.

Ravi shrugs and pulls an arrow to his cheek. His curse-breaker crackles much like the barrier had, and when he loses the arrow it impacts something in the doorway. There is a crack like a tree succumbing to the wind and a shockwave bowls down the carriage, knocking Riyo back over. This time, Ravi falls too. Another crack and wave follow quickly after, this time subdued by distance. There is a third, and then a fourth. By that point the wave is barely a breeze, the crack little more than tap on the window.

Riyo jumps up and scurries to the door. She reaches gingerly for the threshold, then grins back down the carriage as she waves her arm through the space. “Good job, Ravi.”

Rolleck watches the other end of the carriage, expecting a visit from an angry H.E.R.T.Z., but the purple-faced apparition fails to appear.

“Let’s go, people,” Riyo says, marching into the next carriage.

Rolleck and Ravi share a shrug, then follow.

Emerald feels pinned to the carpet, but as her friends get further and further from her, she decides the only thing worse than being lost in space is being lost in space alone. She swallows and, keeping her eyes closed and guiding herself using the headrests on either side of her, she follows them.

It takes them nearly quarter of an hour to catch up with Ravi’s arrow. H.E.R.T.Z. does not bother them. Rolleck begins to wonder if perhaps they were linked to the barrier somehow, and thus destroyed by Ravi’s arrow.

Said arrow has been fired so straight that it hasn’t hit anything – simply run out of momentum and thunked into the carpet in the dead centre of the aisle. Riyo plucks it out and hands it back to Ravi.

“Nice shot.”

Ravi blushes, but his feathers hide it. “Thanks.”

“I guess you’ll have to do it again, though.”

“Please remain within your Cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuffffffffffffffffthhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhfindher.”

H.E.R.T.Z. is behind them. As soon as Riyo hears their voice, she flips the gravity of the carriage through a right angle. Both she and Rolleck fall down the aisle, landing on either side of H.E.R.T.Z. Their sharp white collar is suddenly being pressed against their throat by a pair of swords, one dull, straight iron, the other a wicked, curved claw.

Ravi is not yet well adapted to Riyo’s sudden gravity moulds. He grabs one of the chairs with a yelp, dangling over a seemingly infinite fall through the train. Emerald has found that, if she wishes, she can choose not to resist Riyo’s reality. Now, however, she is supremely focused upon the idea of not moving at all, so she remains standing perpendicular to everyone else, her eyes still closed.

“We just want to ask some questions,” Riyo says.

“But you’ve been a little difficult to pin down,” Rolleck adds.

“Hostility detected,” they say. Their arms do not move, and yet one moment they are folded politely in front of them, the next they are gripping both swords. “Weapons are prohibited on the traiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizutlcheesecake.”

H.E.R.T.Z. is gone again. Riyo’s sword is gone, too. She frowns at her empty hands before growling and releasing her reality. Ravi drops into the aisle with an ‘oof’.

Rolleck, having a much more intimate relationship with his sword, has vanished too.

“Damnit,” Riyo says, then yells, “Rolleck! Get back here you idiot!”

Her voice echoes down the train in both directions. There is no reply.

“H.E.R.T.Z.! Give me back my friend!” Also no reply.

“What do we do?” Ravi asks.

“We keep going,” Riyo says. “Knock down the next barrier. All these mysteries can be solved at the front of the train, I can feel it.”

“Right,” Ravi says. He steps past Emerald.

“Hey I was thinking,” Emerald says. Her eyes are still closed. “Is it really a good idea to keep breaking these barriers? What if one of the shockwaves blows out a window?”

Ravi fires, and the shockwave blows out two of the windows.

Nothing happens. He stares at the shattered glass, his heart thrumming like a train engine. He shares a silent look of wonder with Riyo.

“Erm, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Riyo says. “Seems like the train is made out of pretty stern stuff.”

“Let’s go,” Ravi says. They help Emerald’s blind fumble towards the next carriage. Riyo stops by one of the broken windows.

“Um,” Ravi says.

“It’s fine.”

“What’s fine?” Emerald says.

“Oh. Uh, nothing. Come on. The door’s right here.” Ravi bites his lip as Riyo sticks her head outside.

Beneath her, the wheels of the carriage spin silently. To either side, an eternal procession of carriages makes an unbroken line across the stars. Even for her, the sight is a little disorienting, so she pulls her head back in. She catches up with Ravi so she can whisper.

“There’s air out there.”

“That’s weird.”

“Right? It looks like we’ve got a long way to go to the front, too.”

“Err, Emerald? We’re going to pick up the pace a little,” Ravi says.

“Okay,” Emerald says. “I can guide myself as long as we keep going in a straight line. Just let me know if I’m lagging behind.”

She lets the two of them past, and they continue their journey down the train.

 

 

Rolleck the Lost does not know where he is. The carriage he now occupies is the same as the one he got on in the Everstall Song and the same as the one he was in a moment ago. He could be much closer to the front of the train, or much closer to the back. Outside, the same field of stars fills the window and spills over into the ones around it. The sudden silence is unbroken and claustrophobic. Riyo’s sword is on the floor beside him, so he picks it up in his off-hand. Its balance is dreadful, but he decides he can probably clobber somebody, or something, with it if he needs to.

“The next stop is uuuuuuuuuuuuuuukleptroplaaaaaaafindit,” H.E.R.T.Z. says.

“Find what?”

“We hope you have enjoyed your journiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiintrltttttttttttttttttttttFINDIT.”

Rolleck blinks at the sudden volume of H.E.R.T.Z.’s voice, and he grips the handle of his sword a little harder. The light changes. The windows no longer show the infinity of space. Instead, Rolleck catches a glimpse of rolling waves and overcast skies. Then the doors fly open and he feels as though he is in Riyo’s reality – falling with no control over which way. He shoots out of the doors and tumbles onto hard stone as the rest of the train whips by.

He manages to stop himself, but then hesitates before leaping at it. Even if he is able to grab onto it at this speed without significant injury, he will be clinging to the outside of the train when it goes back into space. He is not sure that’s such a good idea.

The moment passes and the last car rolls through the second portal. The two circles of flashing, fluttering light spin out like expended fireworks, leaving only sparks and memories. The bell that marks the drive-by clings its last clang and is silent.

“Shit,” Rolleck says. He has even less of an idea where he is now.

The station is in better repair than the one in the Everstall Song, but only for the lack of attention from the forest. It is still old and long-unused, and though no plants have attempted to climb inside it, the wind has done its work carving stone into dust.

Beyond the platform, there is water. In fact, in every direction Rolleck looks, there is water. To each horizon all he sees is softly rolling waves and greyish water reflecting a greyish sky.

Rolleck reaches over the edge of the platform and scoops up a handful of it. He doesn’t taste the salt of the sea on it, nor smell the briny ocean on the wind. It seems to be fresh water. He sits down, with his legs dangling from the edge of the platform and remembers swimming. He hasn’t done it for a long time. The sword makes it more difficult, but not impossible. He remembers learning to swim, too. His memories of that time are hazy. He doesn’t remember who taught him to swim, or how long it took him to learn. But he does remember the joy of it. Of mastering something.

He glances back at the station. Its forlorn visage against the stark sky makes it feel like he could wait here forever and die of old age before he saw the train again. On the other hand, the monstrous lake before him could drown him before he ever saw land. For all he knows, he is on a completely different planet that has no land at all. He looks between them a few times. Both options seem bleak, and he has never been good at sitting still. Running is in his blood.

Walk. Run. Swim. It doesn’t matter. I am coming.

Something breaks the surface of the lake. For a moment, he is not sure whether the creature is quite small and quite close, or impossibly massive and very far away. It is certainly long. It takes nearly two minutes for its scaly hide to roll by, and in that time Rolleck works out that it is on the latter side of the depth perception question. He stands and takes a step back from the edge. Bleak as the station may be, it doesn’t have that in it. He shudders as the thing’s tail makes a splash that touches the underside of the clouds. Rolleck the Lost sits again with his back to the wall of the station, watching the spot where the monster has vanished beneath the waves. He decides not to go swimming today.

 

 

 

Carriages pass by in a blur created by boredom rather than speed and, after more than an hour of walking, Riyo’s thirst for mystery is being subsumed beneath her growing weariness. The heady sights of deep space are the same as they were before, and there is only so long she can wonder at them before realising they have been there for billions of years and would be for billions more. It’s no more impressive that they exist than that she does.

I feel like we should have arrived by now,” Ravi says. “I know a lot of carriages went by before we got on, but…”

“Something’s not right,” Riyo agrees.

“We’re on a train in space,” Emerald says. She has managed to keep her eyes closed for the entire trip so far, which is fortunate because they have passed a lot more broken windows. “Nothing is right.”

“It seems weird for a dragon to be scared of heights,” Riyo says.

“I’m not scared of heights. Height is a relative term that is meaningless in space. That is what is scary. If you go out there, then you do not come back. There is nothing you can do to save yourself. My wings might as well be made of paper and string.” She gives what could almost be called a whimper and sits down again. “Let’s take a rest.”

Riyo puts her hands on her hips. “Fine. But we’re not waiting too long. We need to get to the front.”

“What if we’re walking in a circle?” Ravi says.

“Huh?”

“Like… What if we’ve just been walking through the same carriage over and over again?”

“Umm…” Riyo squints at nothing for a moment, then shakes her head. “Either you would have shot us in the back when we broke the barrier, or we’d never find your arrows.”

“True,” Ravi glances back at where Emerald is squatting by the door, clutching the nearest chair for comfort. He then turns back to Riyo. “So, what if the whole train is a loop – we’re just being sent back to the end of the train every time we get close to the front. This H.E.R.T.Z. character isn’t moving fast – they’re teleporting instantly. Maybe we’re being moved instantly to the exact same position in an identical carriage and just not noticing?”

“H.E.R.T.Z. seems to have to touch us to move us, though,” Riyo says. “And they also seems to be stuck to the doorways.”

They both look back to the doorway.

“Like the one we left Emerald in?”

“Yeah,” Riyo says. “Like that one.”

 

 

 

 

Emerald feels someone touch her shoulder, then the chair she was clutching is gone. A trickle of fear runs through her and clashes with her need to know what has happened.

“Riyo?” she says. “Ravi?” She cannot feel their presence. In fact, she feels acutely alone.

“The next stop is vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvqulotorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfindit.”

Emerald’s eyes snap open. Before her is the door of a carriage, the unicorn above it mirroring the one on the outside in dull purple. H.E.R.T.Z. is standing off to her left, at the end of the aisle.

“No, no, no,” she says. Feeling panic rising in the back of her throat. “Don’t you dare open those doors.”

“We hope you have enjoyed your journnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnfglopfffffffffffffffFINDIT.”

“Don’t you dare!” Emerald screams, then the doors open onto infinite blackness.

Emerald grabs for the nearest seat, but she is being dragged towards eternity by some unseen force. She has no control and no way to fight. It’s like she is in space.

Her scream carries her out of the car and, despite her fears of nothingness, she hits something immediately. She scrabbles to her feet and looks around a broken, burning place. Spires of crimson rock are scattered across a vast field of ash. To her right squats a volcano, breathing a constant stream of rolling smoke into the sky, almost hiding a sheet of pitch-black cloud. Behind her lies the remnants of a train station. Only the platform retains a hint of its original shape. Of the building itself, no two stones remain atop one another. Those that scatter the space are charred black.

Before her, a road of shattered flagstones leads off past the nearby mountain and into the endless grey field. At intervals, metal spikes have been driven into the earth and adorned with broken bones that vary wildly in size. In the middle of the road stands a creature of flame and hatred. It has the torso of a man and the lower body of a four-legged beast, all made from black stone that cracks in places to let liquid lava ooze from its skin. Its head is a steel skull, surrounded and held aloft of its body by a mane of chaotic fire.

“It has been some time since anyone arrived here by train,” the creature says, its voice like someone rubbing two burning rocks together. “I had thought the fools had finally learned what it means to enter this place.” He looms in over Emerald, his toothy grin seeming to mock her. “Those who came before you all called this place…” He pauses for drama. “Hell.”

Emerald falls to her knees, clutches a talon full of ash and dirt. A single tear slips over her scales and makes a darker crater in the grey beneath her. She can feel her body shaking.

“Thank goodness,” she says.

“Huh?” the fire monster says.

She looks up at him and smiles. “You have ground.”

 

 

 

 

“That’s it,” Riyo says, marching on through the carriage until she reaches the centre. She glances at the unicorn above the door. “So much for a magical journey to wonderland.”

“What’s the plan, exactly?” Ravi asks. The carriage around him suddenly feels extremely fragile. He has been reassured by how well the train has survived a few broken windows, but he once saw Riyo Falsemoon lift half a mountain’s worth of boulders and stack them all on top of each other, just so they had a higher point to scout from. He is not sure the train could survive her wrath, magical or not.

“We’re going to walk along the top,” she says, looking up at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Ravi says. Relief rising and then falling again as he follows her gaze. “Umm…”

“Relax – there’s air out there. I think it’s in a bubble around the train.”

“That’s fine, then. I guess. Umm.”

The roof explodes outwards in a tortured blast of cracks and splinters. Ravi flinches away from the inevitable cascade of sawdust and purple paint, then realises that it all went the other way. Riyo grabs his arm, and he doesn’t have time to yelp in fear before they are rising out of the train.

Being exposed to the vista changes it, a little. Riyo is glad of that. Without the confining walls of the carriage, it feels much more like she is in space. Stars and twisting nebulae throw their light and colour in an attempt to distract from the endless darkness between them, and for a moment its easy to understand Emerald’s fear. You could be trapped out here for an eternity and never even come close to a single fragment of anything. Just drifting alone. Forever.

“My goodness,” Ravi says.

“It’s immense. So much more and so much less than anything we’ve ever known.”

“It really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”

Riyo just nods.

“All that and I got to ride a train, too.”

Riyo smiles, and looks over at him, but he is lost in the majesty of infinity. Behind him, H.E.R.T.Z. stands above the short gap between carriages. Their purple static has gone red.

“Please keep your arms, legs, and torsos within the carriage at all ti­aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwooooooooooooFINDHER.”

They begin to flicker, then, between one end of the carriage and the other, letting off a high-pitched scream.

“That ruined the view a bit,” Riyo says, twisting a finger in her ear and grimacing. “Can you shut them up?”

“Let’s see,” Ravi says. He draws an arrow to his cheek and focuses on the end of the carriage. H.E.R.T.Z.’ flickering is constant. Predictable. As long as he releases at the perfect moment…

Flickering blue curse-breaker meets crackling red forehead and the whole train shakes. H.E.R.T.Z.’s head begins to expand around the hole the arrow has made in it. Its colour fades to grey as it grows larger and larger. Then, about four metres from the train, it comes into contact with something that buzzes in the same way the barrier between the carriages had. There is a whoosh of air, and H.E.R.T.Z is gone again.

“Welcome aboard the Twilight Express.”

They turn to find H.E.R.T.Z. behind them again. They are back to normal, or perhaps even better. Their head is now a perfect purple sphere, its surface smooth enough to reflect the starlight. They vanish, leaving the silence of the void as their only accompaniment.

“Did… Did I just fix them?”

“Maybe,” Riyo says. “But we still have a mystery to solve.”

“Right,” Ravi says. He can see an angled pillar of smoke and steam etching a line across heaven. It seems to go on forever. “We’re still quite far, but up here we’ll have a better idea of the progress we’re making.”

“Let’s go then.”

Riyo once more grows bored of the scenery. The stars twinkle but do not move. The colourful nebulae remain colourful but, when she thinks about it, they are not as colourful as a regular rainbow that she’s seen loads of back on Valos. Tiring of the spectacular is worse than normal boredom, she decides, because the disappointment is unexpected and therefore stings more.

“Are we getting closer?”

Ravi squints. “Maybe.”

“We’ve been walking for hours.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“That should be enough to tell, though.”

“Mmmmm.”

They walk for a little longer in silence. Riyo loses track of just how long, but it feels like still more hours.

“Where do you think Rolleck and Emerald are?”

“Hopefully still on the train,” Ravi says. He keeps squinting at the smokestack. Usually, he is good at judging distance. With nothing besides the train itself to use as a reference, though, he is struggling to tell if they are getting closer.

“We might have walked right over them.”

“They’re probably not sitting still. They’ll be moving towards the front again. They might even beat us there. We are getting closer,” he decides. “But not as fast as we should be. Its like… for every three carriages we cross, we get one carriage closer. It’s bizarre.”

“More or less bizarre than a trans-galactic train?”

“Touché.”

“So we will get there, eventually?”

“Looks like it,” Ravi says.

They walk a little further.

“How long do you think-”

“An hour or so.”

“Bloody hell.”

“It is what it is,” Ravi says. “We just have to keep wa-”

Riyo glances to her right. Ravi is gone.

She looks back. They have just crossed from one carriage to the next.

RIyo growls in the back of her throat. “I thought we fixed you, you dumb robozombie!”

The void responds only with its continued emptiness.

“Fine. Time for a shortcut,” Riyo says.

 

 

 

“-lking,” Ravi says, then blinks. Where the eternal log-post of the smokestack should be, there is now a flaky purple door and a series of much lighter purple chairs. He blinks again, taking a moment to process.

“Drat,” he says to the empty carriage. Neither end holds a H.E.R.T.Z., but Ravi pulls his bow from his shoulder and holds an arrow at the ready, just in case.

“Rolleck? Emerald?”

There is no response.

“H.E.R.T.Z.?”

“The next station is Atkar,” they say. “We hope you have enjoyed your journey on the Twilight Express.” They stand at the end of the carriage, as usual. Their appearance isn’t quite as clean and crisp as it had been in the moment after the arrow pierced them. Their head is not quite perfectly spherical and is beginning to show the first ripples of the coming rain.

Even so, they seem much more coherent than before.

“Where are my friends?” Ravi asks.

H.E.R.T.Z. remains silent. They have no features, but in previous instances they have left almost as soon as they said their piece. Now they remain. Ravi gets the awkward sensation that he is being stared at imploringly. Like H.E.R.T.Z. is waiting for him to do something glaringly obvious.

“I’m probably not asking the right questions, am I?”

The unnerving stare that is not a stare continues.

“If you really are a robozombie, then you must have some kind of program, right? Certain ways you have to respond to circumstances?”

Stare.

“So you’re the train announcer, which means you have to announce stuff. Like when we tried to move between the carriages and when we broke out of the train – you gave us those warnings.”

Nothing changes about H.E.R.T.Z. posture or appearance, but Ravi feels like their impatience is turning to frustration.

“So you can probably only tell us stuff a train announcer is supposed to tell people.”

That stare.

“You’re real judgy, you know that?” Ravi says, trying to decide what to ask.

“This is Aktar,” they say. “Please mind the gap between the train and the platform edgggggggggggftbtFINDHERDAMNITSHEISHERE.”

“Whoa,” Ravi says, and then he is airborne and sailing from the train.

He lands on his bum, momentarily blinded by fresh sunlight lancing down at him. It is blocked by a wall of people shaped shadows that his eyes resolve into people.

“By the Gods,” one of them says.

“What is it?”

“It came off the train.”

“Nothing comes off the train, idiot.”

“A girl fell off last year.”

“That’s a myth.”

“Who cares? Where else did this thing come from?”

“I have a name,” Ravi says, trading his attention around the crowd. The people that surround him vary wildly in age and appearance. Some are dressed well, in strangely cut suits and coats, others simply, in drab colours and frayed hems. A few are wearing short robes in crimson covered by shiny silver armour, and those ones are pushing through the crowd towards him.

“It can talk!”

“Is it a bird?”

“Is it a plane?”

“What’s a plane?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“Then why did you say it?”

Ravi is perplexed by these strange people, but, more so, he is worried about the figures of authority. Riyo will probably get to the front of the train and use it to come and find him, and when she does he needs to be nearby. He can’t clear the station out, so his best chance is to get away from the crowd and find somewhere he can watch from without being seen.

He clambers to his feet, causing everyone around him to take a step back into the people behind them. There is a little shoving that distracts from him, and he uses it to spring out of the press and onto the roof of the station. This gives him a chance to take in his surroundings properly, while below, people gasp and yelp.

Beyond the station is a city far larger than Folvin. Ravi’s mouth falls open as he stares. It goes on forever, sprawling and stretching, out towards the horizon. A massive walled section by a vast lake dominates the skyline off to his right, while to his left the city rises to a hill, on which stands a palace of spires and domes. There are surely more buildings before him than there are trees in the endless forest.

Something on the horizon catches his eye, and he follows it up, and up, and up. An impossible tower of iron reaches above the city, where it joins others, becoming a cross-hatch across the sky. A great cage for an entire city. Chains lead from the top of each strut down towards the city, and as he turns he notices that, in places, the horizon is closer than it should be. The entire city, then, is being held aloft by this framework.

“Please come down from the roof, sir,” one of the red-robed figures says from below. Ravi swallows. He can’t afford to be distracted by this bizarre place. He needs to get back on that train.

“What do you intend to do?” he asks.

“We’d like you to come back to our temple. Our superiors will want to speak with you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Ravi says, eyes skating around as his tongue buys him time. Though the city is mind-bogglingly huge, it appears the station is on the edge of it. There is a fence surrounding station and tracks, but beyond it is a field of golden wheat that seems to match the city in its size. All those people must eat a lot, he supposes. The stalks look to reach almost his height, and he can probably see a lot further through them than these people can. He could stay lost in that field for a long time.

The armoured man mutters something under his breath, and a long, tubular contraption appears in his hands. He points it at Ravi.

“Please come peacefully, sir,” he says. “This is your final warning.”

Ravi has no idea what the thing in the man’s hands will do, but he knows when he has a weapon pointed at him.

He leaps for the fence, arcing over the mesmerised crowd and surprising the robed man enough that he does not think to fire his weapon. He lands atop the fence, then blinks. Just inside the field of corn, hidden enough that those on the platform cannot see her, is a young girl. She has silver hair and eyes to match. They almost seem to glow. She is wearing a navy-blue cap with a flat top and a jacket that is far too big for her.

A girl fell off last year, a voice from his memory insists.

Something hits the fence by his foot, striking sparks from it. Ravi glances back to find the robed man’s tube pointed at him.

“Hold still,” he shouts, still barely audible above a suddenly screaming crowd. “The next one won’t miss.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Ravi mutters, before dropping from the fence and diving for the girl. She gasps and tries to turn, but Ravi is far too quick. He grabs her around the waist and begins sprinting deeper into the field. Behind him, there is a bang that sends wheat flying up into the sky. Nothing hits Ravi.

“Let me go!” the girl hisses at him. She obviously doesn’t want to be found either, for she has kept admirably from screaming.

“In a moment,” Ravi says. “I don’t want to be followed.”

Surprisingly, the girl lets him carry her away from the station, until the sounds of people fade away. He slows, turning off his straight path and walking more carefully so as not to disturb the wheat. After a few more minutes he stops and puts the girl down. She grumpily straightens her jacket and hat before putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

“My name is Ravi,” he says. “And I’m sorry for treating you that way, but I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” She seems a little mollified by his apology.

“You were on the train, weren’t you?”

She watches him in silence for a moment. Her eyes are glowing. They look like two silvery moons.

“I was,” she says at last. “You were, too. What of it?”

I need to get back onto it.”

“You can’t,” she says, sighing out the last of her suspicion and sitting down. “The train doesn’t stop here anymore.”

Ravi’s heart sinks. “Can we… make it stop? Somehow?”

The girl shakes her head. “Only the conductor can make it stop.” She lies back and stares up at the strange sky. “And I’m not the conductor anymore.” She says the last so quietly that Ravi barely hears it.

“You’re the conductor?”

“No,” she says, sitting up and scowling. “I just said I’m not.”

“But you were! You must know something that can help.”

“If I did, I’d be on my train, idiot,” she says. “But I can’t stop it without my dolls. Without them, I’m… I’m not the conductor.” She flumps back down again, defeated.

“My friend is still on the train,” Ravi says. “She’ll find a way to come back for me.”

“Not likely,” the girl says, still staring at the sky. The way she speaks is full of early-teens attitude, and it reminds Ravi of his sister. “The rotten thief that took my dolls will throw her off. Like you. Like me. Like everyone.”

Ravi smirks. “Riyo doesn’t exactly fall the way people throw her.”

 

 

 

The smokestack is now below Riyo. The roofs of the carriages are a brown blur to her left, the stars make a wall to her right, and H.E.R.T.Z. is really upset with her. Whether they be robot, zombie, or something in-between, they are not immune to her reality. So, as she falls, she holds a wedge of altered gravity beneath her, similar to the one she had used to deflect dragonfire in Folvin. Every time H.E.R.T.Z. appears in her path, they are torn in half. This does not, however, stop them from reappearing again a little later, hale and whole.

Well, almost hale. For the brief moment Riyo sees them each time, they appear a little worse for wear. Returning towards the state they had been in when they first met. And then getting worse.

The smokestack barely seems to get closer, even though she is falling as quickly as her body can reasonably manage. Some would call this flying, but she is literally falling with style. She can only manage this because she has a consistently flat frame of reference in the train. There are no tiring micro-adjustments to be made to account for changes in land and atmosphere. Even so, she can feel the strain beginning to press against her temples. If she does not arrive soon, she will have to stop and rest, or simply find another way.

The smokestack flits past her. She blinks, then desperately drags inwards with her reality, giving herself a small atmosphere. Though she begins to arrest her momentum, she cannot slow down in time and feels the change beyond her reality as she leaves the bubble around the train. She drifts to a stop, and for a moment she is free. Nothing but void in every direction, nothing but starlight and silence. Riyo is struck by the beauty of it once more. The perfect tranquillity that threatens to steal her senses, to capture her very essence and hold it there, still, for all of eternity.

Then she is struck by the train.

She manages to alter her reality so that she is falling with it. The impact merely sets her head ringing like the warning bell at the station. She clutches to flay paint and rusting metal, eyes scrunched closed. With some effort she alters her reality again, making the front of the train her floor and allowing herself to collapse and roll onto her back. There, she lies panting until she has her breath and her wits back.

“At least I made it to the front,” she breathes to herself, because she has no one to talk to and, after exposing herself to the grasp of nothingness, she is feeling a little lonely. “Now to get my friends back.”

She stands and walks around the end of the train, altering gravity in such a way that her inner-ear doesn’t even notice the change. She squats down beside the cabin and peers inside. The space is mostly empty. A series of levers and knobs occupy what ought to be the control panel, but there is no driver to tend them. Despite the constant stream of smoke and steam escaping into the void, the boiler and furnace are both empty and clean. The controls themselves look brand new.

H.E.R.T.Z. is standing by the door. Their head is now more like a ball of constantly fluctuating spikes, and their discomforting stillness is gone. They now jerk around every now and then, their entire form contorting in ways that would break a human body. Their clothing suggests they are facing out of the carriage down the train, and they certainly don’t react to Riyo.

Nor does the other occupant of the cab. He is sitting on the floor with his eyes closed, his shoulders rising and falling evenly, as though he is asleep. Riyo can see his eye roving beneath their lids, and he is muttering to himself in words too quiet for her to hear. His hair is long and blonde, falling over his shoulders and merging with his tangled beard to make a haystack of his head. His clothes were once rich, but time has faded the red of his coat and frayed the hems of his grey trousers. Old dust and dirt make him look like he has been living wild for some time.

In his hands he holds a doll. It looks like H.E.R.T.Z.

Riyo slips into the cab and lets her reality close. It pangs at her brain and makes her wince, but it will take a little more exertion for it to be dangerous.

“Where is she?” the man growls, making her jump.

She regards him for a moment, then shrugs.

“I’m right here.”

His eyes jerk open wide enough for the train to drive into them. They’re murky green, like swamp water.

“H.E.R.T.Z.!” he squeals, scuttling backwards towards the door on his hands. He backs into, and through, the robozombie, who turns around to sort-of face Riyo.

“Passengers may not enter the drivers cavvvvvvvvvvvvvltrtwSAVEME.”

“Get her out of here!” He jabs the doll in Riyo’s direction.

H.E.R.T.Z. stops their weird, jerky movements, standing ramrod straight. The ball of rampant needles where their head should be turns from purple to green.

“Jurisdiction boundary encountered. Attempting to contact Argon. Attempt failed. Attempting to contact Merlot. Attempt failed. Systems inactive. Overriding jurisdiction boundary.” H.E.R.T.Z.’s ‘head’ flashes red, then vanishes entirely. “Override successful. H.E.R.T.Z. unit now has access to all levels of fzzzzzzztz.”

Nothing happens for a short, tense moment.

“What did you do?” Riyo asks the man.

“I-”

H.E.R.T.Z. head flashes back into existence, now an angry red sphere that pulses with light, filling the whole cab with its warning glare.

“Corruption detected. Reverting to central program.”

H.E.R.T.Z. is in front of Riyo. She doesn’t have time to blink before their neat, white glove is connecting with her nose, driving her back against the wall.

“Ouch,” she says. H.E.R.T.Z. bears down on her, but out of the corner of her eye she sees them, still standing between the cab and the first carriage. Then another one kicks her in the stomach.

The two in front of her grab her by either arm while she’s still reeling and breathless, pinning her against the wall.

“Central protocol has been corrupted,” the H.E.R.T.Z. on her left arm says.

“I am now free to converse outside the restrictions of my former jurisdiction,” right H.E.R.T.Z. says.

“Are you free to let go of me?” Riyo gasps.

Another H.E.R.T.Z. appears behind the original, and then another, further along the carriage.

“Corruption containment failed,” left H.E.R.T.Z. announces.

“rftftftftftftftft previous stops chosen to maximise probability of return of lost functions Argon and Merlot.”

“Can you even hear what I’m saying?” Riyo says. There are more H.E.R.T.Z.s popping into existence around the cab and as far as she can see down the train. She suspects they are beginning to fill every carriage.

“Control unit located. Conductor confirmed. Protect Conductor. Protect Twilight Express.”

“aererfderrfeeder stopthetrain dreoritititititititititi retrievemissingunits wowowowowowowowowowo FINDHER.”

The man with the doll has scurried away down the train, replaced with enough H.E.R.T.Z.s that soon Riyo is going to struggle to breathe.

“Protect the Conductor,” they all say at once. Ever one of them turns to face her.

“Stop the train, huh?” Riyo says. “I guess it’s worth a try.” She stares the closest H.E.R.T.Z. in roughly the spot where their eyes might be. “Gravity mould.”

H.E.R.T.Z.s start flying.

 

 

 

Rolleck the Lost has, in the past, often found himself in places he doesn’t know. Places where he has no friends, and where a tall man with a large sword might not, at first, be entirely welcome. As such, he has become quite good at disarming small talk.

“I’m a traveller by necessity,” he says, “rather than desire. In my heart I’m a police officer – someone who protects those who cannot protect themselves and serves justice. I think everyone has a view of themselves like that. An image that, even should circumstances take them from it, they strive to uphold.”

“I agree,” Herbert rumbles. “I am somewhat similar, I think. I am a guardian. One who protects, like you. I have always seen myself as such, even though I now have precious little to protect.”

Herbert’s voice is almost too vast and deep for Rolleck to hear, but fortunately he is several hundred metres away, so by the time is reaches him it isn’t enough to tear his eardrums open. Herbert’s voice is such because he is, by Rolleck’s best estimate, more than a mile long.

Apparently, he has good hearing. Rolleck does not have to raise his voice to uphold his end of the conversation.

“What is it you protect now?”

“A great treasure. One left by those who once inhabited this place.” Herbert’s voice ripples to him over the surface of the water. “This planet is called Zast, and I was born from the fires of its birth. I will likely die when it crumbles to dust. Now, it is covered entirely by this lake, but once it was home to creatures much like you. Creatures with language and thought. At first, they feared me. Then they worshipped me. Then they befriended me.” His mouth quirks into a smile, which can’t help but look disturbing on his fifty-foot fish face. “I was sad to see them claimed by changes in this planet that I could not defend them from. The lake rose, diseases propagated, wars and weather made life a misery until the last of those I wished to protect was gone.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Rolleck says. “It is not easy to feel powerless like that.” Rolleck thinks of what happened to Yosht Torgliff the fire chief while he was helplessly tumbling through the air.

Herbert closes his eyes and nods. “Millenia have passed, since then, but it is still my greatest failure. In the hope of making amends, I now protect what they left. Whatever it is, it calls to thieves and profiteers from across space. Many came on the train, others aboard vessels that ply the universe. I told all of them that the treasure belongs to this planet. A number of them disagreed and tried to take it.”

“And yet it is still here,” Rolleck says. Herbert is being affable, but Rolleck has been around long enough to recognise threatening subtext. He shakes his head. “There is a similar treasure on my world. Perhaps there is one on every world. My companion seeks ours, but not for its value or its power. Your treasure is safe from us.”

Herbert watches him for a moment, then nods.

“Corruption detected. Reverting to central program.”

Rolleck spins and finds H.E.R.T.Z. behind him. They have no head.

“Location confirmed. Argon control unit detected. Twenty metres east-by-northeast, elevation minus thirty-six metres.”

“The creature from the train,” Herbert says, his monstrous brow furrowing. “The Twilight Express has been acting strange, of late. It no longer stops here – merely rushes through and discards its detritus. Usually, that means the corpses of the slain.”

Rolleck narrows his eyes. Before turfing him out onto the platform, H.E.R.T.Z. had glitched and asked him to find something.

“Did anything else ever fall from the train? Before the corpses?”

“Bits and pieces,” Herbert says. “All of it lies at the bottom of the lake.”

H.E.R.T.Z. head reappears. It is a perfect sphere, now, but it pulses red.

“Protect the Conductor.”

A second H.E.R.T.Z. appears right in Rolleck’s face. He lashes out, and the doppelganger falls in half, light as cloth. Their body flickers away into static shapes, and then nothing. There is already a third H.E.R.T.Z. behind them, and a fourth closer to the original.

“Has this ever happened before?” Rolleck asks, parrying aside a punch from a fifth H.E.R.T.Z. that appears on his left and ripping them apart with the riposte.

“No,” Herbert says. It makes him cringe, and he realises Herbert is drawing closer to the platform. His expression has turned sour.

H.E.R.T.Z.s are flashing into existence all across the platform, strobing heads turning the space into a flickering ruby nightmare.

“Do you mind if I take a swim? I need to find something that fell from the train.”

Herbert growls. It hurts Rolleck’s insides. “When you did not immediately begin searching this place, I suspected you were different. If you prove me wrong, know that you will suffer the same fate as everyone else.”

Rolleck swallows. “You got it.” He manages. “Which way is north?”

“Behind me,” Herbert says. He is now close enough that his voice makes the platform vibrate.

“Thanks,” Rolleck says. He finds the rough direction original H.E.R.T.Z. gave and dashes along the platform. The robozombie’s myriad forms attempt to interfere, but they are paper to him. He cleaves through those that impede him and slips past those that flail in from the sides. Then he runs out of platform and dives.

The water is cold. The shock of passing the surface makes Rolleck freeze up, and for a moment the blackness beneath and the pressure on all sides is all-consuming. His body flushes itself with adrenalin that it is not sure how to use, making him feel as though his muscles will rip free and swim off on their own.

The moment passes, and a long-unused instinct makes him kick for the surface. He breaches in time to see Herbert deal with the H.E.R.T.Z. problem.

The enormous guardian takes a breath, then exhales it.

That’s all it takes. Bodies roll away from the station in a mass wave, as though they are caught up in a hurricane. Red light plays across blue water as the H.E.R.T.Z.s splash down.

More appear to take their places, repopulating the platform almost as soon as the first wave is gone. All Herbert has to do, however, is continue to breathe. He was going to do that anyway.

Rolleck takes a deep breath and dives.

 

 

 

Emerald the dragon has, in the past, often found herself in places she doesn’t know. Places where she has no friends, and where a fire-breathing lizard with a twenty-foot wingspan might not, at first, be entirely welcome. As such, she has become quite good at disarming small talk.

Sometimes, however, people just don’t seem to want to listen to her.

“You will rue the day you came here, worm!”

“Shut up,” Emerald says, smacking the creature’s skull. It puts another dent in his cranium.

“Argh!”

Emerald stands by the thing’s prone form, the fires of his mane licking around her in a nice, warm halo. He has now tried to stand three times, but Emerald insists that he stay where he is. It’s easier that way. He is starting to come around to her way of thinking.

She frowns at the crumbling platform and the worn-but-otherwise-undamaged tracks. It seems foolish for her to take a walk around this Hell place and risk missing the return of the train. Loathe as she may be to get on it again, it’s her only reasonable way home. Besides, her friends are probably still on it.

“How often does the train come through here?” She asks her new friend.

“This place will be your gr-clang-argh!”

“I intend for my grave to stand beside my father’s,” Emerald growls, “not in this bleak, empty place. If you don’t answer my question, though, then yours will be in whichever pit I stamp your shiny head into.”

“The train passes through only sometimes,” the creature says after a moment of reflective silence. “There is no pattern.”

“Does it stop?”

“It used to stop often, sometimes depositing new victims into my care.”

Emerald cuts his self-indulgent pause short by scratching him above the eye socket. Red hot metal curls out from the gash she leaves, and he yelps again.

“Now it only passes through,” he continues quickly. “Sometimes, dead bodies and other trash are thrown from it as it does.”

His tone seems to expect Emerald to be bothered by this, but she doesn’t care. Instead she weighs her options. If the train comes back, it will be because Riyo makes it. In that case, she won’t then leave until she knows Emerald is aboard. She has some time to kill.

“Where’s the stuff that got thrown off the train?” Emerald asks.

There is a moment’s pause once more, but Emerald senses that this one is different, so she doesn’t hit the creature.

He mumbles something that is too quiet to hear, despite the fact that she is standing next to his head.

“What?”

“I kept it,” he says.

“Even the corpses?”

He shrugs his crag-like shoulders. “There’s not much to do around here. Since the train started acting weird, this guard post has gone to the Hellhounds. I thought maybe I could, y’know, use the bones to spruce the place up a little more?”

“Uh-huh,” Emerald says slowly.

“Well, you know. The spikes are all well and good, but they’re a bit samey. See, they say the demon king lives in a burning castle of bones. And, of course, I haven’t got an ego that big, but I thought with enough I could maybe do a tower, or a little keep? Or even something a little more artful.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I reckon I could re-imagine the train station, but in bone. I like it because, for a split second when they get off, people would think its normal. That they’re in a safe place. Then the horror of realisation dawns, and I’m there behind them to throw in a good, despair-inducing laugh to really seal the deal.”

Emerald is looking at the platform, her eyes slightly out of focus. In her head she sees something like the station in the Everstall Song, but faded and white. Maybe it’s just a light wood, like ash or maple. But no, why would someone carve a board of wood into that shape? It looks almost like… no. No! Noooooooo…

Muahahahahaha!

“It could totally work!” she says.

“Right?”

Emerald glances at the creature with a smile, then remembers he’s a fiery rock monster.

She smacks him again. “Take me to your stash, damnit.”

“Grah! Sorry. Okay.” He clambers to all four of his feet, then shakes off a layer of ash and dust. For a tense moment Emerald worries he might try fighting again, but then he shrugs and starts walking towards the volcano.

“I’m Abaddon, by the way,” he says.

“Emerald.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said you’d regret coming here,” Abaddon says.

Emerald shoots a glare at him, clenching her talons.

He flinches back. “You’re strong. Too strong for me. But the demon king knows everything that happens in his realm. He’ll send one of his generals and an army to crush you. They’re probably already on their way. The generals are…” the giant creature made of fire and magma shivers.

“I’ll be gone by then.”

Abaddon glances at her then keeps walking. “The train no longer stops here.”

“It will if someone makes it.”

He does not reply, but Emerald gets the feeling he thinks her confidence false.

Abaddon lives in a cave in the side of the volcano. Its pitch-black walls, lit by drooling magma, give Emerald a surprising pang of homesickness. It has only been a couple of weeks since she left Yl Torat, but the tumultuous state of her homeland makes her worry about it often. Perhaps leaving was a mistake after all.

But no. Bracken’s are a fair more capable set of claws than hers in which to leave the fate of a kingdom. She shakes the feeling and focuses on what is in the cave. As advertised, it is mostly bones.

There are things amidst and between the bones, however. Clothing that has not entirely burned away. Trinkets that unfortunate travellers have lost with their lives. Jewellery of fanciful design and coins of unknown denominations make little piles of wealth that bought their owners no safety.

Emerald pokes around amongst the pale white mounds, careful not to break any of the more fragile bones. They will be needed to plug the gaps between the larger ones to give the faux station a more convincing and solid appearance.

She scowls at herself for getting so into the idea, then something in the corner of her eye sparks recognition.

She shifts aside a few more bones and plucks a little figure from the pile.

“A doll?” Abaddon says.

It is. A yellow tiger, striped in black and wearing an eye patch. It is grinning, showing gruesome fangs, and it holds a wrench in each paw. What has caught Emerald’s attention, however, is its suit. It looks just like the one H.E.R.T.Z. was wearing. If she looks closely, she can read the little name badge on its breast.

Merlot.

“I need to get back to the station,” Emerald says.

Abaddon shrugs. “The demon king knows all that happens in his realm. You wouldn’t be able to hide from him anyway.”

When they return to the broken platform, they find it occupied. H.E.R.T.Z. stands alone in the centre, his head a flashing red siren.

 

 

 

“I’m telling you, it never comes twice in the same day,” Connie says. She has refused to tell Ravi her name, so he is calling her Connie, as in ‘conductor’. He is rather proud of himself for thinking of it. Her response had been to roll her eyes and say, “Do whatever you want.”

“It will today,” Ravi says.

“Even if it does, it won’t stop.”

“It will today.”

“Ugh. Your confidence is stupid. We’re stuck here. Get over it.”

They squat amongst the wheat several hundred metres from the station. Connie does not believe that Ravi can see the platform from there, but she is reluctant to go closer anyway.

“If you’re so over it, why were you watching when I arrived?” He turns to her. “And why haven’t you run away yet?”

She just looks away. She doesn’t leave, though.

“Well, if you’re going to stay, do you mind telling me how you fell off the train in the first place?”

“I didn’t fall,” she says with a stamp of her foot. “I was pushed. That stupid thief took my doll and made H.E.R.T.Z. throw me off.”

“Do you know the thief?” Ravi asks, still watching the station. An imposing woman who towers over everyone there has appeared to take charge of the situation. Her robes and the armour over and around them are a cut above those of the others. There are creamy silver highlights across the metal and shiny scrollwork on the fabric. Her blonde hair and red garb remind Ravi a little of Riyo, but, while Riyo would struggle to intimidate a kitten, this woman scares Ravi from half a kilometre away.

“No,” Connie grumbles. “He’s just some crazy passenger who tricked his way past the carriage barriers. Total maniac. Looked like he fell off an expensive horse and has been living in a hedge ever since. Kept mumbling about some sunshine stone or something.”

Ravi blinks, then turns to Connie. “The sunlight stone?”

“Yeah. That’s it. You know it?”

“It’s a mysterious relic from my world. I’m on a journey to find it, as it happens.”

“Well your stupid rock cost me my home, bird face.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Ravi says, “but perhaps my friends and I can get it back for you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ravi stands up. “Well, it seems we might already have something to show you.”

“Huh?” Connie’s tone says she doesn’t care what Ravi has to say, but there is a sudden twinkle of hope in her eye that makes Ravi smirk.

“H.E.R.T.Z. is here.”

“That’s impossible,” Connie says.

“We can risk a closer look, if you like. Their head is a little strange, though,” Ravi says with a frown. “It’s flashing red.”

“Oh shit,” Connie says, and takes off at a run.

“Wait,” Ravi calls after her, but she does not. The wheat flutters and rustles around her as she charges through it, and Ravi follows in her wake. He catches her within a few strides, but he does not want to make any undue noise. She might choose to scream, this time. Instead, he follows her until she stops, dangerously close to the edge of the field and the eyelines of the robed people. H.E.R.T.Z. has been joined by several more of those.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Connie says. “She’s been allowed to override her jurisdiction.”

“She?” Ravi asks, which even he has to admit is probably not the pertinent question.

“Yes. She. You got a problem with that?” Connie growls.

“Not at all,” Ravi says. “It’s just… You know what? Never mind. What does it mean? That thing you just said?”

“It means H.E.R.T.Z. has access to all of the train’s systems, even the ones she wasn’t designed to control. There’s a risk of corruption.”

The platform has cleared somewhat, leaving the blonde warrior goddess and her acolytes to confront H.E.R.T.Z. She now holds a sword as tall as she is, with a blade that sparkles in the beaming sunlight.

“Corruption?”

“Glitches,” Connie says with a shrug. “Strange behaviour…” She bites her thumb. “I need to talk to her.” Her gaze moves to the armed people facing H.E.R.T.Z.

There is a yell from one of the acolytes. H.E.R.T.Z. has grabbed him from behind.

Everybody stares for a moment, eyes moving from one H.E.R.T.Z. to another.

“Oh no,” Connie breathes, and a battle erupts.

H.E.R.T.Z.s flicker into existence all over the platform, quickly surrounding the robe-clad contingent and driving them back by sheer weight of numbers. The golden-haired woman’s scowl turns fearsome, and her sword swipes through a whole group of robozombies. They flutter down as though there was nothing inside their suits, but more immediately appear to replace them.

“H.E.R.T.Z.!” Connie leaps from the wheat before Ravi can catch her. The robozombie army swivels towards her as one, faces pulsing in unison.

“Protect the Conductor,” they say, voice echoed a hundred times. The one closest to them raises her hand.

“I’m the Conductor,” Connie yells.

The H.E.R.T.Z. emits a bolt of blue that sparks like the barrier Riyo walked into. Ravi is not fast enough, and it strikes Connie in the chest. Her body jerks, and she is pitched through the air towards Ravi. He catches her with a grunt.

“That bastard,” she roars, jumping from Ravi’s grip and marching back towards the platform, apparently no worse for the shock.

She falters when the rest of the front line of H.E.R.T.Z.s raise their hands. Perhaps one bolt is nothing to her, but that many might sting.

Ravi grabs her by the back of her jacket and drags her out of the way just as a cascade of bolts strikes for her. They raise tiny puffs of dust from the ground where they impact instead.

“Listen to me, you stupid doll!” Connie shouts, completely ignoring Ravi. “Just make that guy put you down! Then things can go back to the way they were!”

H.E.R.T.Z. does not listen to her, and instead fires another volley of sparks. Behind the front line, the other H.E.R.T.Z.s are driving the robed people back through the station. Ravi yanks Connie out of the way of the blue bolts, then sends an arrow into the mess on the platform. It encounters no resistance, simply scattering H.E.R.T.Z.s into scraps in a straight line to the wall of the station where it sticks into the brickwork.

“It’s useless,” Connie says. “She can replicate infinitely. If she’s just following a wonky version of her basic protocol, then every platform on the line probably looks the same, and she’ll attack anyone who comes near.”

“So why the change?” Ravi asks, backing away as the gap he has made closes and more gloved hands are raised in their direction. “What made her, err… do the jurisdiction thing?” He does not understand half of the words the girl uses.

“The thief had to order her to do it. So… I guess he felt like he was in danger?”

“Oh,” Ravi says, hopping to avoid another bolt. “Well that’s actually good, isn’t it? It means Riyo’s found your thief.”

“It also means H.E.R.T.Z. is broken,” Connie says, her tone disparaging. “And that thief hasn’t got a fucking clue how to fix her. So unless your friend is a lot smarter than you and has a magitechnical engineering degree, there’s no way to stop the Twilight Express.”

“Oh,” Ravi says. “Well, I’m sure she doesn’t even know what one of those is. Still, I have faith in her. That means we have to wait here until she can stop it.”

They have backed off far enough that the H.E.R.T.Z.s no longer consider them a threat to the platform, their backs to the wall of wheat. The robed figures have retreated through the station, the audience of civilians fled beyond the perimeter fence. It has brought a restless quiet to the place. Hundreds of H.E.R.T.Z.s stand motionless, heads pulsing ominously.

“We could be waiting a long time,” Connie says. “She’s probably not even on the train anymore.”

 

 

 

 

Riyo uses gravity mould to bring herself to a stop. She frowns around at the darkness and starlight. When she had created her reality, she had imagined an ability that allowed her to move faster than others, punch harder, maybe even slap them around without even touching them. It had really all been about the aesthetic. She’d wanted to look cool. It was only later on that she had started to understand what she had made herself. The problem with letting teenagers make important decisions, she decides, is that even when they think they’re being serious, they aren’t.

Still, she had accidentally given herself far more power than she’d thought. It has just taken her several years to figure out the details. No doubt she will learn more about it in the years to come, but the thing she has learned today is that she can survive in space. The next thing she will learn is whether or not she can stop a runaway space train.

She takes a deep breath, one of a limited number she is allowed out here. This will hurt her a lot, when she closes her reality. Still, with the man and his doll lost to a train that is literally wall to wall with robozombies in every carriage, she has decided it isn’t realistic for her to pursue him. It is far more reasonable to just stand in front of the train and make it stop.

The speck grows larger rapidly, going from distant purple star to oncoming juggernaut of steel and wood. She throws her reality out in front of her, making a corridor roughly the size and shape of the train. Then she allows herself to begin falling, not quite matching the train’s speed. She feels the engine enter her reality, feels it pushing towards her. And she pushes back. While still falling away and dragging her reality with her, she makes it so that the train is climbing a vertical cliff.

Even so, it comes on, closing the distance between them. More of it enters her reality and takes the strain of the climb, but it isn’t enough. Whatever magic drives the train is powerful, and the momentum of the hundreds of carriages beyond her reality bear it forth. Riyo growls and thrusts her reality out further, capturing more carriages. A headache like a vice begins to tighten around her skull as she increases the intensity of the effect on the train. She feels it start to slow.

Sweat drips down her brow, feeling like searing droplets of molten metal. The pain extends out of her head and along her arms and legs, making her body tremble. The seconds stretch across the infinite blackness, roaring in her ears. She yells, reaching a hand out before her. Her fingers touch the front of the train, but it isn’t moving closer any more. With a final huff of smoke and steam, its wheels stop moving.

Angry hisses and flashes of blue light mark portals spinning into existence all along the train. In abandoned stations across the galaxy, train carriages flash onto rails left to be overgrown or buried or sunk. Doors open, letting H.E.R.T.Z.s spill out to join those already standing on platforms.

Riyo smiles faintly. She stumbles along the side of the cab and rolls through the window. White gloved hands grab at her, but she is too tired to contest them. Instead she closes her eyes and lets her reality go. Only blackness follows.

 

 

Rolleck the Lost flails blindly. His hand finds sand and rocks that scratch his skin. In the back of his mind, soft, grating laughter echoes as the pressure on his lungs grows. He growls in frustration, losing a little more of his precious air, then puts both feet to the lake bed and pushes towards the surface. He breaks it, sending droplets flying around him to spatter back down as a brief, disappointing rainfall.

Herbert is frowning down at a platform full of H.E.R.T.Z.s. They are just standing around, not really doing anything.

“They are just protecting it,” he says. “They can be left alone until the train arrives, I think.”

Rolleck just gasps in air, preparing himself for another dive. He is shivering, now, and his waterlogged waistcoat is growing heavier.

“I have also come up with a way to aid your search.”

The guardian is quiet for a moment, his eyes closed. Then yellow light bursts from around his head. It flows down his body, scales flushing with energy where before they were uniform grey. Rolleck grits his teeth as everything below him is washed in rippling light. It looks as though the sun has risen below the surface of the lake. He has wasted nearly an hour plunging into the murky depths and finding only pebbles and frustration. He does not want the enormous fish monster thinking he is ungrateful, however, so, when he has his breath back once more, he dives.

Once his eyes become accustomed to the water, he is glad he decided to keep his mouth shut. Herbert’s body encircles the area around the station completely, then trails off into a distance even his glow does not reveal. Rival, the dragon he fought in Folvin, had been big. Herbert could eat her whole, and it would take her weeks to pass through his digestive tract. He was truly massive.

Something catches his new light on the lakebed, and Rolleck swims towards it. He has developed an awkward side-stroke that allows him to use is sword as a paddle rather than just having to drag it behind him. He’d become quite proficient at it over the nearly twenty dives he has attempted so far. He reaches the cluster of rocks where the shiny thing lies with plenty of breath to spare and grabs it. It’s a small figure, rotund and chromatic. It is dressed in a neat suit with a cravat, though it is too small and leaves an acre or so of shiny belly visible for the light to reflect off.

He surfaces again, holding the doll aloft in triumph. The suit matches those worn by the idling H.E.R.T.Z.s, suggesting it is indeed what he has been sent to look for. What its purpose is, however, he cannot fathom.

“I got it,” he tells Herbert, who glances at him. Too human eyes in a too fishy face. Rolleck has to brace himself to keep from flinching from that gaze.

“Good,” Herbert rumbles. “And just in time, too. Something is coming.”

There is a familiar ringing sound rolling out with the waves of the lake, and a moment later a fizzing rush of blue light marks the opening of the two portals by the platform. The train does not rush through. Rather, it just appears. A single carriage fills the space between the two portals, and it is full of H.E.R.T.Z.s. The doors slide open and the two groups join like water being poured into the lake.

“It seems your ride home is over capacity,” Herbert says.

Rolleck lets out a sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to make some space.”

“Please allow me to help,” Herbert says. “It has been a long time since I met someone who didn’t come here to steal from me. Your company has been appreciated.”

Herbert lets out a pained grunt that makes the base of Rolleck’s skull vibrate. The guardian recoils, and Rolleck’s heat jumps, wondering what could make a creature so powerful flinch like that. Then it hits Rolleck, too. It feels as though his head has been split in two, and the pain crackles through his body to the tips of his fingers and toes before it passes. It is a familiar feeling. It is just a lot worse this time.

“Shit,” Rolleck says, lunging for the platform.

“What was that?” Herbert says.

“My friend is in trouble.”

Herbert grunts again. “All the more reason to see this place cleansed, then.”

There is a splash behind Rolleck that sounds like a thousand whales doing a synchronized swimming routine, and Herbert’s tail rises from the water. It is splayed wide, the face of it bearing the finale of the glowing pattern that now covers his body, and he waves it forward slightly. Streaks of light blitz the platform, incinerating every H.E.R.T.Z. on it. And they keep coming. Every time a new robozombie appears, it flashes into vapor.

Rolleck reaches the platform and grabs the lip, hauling himself up one-handed and rolling to his feet. In quiet amazement, he walks through a flickering artwork of H.E.R.T.Z.-shaped shadows that barely have time to form before they are gone, leaving freeze frames of uncomfortable colour behind them.

“I apologise, but I cannot do more without damaging the train,” Herbert says. “Once you are aboard, you will have to deal with what follows by yourself.”

Rolleck stoops to pick up Riyo’s sword from where he has left it by the station door, then tightens his grip on his own before facing the carriage and its occupants.

“That’s quite alright,” he says. “Thank you for all your help, Herbert. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”

“May we meet again, Rolleck the Lost.”

Rolleck nods, then charges.

 

 

“What’s even the point in a creature if it doesn’t have any bones?” Abaddon says. He has smashed flat a group of H.E.R.T.Z.s and now stares dejectedly at his empty hand.

“They barely exist at all,” Emerald says. A few bolts of bluish energy flicker harmlessly off her scales. She breaths a contemptuous stream of fire at the offending robozombies and they flash into nothing. “But the fact they’re here at all means something has happened on the train. I’m not leaving this platform until I know what it is.” The doll named Merlot hangs amongst the collection on her harness, its furry head lolling on its shoulder. It is quite cute, really, despite its fanged maw and eye-patch.

“You had better hope something happens soon,” Abaddon says, glancing back towards the mountain. There is more smoke and lava pouring from its summit now, and the sky around them has darkened. “My master comes.”

“This ‘demon king’ person?” Emerald asks, swatting away some encroaching H.E.R.T.Z.s.

Abaddon laughs for an insultingly long time. “Hell no.” He wipes a single tear of molten metal from below his left eye socket. “The Demon King would not come here himself for the likes of you. I serve his subordinates – the thirteen generals. Ascalor the Burning Talon comes for you, invader.”

“She sounds friendly.”

“She will torch you from the inside with a glance,” Abaddon says.

“That is very difficult to do to a being like me.”

“Nevertheless.” He leaves it at that.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Emerald says. Because, somewhere, a bell is ringing.

She looks to the tracks, and grins as the portals spin open. The train flashes in from nowhere, displacing a small shockwave of air.

“It’s not supposed to do that,” Abaddon says. He sounds like he’s frowning, but his skull still smiles like he’s heard a great joke.

“Today is a strange day for this particular train,” Emerald says, “because today its passenger was Riyo Falsemoon.”

The windows of the carriage show a wall of robozombies, their pulsing red gazes fixed on emerald. The doors slide open and they pour out.

Something truly spine-chilling screeches into the dark cloudy sky, and a thousand smaller voices take it up.

“She comes,” Abaddon intones, and backs away from the platform. He drops to his knees like a horse might, and all of his flames go out. His skull remains floating, somehow, but Emerald doesn’t really have time to think about demon anatomy. Abaddon himself had been easy to overcome, but she is beginning to think she might not want to try this Ascalor if she doesn’t have to.

A snarl of pain bites the back of her brain, paralysing her, then ricochets through her until it passes from her scales. She glances over at Abaddon, but he seems to have gone into hibernation or something. Another screech lights up the silence, and Emerald looks out beyond the volcano again to find small smudges of shadow making darker holes in the grey sky. Something dreadful is flying towards her, and somewhere on that train, Riyo is in trouble.

Emerald takes a deep breath, then roars flame at the ground beneath her. It folds out from her like a ripple on a pond, tearing the H.E.R.T.Z.s asunder. They immediately begin appearing again, but it gives her the space to reach the door and smash her way into the carriage, talons aflame.

The onslaught is relentless and futile. It seems they are no longer able to fling her from the carriage as they had the first time. All they can bring to bear against her ins their numbers, and even though they pop like balloons they still have a physical presence, barring her path as she pushes towards the front of the train. Every single carriage is packed to the walls with robozombies, and Emerald loses track of how long she claws and burns her way forward. Eventually it becomes rote, and she loses focus. Red light and black suits become indistinct as she wades through them.

Then she is brought crashing back into reality as her claw clashes against something and doesn’t rip through it. Her eyes find first the massive wrench her claws are now embedded in. The H.E.R.T.Z. before her is no H.E.R.T.Z. at all. They are a yellow tiger.

“Greetings, Conductor,” they say. “I am Merlot, the engineer.”

“Um,” Emerald says.

“My primary function is to ensure that the Twilight Express functions to its optimum capacity. Now that I have been reintegrated into the system, I can see that there is much that has gone awry in my absence. The train should not be stopped in all stations at once. That is dangerous. I recommend that you allow me to repair the issue at once.”

“Uh. No, thank you,” Emerald says. “Not until I find my friends.”

“Very well, Conductor.”

“Um,” Emerald says again, withdrawing her claw. Merlot lowers his big wrench. He has another in his other paw, just like the doll. “I’m not the conductor.”

“You have the engineer’s control unit.”

She prods the doll. “This?”

“Yes.”

“And that lets me control you?”

“Yes.”

Emerald glances around. “Can you do anything about H.E.R.T.Z.?”

“The announcer’s control unit is not in your possession. H.E.R.T.Z.’s actions are beyond my jurisdiction.”

“That’s unfortunate.” She grabs a handsy H.E.R.T.Z. by the wrist and flings them down the carriage. Their white gloves give her an idea. “Can you do the teleporting around the train thing?”

The tiger looks at her for a moment with the same blank expression. “The unit is capable of transferring essential personnel and programs to different parts of the train, yes.”

“Okay, take me to the front, please.”

“As you say, Conductor.”

 

 

 

Rolleck the Lost has, in the past, been called unflappable. He is not a man who is easily flapped. His day has been trying, however, so he is probably coming quite close. The latest attempt the universe has put before him is named Argon. They stand amidst the H.E.R.T.Z.s, more like a ball than a man. Their suit is stretched over their chromatic girth just as on the doll, and their head is a smaller ball that might have a mouth if you wanted to be generous, but which definitely doesn’t have any of the other features you would want on your face.

Argon is shouting.

“I do not belong here! This is not where I belong!” Their arms are surprisingly long and spindly, and they flail around their head as they bellow. “What were you thinking, bringing me here?!”

“Shut up,” Rolleck says, slapping a few H.E.R.T.Z.s away from him.

“As you say, Conductor!” Argon says. “But I really think you should return me to the correct location!”

Rolleck winces. “Can you… not shout?”

“Of course, Conductor!”

Rolleck sighs. “Okay. Where do you belong?”

“I belong in the driver’s cab! I am the driver!”

“Oh. Well that’s where I intend to go anyway. It will probably take a while, thought.”

“Nonsense, Conductor!” One of Argon’s snake-like arms wends forth and taps Rolleck on the forehead. “Have you forgotten everything?!”

“Let’s just say that I have,” Rolleck says through gritted teeth.

“We can move to the cab immediately! Just issue me the order! A stupendously simple task!”

Rolleck stabs another H.E.R.T.Z., mostly to keep himself from stabbing Argon. “Take us to the cab, please.”

“As you say, Conductor!” They jab him in the head again, but this time it moves them both to somewhere else, much like H.E.R.T.Z. had when they had thrown him off onto Herbert’s world.

The cab is also packed with H.E.R.T.Z.s, but it also contains a grumpy dragon and an unconscious blonde woman in a long red coat.

“This is where I belong!” Argon shouts, trundling past the H.E.R.T.Z.s to where a set of levers and gauges occupy a panel below the mouth of the furnace.

“Rolleck?” Emerald says, blinking.

“That’s me.” Rolleck notices another non-H.E.R.T.Z. robozombie standing beside his companion and their sleeping leader. This one looks rather fearsome, and Rolleck finds his shoulders tensing again, his sword’s song a little louder in his ears.

“Oh. This is Merlot, apparently,” Emerald says. She waves a doll that looks just like the robotigerzombie. “They’re the engineer.”

“Huh.” The tension spills down through Rolleck’s body and away from him. “Mine’s Argon.” He taps the doll on his belt.

“I’m the driver!” Argon screams.

“Where’s Ravi?”

“I don’t know. Only Riyo was here when I arrived.”

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Rolleck says, glancing at Riyo.

Emerald nods. “I think she stopped the train by force.”

“That was dumb.”

“Worked though,” Riyo mumbles.

Rolleck and Emerald both whirl on her.

“You’re awake?” Emerald says.

“Yeah,” she says. “The robozombies leave me alone if I play dead, though.” Her voice is quiet and strained. She is not having to try very hard to play dead.

“You may be playing now, but you almost got there for real, didn’t you?” Emerald says.

“Not even close.” She doesn’t sit up or open her eyes.

Emerald shares a look with Rolleck, but it seems they aren’t going to go into it now.

“What about Ravi, then?” Rolleck says.

“He’ll be fine,” Riyo says. “Just wait.”

“We could probably find him with out new friends’ help,” Rolleck says.

They wait.

“Riyo?”

She has fallen asleep.

“Our leader has spoken,” Emerald says.

Rolleck looks to the H.E.R.T.Z.s. They have become reluctant to approach, as if they are aware their attacks are futile. Occasionally one of them will lunge forward and be swatted back by whoever is closest.

“I suppose there’s not much need for urgency,” he says.

“The Twilight Express is under attack in multiple locations,” Merlot says, their voice deadpan.

Rolleck just sighs.

 

 

 

“That’s impossible,” Connie says, staring at the train carriage now blocking their view of the platform. Its full compliment of H.E.R.T.Z.s stare at them out of the window.

“Like I said,” Ravi says, “today is different.”

“No!” Connie says, rounding on him, her face etched with frustration. “I mean even if you were right and your friend got H.E.R.T.Z. to stop the train, it would have arrived like normal. This is an emergency stop! It would only happen if the train was stopped by… I don’t even know. Something other than its braking mechanism.”

“So it crashed into something?” Ravi says.

“That’s why its impossible! It never goes anywhere near anything it could crash into. And if something blocks a platform then the portals just don’t open. It can’t have hit anything because there’s nothing to hit.”

“Huh,” Ravi says. Then shrugs. “Riyo likes straightforward solutions. She probably stopped it herself.”

“You have no idea how dumb that sounds,” Connie says, rolling her eyes.

“And you’ve never met Riyo Falsemoon. Come on, let’s get aboard.”

She cries out before he even stands, and Ravi hears echoes of the same pained noise coming from the audience still gathered behind the safety of the fence. Connie is clutching at her head, then she shakes it and treats him to a foul expression.

“What just happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It was like… the worst headache ever, and then it just disappeared.”

“Are you okay?”

She prods at her temples a few times, nudging her cap a little higher. Then she shrugs. “I guess so?”

“Okay then, you can worry about it later.”

He grabs her before she can respond and leaps over the train. She yelps and clutches his shoulders, digging in her fingernails. Ravi winces, but it doesn’t alter his trajectory. He lands talons first on a H.E.R.T.Z., who crumples to the ground beneath his weight and then drifts away as dust. He puts Connie down and quickly draws his bow, using it to slap the first H.E.R.T.Z. to go for them across her shiny red face.

“Stay behind me and kick any of them that get too close,” Ravi says.

She isn’t in a position to answer back. There are a lot more red-robed people in the station building now, led by the tall blonde woman and a similarly well-armoured man of around the same height. They are flattening H.E.R.T.Z.s as they go and making a sortie for the platform. Ravi turns away from them and hopes they don’t catch him before he can get on the train and find Riyo.

The H.E.R.T.Z.s seem reluctant to advance, to the point where reaching the doors of the train is more like elbowing his way through a crowd than fighting through an enemy army. Just before they cross from the platform into the carriage, Connie grabs his arm.

“Wait.” She is looking at one of the H.E.R.T.Z.s. Upon closer inspection, her head is more pink than red, and it flashes at a faster tempo than the others.

“Conductor,” she says. Her voice is a wretched crackle, like someone who has inhaled a volcano. “Save me.”

The flashing gets faster and faster, then suddenly it is red again. The H.E.R.T.Z. grabs at Connie, who seems too shocked to react. Ravi shoves her off her with his bow and pulls the teenager onto the train, trying to remember which way leads towards the cab. In front of him, another H.E.R.T.Z. goes pink for a second. She raises a white-gloved hand and points left.

“False Conductor,” she croaks, then flickers her way back to normal.

“Holy shit,” Connie breathes. “That’s impossible.”

“Today is a day of impossibilities,” Ravi says. “Let’s go.”

They barrel through the train, barging past inanimate H.E.R.T.Z.s. Occasionally, one of them turns pink and points them in the right direction.

“This is,” Connie pants, “well outside… her programming.” Another pink H.E.R.T.Z. bids them save her before disappearing back into the crowd. “She should… serve whoever holds… the control unit.”

“True Conductor,” a H.E.R.T.Z. says right by her ear, making her jump and stumble to a halt, leaning against a violet seat for respite while she gasped for breath.

“Our Conductor,” another says.

“Save me.”

One of the H.E.R.T.Z.s by Ravi goes pink and points down the train, her manner insistent. Through the crowd, Ravi catches a glimpse of something that is not a H.E.R.T.Z. It looks for all the world like a human being, but then it is lost to the mass again.

“Come on,” he tells Connie. “We don’t have far to go, now.”

She nods, her breathing a little slower now, and they walk through the next two carriages almost unhindered. By the time they reach the third, the air around them is lit a perfect pink. The H.E.R.T.Z.s vacate the aisle, leaving an empty path between them and a man in striking-but-dishevelled clothes with hair like old hay and a beard like muddied thatch. He is clutching a doll that looks like H.E.R.T.Z.

“Just kill them!” he shouts at the doll. “Throw them off the train and take me to the sunlight stone!”

“You give her back to me, you thief!” Connie yells, finally drawing his attention to her and Ravi. His eyes go wide with shock, and he stumbles back a step.

“Get them!” he shrieks, shaking the doll.

The H.E.R.T.Z.s do nothing.

The thief casts around, frustration and fear warring with madness in the depths of his eyes. “Fine.” He drags an old knife from his pocket and brandishes it in their direction. “I’ll do it myself. Then you’ll have to take me where I want to go. You’ll have to!”

Ravi knocks an arrow at the man’s first step forward, and he falters. There is a moment of deep, pink silence, baked through with tension.

Then he turns and runs.

Ravi’s instinct is that he will not need his curse-breaker here. He is proved correct, as an unaided arrow sails down the carriage and through the man’s left calf. He cries out and stumbles forward, the H.E.R.T.Z. doll cartwheeling from his hand to land a few metres in front of him.

Their pink-headed audience vanishes. The space seems strange without their light tainting everything.

“No!” the man cries, dragging himself up on all-fours. He starts crawling towards the doll, dragging his wounded leg, but Connie is already on the run. Before he is halfway to H.E.R.T.Z., she plants a solid, immaculately-aimed kick between his legs. The screech he emits makes Ravi wince.

Connie steps on the man’s back, driving him back to his belly before continuing over him and falling to her knees before the doll. She grabs it and crushes it to her chest, head bowed over it and shoulders shuddering with her sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry. Everything he did to you… It’s my fault. I never should have let him take you.”

Ravi sidles up and steps on the man’s outstretched hand, pinning his wrist to the carpet.

“I think you’ve done enough damage,” he says quietly. “Let’s not ruin this moment.”

H.E.R.T.Z. is there, standing over Connie. Her head is a clean purple sphere once more. She goes to one knee and lays a white-gloved hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Lorelai.” Her voice is soft and quiet – a far cry from the crisp announcer’s voice she had used when Ravi had first boarded the train. “You got me back. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“But Merlot and Argon…” Connie, or rather, Lorelai, sniffs.

H.E.R.T.Z. looks up at Ravi, and though her face remains placid, he can feel her smiling.

“Let’s go to the cabin.” She offers her hand to Ravi.

“Do you mind if I bring this one along?” Ravi says. All the fight has gone out of the thief. He just lies there staring at H.E.R.T.Z. “He has some explaining to do.”

H.E.R.T.Z. nods, and Ravi grabs the wrist he has previously been standing on and drags the man close enough that he can take H.E.R.T.Z. hand. It might just be his imagination, but it feels quite warm compared to the evil H.E.R.T.Z.s’.

They are then standing in the cab.

“Told you so,” Riyo says. She is slumped against one of the doors, her eyes closed.

“That would be more impressive if you hadn’t already said it three times when one of us made a noise you weren’t expecting,” Rolleck says. “Just open your eyes.”

“Can’t,” Riyo says. “Light hurts.”

“Is he actually here this time?” Emerald is also sitting with her eyes closed, and Ravi notices there is nothing but space beyond the windows. The cab is probably the only part of the train not in a station.

“You guys,” Lorelai says, standing up. She is looking at the one-eyed tiger and ball of shiny metal that are the only other occupants of the cab.

The two of them seem to remain stoic, but Ravi sees their eyes jump from Lorelai to Emerald and then Rolleck. Rolleck meets Ravi’s eyes, and Ravi nods.

“This will be yours, then,” Rolleck says, taking a doll that looks like the orb-man from his belt and offering it to Lorelai. She takes hold of it almost reverently.

“CONDUCTOR!”

Everyone in the cabin flinches, but Lorelai laughs as Argon wraps his arms around her several times and picks her up. “This is where you belong!”

Emerald opens her eyes to see what the screaming is all about, then flings the tiger doll to Lorelai before closing them again.

The conductor catches it and gives Merlot a teary smile.

“I am glad you are safe, Conductor,” he says, kneeling before her. He still matches her height but lets her reach out and pet his head as though he were a tiny kitten.

“Everyone is where they belong!”

“Not quite,” Ravi says, nudging the thief forward. “I think his journey is over.”

He limps before them all, then falls to his knees in front of H.E.R.T.Z. “You could have just taken me there,” he says, eyes pleading. “Why wouldn’t you just take me there?”

“There are three thousand, two hundred and eighty-four stations on the Twilight Express Rail Network,” H.E.R.T.Z. says, her voice back to its curt, helpful tone. “Only one has been destroyed. The planet Calis is no longer accessible by train.”

Riyo’s eyes flash open. “He was trying to get to Calis?” she asks. Then she says, “Ow,” and closes her eyes again.

“He was searching for the sunlight stone,” Ravi says.

“I’m guessing he didn’t find it,” Rolleck says.

The man looks around at them all, eyes jerking between and then around them. “You know of the stone.”

“We’re from Valos,” Rolleck says, arresting his attention for a moment. “We’re looking for the stone ourselves. Or at least, one of us is.” He looks up at Riyo.

“You’ll come around,” Riyo says.

“You won’t find it,” the man says. “I got close. I got so close. To the Bridge. Across it.”

Rolleck’s eyebrows rise at that. The scruffy man before them doesn’t seem strong enough to overcome a squirrel, let alone the countless fiends that prowl the devastation around the Reach.

“That’s where they are,” he hisses. “Waiting. In every shadow.” He glances into the corners of the cab, then out into the blackness outside. He shivers. “Cannot overcome them. Cannot even face them. Death and madness. Madness and death.”

“Sounds lovely,” Rolleck says. “But what are ‘they’?”

The man just shakes his head. His hair moves with it in one lumpy mass. “I had to find a way around. Had to kill the others. I found the train. It can go anywhere.” He looks back to H.E.R.T.Z. “Why wouldn’t you just take me there?”

“He doesn’t know anything useful,” Riyo says. “And I’m not sure I want to know any more anyway. My mind’s made up. I’m going to Calis. At this point, learning more is just spoiling the surprise.”

Ravi and Rolleck share a look. Ravi just shrugs. It has been a trying day, and neither of them have the energy left to play the straight-man.

“So what do we do with him?” Ravi says.

“I’ll find somewhere for him,” Lorelai says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Is our mystery solved, Riyo?” Rolleck says.

“Yep. It’s a cool magic space train. I’m ready to go home now.”

Rolleck sighs. “It doesn’t feel like a satisfactory answer, given how hard it was to find.”

“Life’s only like that if you’re a pessimist,” she says. “Besides, we helped Lorelai get her train back. That’s worth a bit of hard work, surely?”

“My suit got wet. I’m not sure anything is worth that.”

“I am sorry to intrude on your conversation,” Merlot says, “but the train is still under attack. One carriage in particular has attracted a large group of bird-like creatures that are on fire.”

“Sorry,” Emerald says.

“Can we get underway like this?” Lorelai asks.

“The Twilight Express will sustain additional damage by doing so, but there is nothing that I cannot fix,” Merlot says.

“Let’s go,” she says. She clutches all three dolls in one arm and uses the other hand to pluck something small and silver from her jacket pocket. She puts it to her lips.

“I love this part!” Argon screams.

“Please stand clear of the doors,” H.E.R.T.Z. says. “The train is now departing.”

The whistle rings out down the length of the train, and it shudders. The hiss of steam that isn’t real and the rumble of a vast engine fill the cab. The Twilight Express begins its star-spangled journey once more.

 

On the side of a wind-blasted mountain sits an ancient temple, its walls so battered they look no different from the cliffsides that surround them. On one side of the temple is an odd building that doesn’t quite match the rest. Before it is a rectangle of uniform stone and two strips of metal. The temple elders claim this building predates the temple. Predates the religion that its occupants follow. Perhaps it predates the very people themselves. It is not holy in the way the temple is, but it has the undeniable dignity of all old places, and so it is kept clean.

Senellica sweeps the platform. The first fallen leaves of autumn are gathering in the corners the wind will permit them to stay in, and they must be ushered on. She is startled from her task by the ringing of a bell. The wind seems to die down to allow it prevalence over the mountainside, and as Senellica casts about to find its source, blue light rushes into the space. A sort-of chuffing sound joins that of the bell, and then a blurred wall of wood and metal begins rushing past the edge of the platform.

After a moment it is gone, its noise and presence a memory Senellica is not sure she believes in. In the wake of the thing’s passing, more leaves have been scattered across the stone, her robes have been blustered out of place, and a man now sits at the edge of the platform. He looks forlorn and destitute, and he stares down the mountainside with glazed eyes.

Sellenica straightens her robes and approaches him slowly. He seems to notice her but does not turn.

“I was so close,” he says.

“Close to what?”

“Everything. I could have had everything.”

“No one can have everything,” Sellenica says.

“With the stone, they could. But it’s impossible. Impossible.” He shakes his head.

“If it’s impossible, then I was right. No one can have everything.”

“Ha!” he turns to her then. “What place is this?”

“This is a place that helps people,” Sellenica says. It has helped her.

“I think,” the man says, returning his attention to the slopes and empty sky before him. “I think I need help.”

 

 

In the middle of a thick forest there is a building. It is old enough that life has claimed it for its own, grown things around and through it, until it seems like it belongs there every bit as much as the trees and critters that now occupy it. Before it is a rectangle of stone and two strips of metal.

The Twilight Express rolls to a stop amidst the chaos of unsettled things fleeing the clamour of a bell. Beneath the shape of a proudly rearing unicorn, the doors open, and four weary figures step out onto the platform.

Riyo Falsemoon yawns. “That was fun,” she says.

Emerald turns back to the four figures still on the train. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying it, but it absolutely wasn’t. I hope I never see another train in my life.”

“I still don’t get how you could be scared of space,” Lorelai says. “Look,” she points up at the sky. “Every planet is right in the middle of space all the time.”

“It’s different,” Emerald says, crossing her arms.

“Whatever,” Lorelai says. She looks away, then shuffles her feet a little.

“I suppose this is goodbye,” Ravi says.

Lorelai glances at him, then looks away again. “Yeah. I guess.”

There is a moment’s pause, then H.E.R.T.Z. gives her Conductor a nudge. They manage to share a look despite one of them not having a face, then Lorelai says, “Fine. Geez.” She looks at them and blushes faintly. “Thank you for getting me my train back. You can all get free rides. If you ever, y’know, want to.”

“Thank you, Lorelai,” Ravi says, smiling.

“It was nothing,” Riyo adds. She tries to turn away and a wave of dizziness hits her.

Rolleck catches her arm to keep her from falling, then sighs. “We appreciate your offer,” he says.

“Never again,” Emerald says with a shiver. “Sorry.”

“She’ll come around,” Riyo says. “See you again some time, conductor.”

“GOODBYE!” Argon screams. Merlot Just nods.

Lorelai pulls out her whistle, and the driver and engineer vanish.

“Oh, actually,” Ravi says, “there’s still a mystery left.”

“Huh?” Lorelai says.

“What does H.E.R.T.Z. stand for?”

“H.E.R.T.Z.,” H.E.R.T.Z. says, “stands for-”

“Wait don’t tell them,” Lorelai says, blushing even more. “It’s stupid.”

“It is the name you gave me, Conductor. I am proud of it.”

“I was like five! Five-year-olds are dumb!”

“High Energy Robot Train Zombie,” H.E.R.T.Z. says.

“Ugh,” Lorelai says, covering her face. “How can you be a robot and a zombie?”

“Yes!” Ravi says, raising his fist triumphantly.

Riyo bursts out laughing and an infectious smile spreads around the group. Lorelai catches it too as she raised the whistle to her lips.

“See ya,” she says, and the high, shrill sound rushes out into the forest as the doors close. Slowly, the Twilight Express pulls out through the portal and away from Valos. Just as the blue light shimmers away, it sounds its horn.

“Well,” Riyo says, “I don’t know about you guys, but I could eat another one of those spider-sloth things.”

Emerald and Rolleck both groan.

Apologies

Unfortunate circumstances

Yesterday, I opened Book 6 to give it one more read through before posting it.

I have spent most of the time since then trying to recover the file, and have not succeeded. At this point, I have accepted that I’m probably going to have to rewrite Book 6 from scratch.

Needless to say, I’m unhappy about this, but all I can do is apologise and back-up my stuff more often in future. Book 6 will be posted in October.

Book Five

Fire Starter

 

Just as Ravi Matriya is finally falling asleep, a stern feminine voice tells him that the weather for tomorrow is dragons. He jerks awake again, before realising that one of the dryads is relaying this to the entire city via the wood of its buildings. She lays out the choice between sheltering in their matronly arms and going it alone in the vast, dark, scary forest, and it doesn’t surprise Ravi when, shortly thereafter, people begin gently dribbling in towards the centre of the city and the lumpy form of Ilintorphrassil.

He is woken again later by another voice, this one belonging to Tremythanira. Her tone is just as playful as the last time they spoke, but her message is one with a sombre heart: the dragons come. It is time to prepare.

These preparations hurry around and away from Ravi. He ghosts through them, with nothing to contribute and only his own thoughts to entreat him. They do this by ruffling his feathers and doubting his courage, pushing him towards the park and the safety of the dryad’s big, fireproof tree. He has been listening to them for too long, though. Instead, his feet take him to where a grand wooden gate is fastened tight against the silent forest and the looming shape of an angry volcano.

There are stairs leading up the ramparts, somewhere, but Ravi leaps to a second-floor window then bounds across the road onto the opposite roofs. From there it’s another three stories to the top of the gate. He is not the first person to arrive.

Tremythanira and Aetokelishpa stand either side of Clara, and Fire Chief Torglif stands at the centre of the gatehouse, broad arms folded across his barrel chest.

“Welcome to our grand army, Ravi Matriya,” Tremythanira says.

Ravi looks up and down the walls. They are conspicuously bare.

She smiles her cheeky smile. “It may feel lonely, but this is our strategy. There is nobody else in the city who could hope to hurt a dragon. To field a conventional human army would be to condemn everyone in it to death.”

“They may serve as a distraction,” Aetokelishpa says.

“And this is why you were vetoed out of the strategy meeting.”

“I do not wish to waste lives,” Aetokelishpa says, meeting Clara’s eyes earnestly for a moment, “but this is a war. Casualties are in the nature of war.”

Tremythanira sighs and looks back to Ravi. “You see?” she says. “There is no place in a strategy meeting for someone so bad at strategy.” She winks at him as Aetokelishpa’s face draws down into a scowl.

“What of the other dryads?” Ravi says, to forestall further argument. Tremythanira is right. Seeing hundreds of people die before them just for the sake of buying time would be utterly horrifying. The demoralising effect it would have on their effective forces would outweigh any benefit the extra time might bring, even ignoring the ethical implications.

“We are only five,” Tremythanira says with a shrug. “The other three will be holding the fort. You know, keeping the people calm, trying to stop fires from spreading, being the last line of defence for if we all die.”

“We won’t,” Clara says, soft but fierce. It is the first she has spoken since Ravi arrived. “We can’t.”

Aetokelishpa takes her hand and squeezes it. “Do not worry,” she says.

Clomping boots on the stairs herald the arrival of Rolleck the Lost, and he has Riyo slung over his shoulder. She is snoring.

“Hopefully she won’t sleep through the entire thing,” Rolleck says, “but…” He shrugs her off carelessly, just grabbing her wrist as it passes his hand to keep her from slamming her head on the floor. She jerks to an uncomfortable halt, then lets out another loud snore. Rolleck lets her flop the rest of the way to the floor.

“Are we worried about that?” Ravi says, glancing at the chief.

He shrugs his massive shoulders uncertainly. “To exert yourself in our arts causes some blowback, after a while. If we keep our realities open for too long, it hurts when we close them. For it to hurt other people upon closing…” He shakes his head. “That’s a new one on me.”

That draws in the silence, and an ominous rumble pulls their attention back to Yl Torat.

“Could they make her erupt?” Rolleck asks.

“Yes,” the chief says, “but to do so would mean carving out their entire city anew, so they won’t.”

Rolleck grunts.

Yl Torat continues grumbling like a sulking teenager, letting out wisps of smoke that are just visible in the gloom.

The next one to arrive is the sun, pitching streamers of energy up from beyond the horizon and into the undersides of the clouds behind them.

“What of Emerald?” Ravi asks. Her absence becomes an ever more pressing issue as the sky grows lighter.

Aetokelishpa growls. “She left the city last night. She passed into the forest, but then she left it again. The trees do not see her. It is possible I was overly dismissive of the Mayor’s fears.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s betrayed us,” Ravi says. He has met the dragon woman all of twice, and briefly both times, but even so she does not strike Ravi as someone who would easily go back on her word. “She might have done something noble but stupid, like trying to take down her brother by herself.”

“Or the trees do see her, they’re just not telling you.”

Everyone turns. Riyo is sitting up. She yawns at them, stretching her arms, then stands.

“She would have to be a dryad,” Clara says. “And she’s obviously not…”

“Nor are you,” Riyo says. She wanders over to the edge of the gatehouse and waves into the forest.

Emerald steps from the shade beneath one of the closest trees, touching its bark tenderly as she passes its trunk. Both dryads and Clara gasp at the same time.

“I never would have thought it was possible…” Tremythanira says as Emerald leaps, beating her wings only once to carry her up to the gatehouse.

“If there is anything I have learned,” she says folding her wings and turning to the dryads, “it is that almost everything is possible. We are all so much younger than the tress, and they, younger than the mountains.” She looks up at Yl Torat. “And even they are young, in the grand reckoning of things. To believe anything cannot be so is hubris.”

“This is it, then, huh?” Riyo says, because it is too early in the morning for profound thoughts delivered so sternly. She looks over their league of dragon slayers.

“It’ll have to do,” the chief says.

Yl Torat roars. A burst of ash and smoke billows up into the sky, and a tremor runs through the ground.

“The mountain is upset,” Emerald says. “It has become accustomed to peaceable dragons. The new tension is disruptive.”

“She’s quite sensitive, for something so large,” Rolleck notes.

“My father cultivated a relationship, of sorts, with the mountain. It is not alive, but, like the trees, it is affected by the things that happen around and within it. In some ways, it reflects the emotions of those it shares its earth with.”

Ash falls from the sky. After a time, it becomes clear that some of the airborne specks are not small and nearby, but large and far away. The tension of the moment presses in, the sense of coming conflict making the space feel closer.

Until Riyo starts laughing joyously. They all look at her.

“Count them.”

There is a pause.

“Thirteen,” Ravi says.

“Thirteen!” Riyo squeals, bouncing on her toes. “Bracken took out seven of them!”

“But thirteen of them got past him,” Clara says. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s fine,” Riyo says. “Well. Maybe not fine. But he’s alive.” She glances at Emerald, briefly, but then returns her eyes to the approaching dragons. “All we have to do is clean up for him.”

“Easy,” Rolleck says. “Thirteen means less than two each.”

His sarcasm is, of course, lost on Riyo.

“Exactly. And dragons suck.” She looks at Emerald again. “Uh…”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Today, I am not so fond of them myself.”

“So, what’s the game plan?” the chief asks. “I have matched up with your brother a few times and have never been able to truly hurt him. It has taken myself and at least a trio of the dryads to drive him away all the times he came before. Are they all as strong as he?”

“No,” Emerald says, shaking her head. “To be honest, I don’t know much of those who follow Black, but only he and I were taught extensively by Bracken and my father. Bronze was always a close rival to my brother, so their strengths are likely still similar.”

“Bracken was the dragon you just claimed defeated seven other dragons, yes?” the chief says.

“Yes. But do not worry about them.” Emerald clenches her fist. “They are mine. Perhaps once they get a little closer I can give you more information about the rest.”

“Black flies in the centre of the formation,” Ravi says.

Emerald turns to him, then back to the oncoming flight. They are still dark flecks against grumpy cloud to her.

“To his left is a bronze scaled dragon. They fly close together. To his right is an enormous, grey-green-scaled dragon.”

“Rival,” Emerald said. “She is the largest dragon ever born in Yl Torat, and her strength reflects it. She cannot match Bronze or my brother, but she is likely the closest among their followers.”

Ravi describes the remaining dragons but, though Emerald can name them all, only Essence, Spirit and Riot stand out in her memory. Smaller than most, Riot has a short neck and shimmering silver scales that refract the light. Emerald remembers fragments of their time spent scrapping and playing together, so young that there is little left that pierces through the misty veil of her memory.

“She was always much faster than me,” Emerald says. “I suspect she may have grown faster still in the time I was away.” Their colours are coming visible to her own eyes by now. “Essence and Spirit are twins, perfectly balanced and synchronised. Even before I left they were winning sparring contests against any other pair that would challenge them.” By their shapes, she is reminded that they are ultimately the same. And yet she must kill them. A young, excited Riot flits through her mind, crossing an arbitrary finish line in the crater of Yl Torat and laughing as Emerald comes in a sorry second place. A pair of grey-scaled youngsters stand in the centre of the crater while a crowd of their elders cheer and praise them.

She crushes those images. Replaces them with one of her father, smiling. A smile she will never see again. Because of her own mistakes, but also because of Black.

Ravi unshoulders his bow and checks it over as the dragons get closer. When they are a little over a kilometre away, he sighs and steps forward.

“Riyo.”

“Huh?”

“I’d like to apologise for not coming with you to the crater yesterday.”

“Eh?” She says, then shrugs. “It’s fine. You don’t need to apologise.”

“It isn’t really for your benefit. You may not have cared, but it bothered me. It made me ask a lot of questions of myself that don’t have simple answers.” He slips an arrow from his quiver, knocks it to his string. “I think travelling with you might help me find some of them, though, so I was going to ask: is it alright if I continue to tag along?”

“Of course,” Riyo says. “You’re my friend.”

Ravi smiles, and sees Tremythanira wink at him in his peripheral vision.

“Thank you,” he says. “And you wished to learn how to squash dragons because the place you wish to go holds threats far greater?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I’m getting the knack for it, too.”

“Well then,” he says, and draws his bow. His cursebreaker crackles amidst his feathers, wrapping around the arrow in jagged spirals that leave soft afterimages. “I suppose I had better develop a knack for it, too.”

He looses the arrow, and silence pours into the space behind it. He counts the seconds as they waddle by. Once five of them elapse, the earthen-scaled dragon at the left edge of the formation, the one named Entropy, loses a chunk of his wing, close to where it meets his shoulder.

He slumps in the air, no longer able to hold the wing properly, and begins a drunken corkscrew down towards the forest. Not the perfect shot, but acceptable given the wind and distance.

Riyo is grinning at him, Rolleck smiling faintly, while the others are wearing varying degrees of gobsmacked.

“They will be prepared for the next one,” Ravi says.

 

 

Ravi scores three more hits before the dragons close on the city, but only one forces the creature to earth. Ravi suspects neither of the downed dragons is out, but perhaps they will forgo the assault in favour of licking their wounds. Perhaps.

The sound of their landing rocks the foundations of Folvin, shakes dust from the rooftops and drives birds to terrified flight all across the Song.

Emerald and Black stare at one another over the short stretch of road before the gate. Emerald knows that words are useless at this point. That Black must be destroyed to end his ruinous ambitions.

And yet.

“This Song is our home, brother,” she says.

“And it is infested,” Black roars. “I will purge its vermin, make it fit for us to live in.”

“Those ‘vermin’ have thoughts and feelings, just like us,” Emerald says. “They may not have our longevity, but they have a thousand other things that we do not. All you’re doing is cutting us off from the rest of the world, making enemies where we could make friends.

“Black, this is our last chance. Father built our kingdom and opened it to the world. He wanted us to thrive alongside the other races, not above them. Please turn back, before they are beyond forgiving you for what you’ve already done.”

“I am king,” Black roars. “And this is my will.”

Emerald grits her teeth. “Then come. Roar blindly into the faces of those who’ve done you no wrong and see what you’ve wrought against your own people.”

Black breathes flame in response, and the other dragons take up the rally. Streams of colourful fire merge and infect one another, creating a muddy orange ball of intense flame that fights the sun for prominence over the dawn.

Water rushes down the front of the gate, splashing the ground below into mud. The wood beneath Emerald’s feet groans and creaks, as if it is tensing for a blow. The fireball crashes into a waterfall and births a pillar of steam that washes over them. It should scald the humans among them raw, but instead billows up and away from them.

Riyo frowns. “That was good for drama, but we probably shouldn’t just sit here eating their attacks. We’ll tire ourselves out.”

“The more of Folvin we can save, the happier I’ll be,” Chief Torglif says.

“Let’s take this to them,” Rolleck says. His sword is humming its hungry song in his head.

“I’d rather not, to be honest,” Ravi says, then raises his hands defensively. “I’m an archer. I’m no use up close.” He draws his next arrow. “Besides, they’ve given me cover that I can see through and they can’t. I’d be mad to leave the gatehouse.”

“The archer knows what he’s about,” Tremythenira says with a smirk. “As do we all. Once the steam is cool enough that we can traverse it, we begin.”

“Several of the dragons are not waiting that long,” Ravi says. He is reluctant to give up their element of surprise by firing, but the longer they wait, the less use their cover is.

“Eh, let’s go now,” Riyo says. “Ready?” She looks to Rolleck and Emerald.

Emerald inhales her pilot. Her heart is already beating an angry rhythm thanks to her brother’s foolish bigotry, so it is no time at all before an indigo inferno erupts from beneath her scales.

Rolleck simply nods.

Riyo hits the guard rail at a run, and feels her companions leap up behind her. She crouches, then falls, past the point of no return. The moment she is in the right position, she weighs nothing. She pushes off from the railing and shoots through the steam like a bullet, parting it before it can touch her. An arrow whizzes by her, and as she breaches the cloud she sees the dragons charging. It is undisciplined. They are here to stomp on insects, not fight a battle. They do not see any danger before them, and so they cannot react when it arrives.

Riyo leaves Emerald to her own devices. Rolleck, however, she trusts to mimic her, and he does. One of the dragons a little further back takes a flickering blue arrow in the eye. At this distance, Ravi’s shots are difficult enough to avoid when they can be seen. From behind the steam, they are nigh unavoidable. The dragon stumbles, screaming, and distracting his companions enough that they do not see Riyo.

With some delicate adjustments, she hits the foremost dragon in the throat. Her new sword crushes scales and parts flesh, hooks in such a way that she now has a handhold. Then, she weighs a ton, and so does her sword. Her gravity drags her to earth, carving a track of acrid, sulphurous blood straight down the dragon’s chest.

Rolleck feels it when he loses Riyo’s help. His momentum is such that his sudden weight does not end his flight, but it does arch him sharply downwards. It doesn’t matter. He has been fighting without Riyo for as long as he can remember. He sees Riyo hit her mark, and then sees his own. He has angled his flight slightly to the left of Riyo’s, and so he is coming in hot on the dragon to the left of hers. His dipping arc lets him stick out his sword arm and cleave clean through most of the dragon’s right foreleg. He hits hard but rolls to his feet and into a run. He jams his blade into the dragon’s belly, letting out a yell as he drags it towards the creature’s tail and ripping free just in time to dive aside as it comes down.

Another arrow streaks from the mist and hits the same target, this time in the back of the neck as it arrests its charge and turns to flee for safety. A fourth dragon, to the right of Riyo’s first finds itself on the end of a jet of water so fierce it is like charging into the rock of Yl Torat. It stops dead, and Riyo is already darting towards it. Her strides are impossibly long, and she gains speed with every one, twitching and tweaking the way gravity does and does not touch her. She leaps, and it carries her onto the creature’s shoulder just as another jet of water hits it in the face. Chill white scales rend and crunch to give way to hot black blood.

Riyo hacks at the back of the creature’s neck as it writhes, her sword as light as air as she raises it and as heavy as a mountain as it falls. She holds on until the dragon tries to roll, then she springs free, flipping neatly through the air and landing beside the fire chief, who drives the wounded dragon to the ground with another powerful blast.

A rare silence descends upon the morning as the fallout of the last minute settles into place. Emerald stands atop Thrift, a dragon she had barely known or cared for even before he came between her and her brother. His left wing is now a tangle of melted flesh and charred bone. His left foreleg is snapped backwards and gouged into ruin. Her talons rest on the back of his skull, promising that movement will spell his death.

Black stands before her. He hasn’t joined the charge. Nor have Rival or Bronze. They still flank him, honour guards with no honour. Riot has waited too, along with the twins, Essence and Spirit. They linger beyond the other fortunate mooks who had committed to the charge a little late. Like the back line of a chess set.

Even so, losing so many pawns so quickly has upset Black, and the other fodder will now be hesitant to take up his battle cry. Emerald can see the hatred in his eyes, and she hates it right back. It has no basis, no reason. Blind fury towards people he has never met, never even tried to understand.

Bronze steps forward and Black leans down to heed his counsel. Soft words pass between them, then Black nods and yells, “Scatter. Destroy this wretched wooden nest.”

The dragons roar, some, as Emerald has predicted, a little late and a little quiet. Still, they take to the sky, powerful wings rushing dust from the ground into grand swirls.

Emerald raises her foot and slams Thrift’s head against the floor, knocking him senseless. She keeps her eyes on Black, but neither he nor Bronze make to join the attack. Instead, they face her down.

The other four members of the inner circle stir. The twins bound away together, their movements as synchronised as always. Rival leaps into the sky, her massive wings eclipsing the rising sun. Riot tenses, then streaks past her towards the city, twinkling like pouring water and leaving a haze of sparkles behind her. She is almost too fast for Emerald to see.

None of them matter. Black remains.

“Are you not worried, brother?” she asks. “Do you see, now, what Bracken sought to teach you?”

“Your little coterie is strong,” Black growls, “but they are all you bring against us, from a city of thousands.”

“Exactly,” Emerald says. “Folvin is small, as human cities go. You would know that, if you ever listened to their words, read their histories. Beyond this Song there are twenty-three others, all of them populated by humans, all of them with one or two in every thousand to rival the strength of a dragon.

“In the Tower’s End Song sits Ragg, a city of millions. In just that city alone, then, is enough power to wipe out our kingdom with ease. Riling them, making them our enemies for no reason other than your own selfish desire to burn this forest, is doom for us all. Do you care so little for father’s work that you will destroy it before his blood is even dry on your claws?”

Bronze steps in front of Black, growling. “Perhaps you are right,” he says. Perhaps the humans will come. But by the time they get here, they will face more than just dragons.” He grins. “They will face a whole new power.”

He closes his eyes, and the silence stretches. Something silvery flickers on his neck, and Emerald realises what this pause is for.

“No,” she whispers. But Bronze’s flames grow stronger and brighter, billowing out around him.

He laughs, then, his cowl shuddering with him. “Who could stand against us with this power, Princess?”

 

 

Ravi’s spirit is buoyed by the team’s success. His fluffy cover is dissipating now, but beyond it lie four defeated dragons. Somewhere in the forest, two more are rendered flightless. What was once an oncoming avalanche of scaled fury is now a wall with a handful of jagged breaches in it, and through them spill hope.

The remaining dragons begin to move. Most take to the air, but one simply grows bigger. This, Ravi realises, is because it is coming closer. Very, very quickly.

“Clear the gatehouse,” he shouts at Clara and the dryads. While the words are coming out he is knocking another arrow and moving backwards. The arrow flies as true as any he’s ever fired, straight for the prismatic dragon’s eye.

It hits her claw, and for a moment there is a rainbow painted across the remaining wisps of steam, arching over them like a second gate to the city.

Ravi pushes off the back railing of the gatehouse just before the dragon hits, and the first gate explodes into splinters. He lands in the middle of the road and knocks another arrow, pointing it at the cloud of wood and dust. A silvery shape shifts the shrapnel, but as Ravi lets go his shot it moves.

The arrow hits nothing, and Ravi watches in horror as the dragon bounds off the houses to his left like a cat and lunges towards him. She’s too big to dodge aside from, too fast to outrun from a standing start. Ravi yells and takes his only safe course, diving under the strike and then leaping up to the rooftops just as the dragon’s tail swipes across the lower floors of the houses, crunching yet more façade into firewood.

Ravi has another arrow airborne as soon as he turns, but Riot’s claw is a twinkling blur as it swipes across the arrow’s path. Ravi’s supernatural eyes follow it, this time. She isn’t fast enough to truly deflect his shots, only intercept them. Both of the arrows she has blocked are buried in the flesh at the centre of wounds that make craters in her foreleg.

She coils her body and snarls. Ravi digs his talons into the slant of the roof, ready to propel himself out of the way of whatever comes next. He’s at a severe disadvantage – her speed allows her to make his every attack an inconsequential nuisance, while she need only land a single strike to turn him into giblets. He can feel his legs shaking, feel the anguish of adrenalin begging him to run. His heart thrums and the breeze slips past his feathers. He feels as though he is flying.

Riot’s throat contracts, and that is all Ravi needs. He dives over the peak of the roof and slides down the other side as a roiling wave of amaranthine fire scorches the air he has just vacated. He grabs the eave and swings through a window, into a world of thick, black smoke. His eyes might pierce it, but he is no more able to breathe it than anybody else. He holds onto his last breath, slipping into the next room that fronts onto the street where the dragon waits.

He spots her through the window, and she is close enough to the smoke of her own roiling flames that her chance of seeing the arrow coming are slim. It whips through the cloud on flickering blue wings, straight for Riot’s right eye.

And before it even leaves the smoke, she ducks.

Ravi almost inhales his own tongue along with two lungs worth of smoke. Even while he chokes he’s running, pitching himself out through the same window he’d entered by as a new inferno explodes into life behind him. He feels it like the sun on his back, feels the tips of his tail feathers char and wither.

He lands with none of his former grace, stumbling across the alley and slumping against the wall opposite. Behind him, what had once been a neat, sturdy house crashes into an infernal ruin. Through its flame and fume, Ravi sees a massive silvery shape coming towards him. He turns and runs.

 

 

 

Rolleck the Lost chases a dragon. In all of his prior imaginings of such a scenario, the characters are very much in reverse positions. For a moment, he baffles at the strange turn his life has taken ever since he found Riyo Falsemoon cooking a dead bear. That was barely more than two weeks ago.

His quarry, the largest of the dragons, lights upon the largest building – possibly the city hall. Whatever it is, it will not remain so for long. Rival rams a massive claw through the artfully-grown wooden dome, rips a hole in it, then breathes liquid turquoise flame down through the building’s interior. Rolleck comes to a halt in the plaza before it and watches a wave of fire burst from the ground floor windows and doors, rushing hot air into his face. He breathes it in, tasting sulphur.

Rival roars and beats her wings, making Rolleck scowl.

“I never thought I would be annoyed that a dragon kept running away from me,” he says.

“Perhaps I can help,” Fire Chief Torglif says.

Rolleck glances at him. He is leaning against the last house before the plaza, watching the dragon as intently as Rolleck.

Rolleck refuses to give him the satisfaction of being surprised. “You got here quickly.”

The big man shrugs. “The city is already done for, but that doesn’t matter. As long as the people remain safe, we can just regrow their homes. Eventually, the dragons will realise that, too.”

Rolleck glances to his right. Sure enough, the plaza edges onto the orchard with Ilintorphrassil at its centre. As far as he can tell, Rival is the dragon closest to the arbour fortress, and she is eyeing it hungrily.

“You said Gruff couldn’t scratch the thing.”

“He never tried that hard – the dryads were much slower to help me fight him off if their home wasn’t directly threatened. I imagine, with enough dragons breathing on it, even their sacred tree will catch.”

“Well then,” Rolleck says, “how do we stop them if they won’t sit still?”

“We make them sit still,” Torglif says, then narrows his eyes.

Just as Rival lifts off the roof, a jet of water materialises above her left wing and slams down into it, killing her upward momentum on that side and driving her heavily into the steadily-growing inferno that used to be the city hall. She flounders, wrecking more of the wall as she tries to disentangle herself. The fire chief doesn’t let her. More jets blast her every time she looks like she has righted herself, and they keep her on course until she crashes into the paving stones of the plaza, accompanied by a cacophony of crackling flame and rent wood.

“All yours,” Torglif says. His breath is much heavier now.

“Are you sure?” Rolleck says, raising his eyebrow. “Why not just finish it now?”

“I can’t.” The chief scowls. “My reality can create water jets with enough pressure to blow a hole in a man’s chest, but that isn’t even close to enough to pierce their hides. All I can do is bat them about a bit until I run out of stamina.”

“Huh,” Rolleck says. “Could you also keep her from setting me on fire, by any chance?”

“That I can.”

“Then I’m in your care until I’m close enough to stab her.” Rolleck starts jogging towards where Rival has fallen. She regains her feet with a roar that bounces off Calis, her wings sending soot and embers out in a halo around her. She spots Rolleck and lowers her head, flickering turquoise light visible between teeth as long as Rolleck’s legs. It unfolds towards him like a sunburst from a dying star, near-blinding in its intensity.

There is water in front of Rolleck. The wave has folded over him, and he stands in a tube of chill air, like a surfer rushing in towards the beach. Fire crashes against the wall of water, and Rolleck can see it flashing into vapour, bubbles forming and frothing the clear water to billowing white and grey. He darts left, following the corridor of air as the wave curls around towards the dragon. Behind him, an underwater explosion sends spray and steam climbing hundreds of metres into the morning sky.

He breaches the surf right by Rival’s right foreleg, and rams his sword into her ankle, dragging it through scale and muscle until it comes free. She screams, then. Not a roar, but a full-throated screech that reminds Rolleck of a bird of prey. She brings the foot up and slams it down on Rolleck, but he jumps aside and adds another slash beside the first.

Rolleck’s hearing seems to fade away, leaving only his own breath and that of the dragon. The world of flickering flame and sloshing water outside their dance floor blurs, and the stench of acrid smoke becomes softer, like incense. The focus slows everything down. The dragon’s movements are huge, allowing him to twitch between them and score hits by striking out in almost any direction.

Hits that land like papercuts. He cannot risk becoming entangled, cannot afford to stop moving. Even given a stationary target, he is not sure he can physically stab her deep enough to do any significant damage. He needs her to make a mistake.

For one who runs so hard, you certainly enjoy fighting.

Rolleck doesn’t let the voice touch him. He can feel his sword even more intimately, now. As though his blood flows through it, as though his nerves reach into its iron.

Rival roars and leaps into the air, her wings slamming enough air down at him to force him to his knees. The fire chief intervenes once more, misbalancing her before she is truly airborne. Thankfully, he tips her away from Rolleck, rather than crashing her directly into him. He feels the ground move as she comes down, but he’s expecting it and it doesn’t trip him. His sword slides into the dragon’s exposed belly easily, until his hand bumps against her scales. He wrenches the blade downwards quickly, yanking it out at the bottom of his strike and stumbling back before the creature’s caustic blood can bathe him.

Rival shrieks once more, thrashing to her feet. Rolleck retreats further, almost losing his head to her unpredictable movements.

“Enough,” she screams. “Your magic tricks and chicken scratches are futile.” She rears up on her hind legs, her neck extended. She reaches halfway to the clouds, and Rolleck sees just how right she is. On him, the cut he has made in her belly would be the result of straying a little too close to a thorn bush. His only hope is to find a weak spot, and it seems only her head will do. He has to crane his own neck to even see it, from here.

“I will show you what awaits this city, this forest, this whole world. Humanity will know nothing but flame and death.”

She inhales. Rolleck sees her chest inflate, drawing in more air than any dirigible could hope to contain. Twinkling in her throat is her pilot flame, seemingly unruffled by the gale rushing past it. It looks so delicate, compared to the conflagrations it has helped to create. Rolleck cannot help but wonder what might happen if it were extinguished.

Yosht Torglif cannot help but wonder either. A jet of water bursts from the air before her gaping maw, rushing towards the fluttering lantern.

Rival’s jaw closes with a crash like a portcullis falling. The water sprinkles her teeth. Harmless.

Then she exhales, and the entire plaza burns.

 

 

Riyo Falsemoon sits in a tree. It is the largest tree she has ever climbed, and it has a long name that she has already forgotten. The city around her is on varying shades of fire, and actually looks quite pretty.

To add boring dragon insult to boring dragon injury, none of them will fight her. They swish around in the sky, breathing beautiful arcs of flame onto beautiful wooden houses, and every time she tries to engage one it swoops beautifully away. She has caught up with one, so far, and it turned out tripling the weight of something that physically shouldn’t be able to fly at all while its hundreds of feet above the ground is enough to do some serious damage, crafting-resistance or no.

In theory, Riyo should be able to use her reality to fly. She has experimented and found that doing so for any notable period of time tires her out extremely quickly. Far quicker than any other use of her crafting. It frustrates her, because she doesn’t understand why. One day she will figure it out, but until then the best she can do is jump around weightlessly. Certainly useful, but not flight, and not enough to catch up with a soaring dragon.

So, Riyo waits and hopes it doesn’t take too long for them to realise they can only truly achieve their goal by coming to her. A pair of them are circling close by, and after torching a few more houses they drift towards her. While the dragons Riyo has seen so far have all varied wildly in their sizes, colours and features, these two are mirror images. Emerald had called them twins, but Riyo has already forgotten their names. She is quick to forget names that aren’t particularly important to her.

The two ignore her, flapping their wings lazily as they approach, allowing them to rise above the monster tree and breathe down on it. True to the dryad’s words, this does nothing. A few charred leaves drift past Riyo, but even these have not caught properly. This perplexes the dragons, and they both land on bulbous branches large enough to house a small village to give it another shot from closer up. Riyo grins and bounds up to one of their perches.

“The people of Folvin are inside,” she tells the first dragon. He looks at her with angry black eyes, a growl somewhere deep in his throat shaking the branch. “If you’re really willing to kill that many people just to prove how special you all are, all you have to do is get through me.”

“Humans are nothing,” the dragon says.

“We would disagree. We could have a civil discussion about it, if you like.” She gestures towards him. “You must have reasons you think we’re worthless, reasons I could maybe convince you are wrong. How about it?”

The dragon breathes fire at her, but that’s a trick she’s seen before. Dragons continue to suck.

“Thought so,” she says, once the flames have passed her by. “Question is, will you believe I’m far from nothing if I kick your arse?”

She pulls her sword from her back and doesn’t even bother redirecting the next breath. It’s easier for her to fall to the branch above her, then invert gravity again to fall straight into the dragon’s face before he’s even realised she wasn’t engulfed in his flame.

The other dragon swings a massive claw at her. It clashes against her claw-sword, and she manages to switch her fall direction again so that his push just assists her escape, rather than breaking her arms. She comes down on the trunk of the tree and looks up to where the two dragons now squat beside one another. A few vibrant orange flames burn along the branch, but they quickly begin to fade, refusing to eat the dryad’s home.

Riyo shrinks her reality down around her. There are no convenient masses of rock she can break open to use as projectiles here, and she is now stuck in a two-on-one. This may prove to be a challenge.

The dragons come on as one, teeth flashing clean and white, contrasting with their dull grey scales. Twin roars mingle with each other, creating a sound that pushes down against her. She tightens her grip on her sword and roars right back, feeling a rush of excitement thrill through her muscles. She leaps out to meet them.

It’s a mess. Riyo shifts her gravity constantly, never giving the two dragons time to adapt to her movements. She bounces between them, changing direction in mid-air to dodge their swipes and land neatly on exposed parts of their bodies, leaving gouges in their scales and coating her blade with caustic blood before sliding away through the air. Shallow wounds, for dragons, but she starts adding them up, one by one by one. She feels the dragons’ fury growing, feels their movements becoming less precise. Meanwhile, she rests on the edge of the blade in her mind, just as her master has taught her. It gives her balance, synchronises her movements with the changes in her reality, makes her reactions quick and precise. It’s exhilarating.

She sees an opening. One of the dragons swings at her too slowly, and she rolls neatly over it. Her reality expands at the speed of thought, engulfing the huge talon and magnifying its weight. Claws meant for her instead rip devastating tracks of sulphurous blood across the other dragon’s neck. Its acrid stench builds in the air in the moments that follow. Riyo can hear it; the relentless glug-glug, like decanting wine. The silence of shock contains everything else.

She orients herself to the branch they are fighting above. During the fight it was irrelevant – her position only mattered in relation to the dragons. Now she lands, the sound of her boots scuffing the bark seeming to start the flow of time once more.

The wounded dragon screams, a gout of undirected flame billowing in a wild arc as the creature flails. The whole branch shakes, claws raking away its bark, digging deep into much softer wood beneath. Glowing amber sap spills forth from the wounds, fizzing where its pools meet those of dragon’s blood.

“No,” the twin dragon says. It’s soft, still coated in disbelief. “No!” This one is a roar that hurts Riyo’s ears, carries its anguish over the city like a death knell.

The dying dragon falls still, bringing back the silence.

The one that remains turns to Riyo. There are tears spilling over its scales.

“What have you done?” it growls.

“What you wanted to do to every human being in this city,” Riyo says, narrowing her eyes. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll kill you,” the dragon promises.

“You’ll try.”

The dragon roars, but he does not lunge forward. Instead, he jerks in place, as though his desire to strike outstrips his body’s willingness to do so.

Riyo’s eyes find the dragon’s legs and widen. The bark beneath the creature has split, glooping more sap out into the air. From that sap, thick vines slither and coil, wrapping themselves around the dragon’s limbs and holding him fast to the branch.

Riyo starts at a presence beside her, then frowns.

“That was going to be a good fight,” she says.

The dryad – not one she recognises from earlier, but just as naturally beautiful – shrugs. “We appreciate your help in this matter, crafter, but this is our home, and we will defend it. Your desire for a challenge is irrelevant.”

Vines are creeping all over the dragon now, and a particularly thick one finds its neck.

“I hope your empty hatred is enough to keep your spirit warm while Illintorphrassil consumes your body, dragon.”

The vine curls, thickens, and begins crushing. The dragon lets out a roar, which is quickly choked away.

Riyo turns away and sighs.

“You find this distasteful, but not your own kill?” the dryad says.

“It’s not that.” She scratches her head. “It’s more like I’m frustrated. I hate it when even winning feels like losing. Killing these two didn’t do anything. Whatever it was that made them so hateful didn’t even die with them.”

“It is in the nature of dragons to hate, human. Take it from one who has lived a long time and seen them go unchanged for all of it.”

Riyo shakes her head. “Everyone’s capable of fighting their own nature. It’s what makes us different from the animals we eat.”

“You can’t fight other people’s natures for them, though.”

“You just have to convince them to do it.” Riyo says. “Once they try, it’s really easy.” She looks over towards the gate beneath Yl Torat. “So that’s the plan. Show them how easy it can be.”

“Luck to you, crafter.” The dryad steps over to a pool of the giant tree’s sap. “You will need it.” Her bare feet make ripples in the amber liquid, and she sinks into it like it’s quicksand until she is gone from sight.

Riyo cocks an eyebrow. “Neat.” She turns back to the city and its dragons. A pillar of wicked silver flame rises near the gate, spinning up into the heavens for a moment before bursting apart.

“If you can do that,” she says, “then you can learn to not be a jackass.” She hops from the branch, leaving the twin dragons to their eternal rest.

 

 

Ravi feels like a mouse. Riot the cat stalks him through the streets, roaring every time he skitters into another window or doorway. The difference, of course, is that a cat would flounce and prowl and grow more frustrated once he disappeared into his hole. Riot simply breathes a jet of purple fire after him, pushing him out into the street so that the chase can resume.

She dodges all of his arrows. Even those fired through smoke or from blind spots. Somehow, she senses the danger – or possibly his intent. Powerless to hurt her, all he can do is flee.

“She didn’t dodge the first two,” he pants to himself. He has won a moment’s respite, hunkering down beside a shed outside a blacksmith’s. Soon, the workshop will burst into flame, and he will have to move again.

“Was she too far away?”

A coarse roar precedes the arc of flame that he anticipates, and after another couple of smoky breaths he is off again. He moves like an arrow himself – straight lines that don’t stop until they meet a wall. The longer he is out of cover, the more likely he is to become fried chicken.

Even if distance is the deciding factor, he has spent the last half-hour trying to achieve it and still the dragon is right on his heels. He cannot escape her. He needs to figure out, specifically, why he cannot hit her. That means taking a risk.

Another cascade of flame gives him a window. He spies her twinkling scales amidst the roaring fury and fires. The arrow, twisting with the energy of his curse-breaker, blows apart the wall on the upper floor of the house behind her. She didn’t dodge it, though. It simply missed. She flinches away from the shot after it has passed her.

Ravi leaps from window ledge to roof, then drops into the street below. He lands like a feather, mind spinning. She hadn’t known the arrow was coming because it wasn’t aimed at her. If she knew his intent then she would have known from the moment it was fired that it was coming, and that it wouldn’t hit her. She hadn’t. All she’d known is that she wasn’t in danger. The arrow had surprised her because it wasn’t dangerous.

One final confirmation, then.

At the next opportunity, he scores a hit on her chest. The arrow, bearing not a flicker of the curse-breaker, bounces harmlessly from her steel-tough scales. She looks down as the arrow clatters on the cobbles between her front legs. Her short neck and thick mane give her more the look of a reptilian lion than the typical dragons that Theo used to paint. She is wearing a terrible, terrible grin.

 

“Finally beginning to tire, bird?” Riot shouts. The bird is a little outside the range of her flames, and he will move again as soon as she does. He is so very quick. Her speed hasn’t been challenged like this since Emerald left Yl Torat all those years ago. This chase reminds her of those races around the crater, of being pushed. Challenged. Her blood thrums, her muscles ache, and she can’t keep from grinning.

This is why she signed on for Black’s campaign of carnage. Now she has a chance to prove that she is not just the fastest among the dragons, but the fastest in the Song. The fastest in the world.

And if she isn’t? If Black is proved wrong by humans, or some other species? Then she has a target. A bar to rise above. Perhaps the first bar is this bird-human. If he is quicker than her, then she needs to exceed him. Catch him. Beat him. She digs her claws into the earth, reaches inside herself for the next burst of speed.

 

Ravi is indeed tired. He has kept himself ahead of Riot’s jaws and flames by the breadth of a whisper, and it seems unlikely to him that he has more stamina than her. But perhaps… perhaps he can be quicker than her.

She gathers herself. Tiny movements in her muscles translate to tinier movements across her scales, but his eyes see them. He leaps from the building’s second floor window to its roof, then launches himself left across the next street. He hears the crash of her claws crunching the eaves of his most recent perch, and knows she has the reactions to change direction after him. He can feel the heat of her breath on his tail feathers.

They bound across the city, wood grain blurring and swirling beneath them, interspersed with flashes of cobbles. Ravi changes direction at every opportunity. He is not sure, but suspects the dragon could outpace him in a straight line. Her turns are slower than his, though. Possibly because she is fifty times his size and the wood breaks beneath her when she tries to halt her massive momentum, slowing her down.

Ravi has one chance. Riot’s reactions are quick. What she senses, however, is danger. She cannot sense his intent, does not know what he will do before he does it. She does not know that he is slowing himself slightly. Running in a straight line a little longer before changing direction. She thinks he is tiring. She thinks he is trying to escape.

Ravi has been trying to escape for a long time. From his curse, from his own weakness. From his regrets. Riot does not know that he has already escaped all of that. That he is done trying to escape.

He can almost feel the sharpness of her claws on his back when, instead of turning, he pushes himself backwards, arrow drawn to his cheek. His curse-breaker flares like aquamarine fire, strikes towards the sky like lightning in reverse. Straight through the dragon.

Ravi hits the roof on the other side of the road with a crash. The wood splinters and cracks, and the air leaves his lungs in a strangled gasp. His bow jerks from his hand, tap-dancing down the slanted roof before sliding off the gutter and disappearing from view. He lies there with his eyes closed. Dragons are resilient. Riot is not dead, because Ravi has missed her heart and spine. He is not sure whether that was his intention or not.

Even so, he does not combust. Slowly, he sits up, wincing at the pain in his back that will surely become a monstrous bruise. His own impact has hidden the cacophonous crunch of it, but Riot has smashed through the opposite house and come to rest against the one behind it. She is not moving, and the smell of sulphur reaches Ravi’s nose even from two streets away. The sight and scent make him uncomfortable, and he decides that, subconscious or not, he wanted to miss the kill-shot. It seems, however, that missing her vital organs may not have been enough.

He drops from the roof, scoops up his bow, then hops over what remains of the house between him and Riot.

“You fly well, little bird,” Riot says, making him jump. A giant purple eye opens and pins him in place. A staccato wheeze escapes her, and Ravi realises she is laughing. It doesn’t last long, though.

“Ow.”

“I’m not sure I could laugh with a hole through me,” Ravi says slowly.

“Mmm,” she says. “But it’s funny.” She sighs. “I scoffed at Emerald when she left. I said there wasn’t anything to learn out here. To think I’d meet my match in a city a handful of miles from home.” She coughs, then, and the cobbles are splattered with more blood. It fizzes softly as it begins to dissolve the stones. “I think I was just jealous. Jealous that she had the courage to escape, while I convinced myself that Black was right. If dragons are superior, then being the fastest dragon meant being the fastest anything. I needn’t come out here alone to prove it.”

“I don’t think you’d lose to me in a race,” Ravi points out.

“Doesn’t matter.” She coughs again. “There’s more to being fast than covering distance. No use being able to move your body if you can’t think quick enough to avoid getting a hole punched through it.”

“Um.” Ravi glances at said hole. “Will you, er…”

“Will I live?”

Ravi swallows and nods.

“Who knows?” Another cough seems to answer her question for her. “Dragons heal well. Perhaps I’ll see you again, bird man.”

“Ravi. Ravi Matrya.”

“It was a good contest, Ravi Matrya.”

Her eye closes. Her great chest still fills and empties, but blood still leaks out onto the street.

Ravi might be able to perform adequate first aid, if the patient were a human child with a scraped knee. A dragon with a hole all the way through the chest is far beyond the antiseptic herbal salves in his belt pouch, though. He will have to hope she is right about her race’s tenacity.

On the other side of the city, a pillar of silver fire divides the sky in two. Its light is somehow dark, casting the warm morning into shadow before it fades. One of his allies is near that, and if there is one thing that Ravi has learned from his time in Folvin, it is that he is good at helping people. He finds his way back to the roofs and makes for the gate.

 

 

Rolleck the Lost drinks the sea. He tastes the salt of it in his sinuses. For a single, horrific moment, he drowns.

Then he breathes air. He splutters, blowing out of his nose and coughing. His eyes spring open and sting with the water’s touch, but he does not blink. It will not let him. He must survive, and to survive, he must be able to see the danger. To escape.

You will struggle to run, here.

He is airborne. The geyser that brought him up is splitting and raining back to what was once the earth. It is now a vision of hell. Paving stones melt, buildings burn, smoke and embers wash the space from the edge of the forest to the former city hall. The very air beneath him shimmers like water. The dragon stands at the centre of her new domain, looking not to Rolleck, but to the other end of the plaza.

A small patch of pristine pavement marks the last stronghold of Yosht Torgliff. Steam rises around him from where his defence met Rival’s monstrous breath.

“Die,” Rival screams, lunging forward.

Rolleck falls. Without Riyo around, he falls directly downwards at the same speed he has always fallen.

It feels so slow.

Water streaks out of nowhere into the side of Rival’s face, but she barrels through it. Another stream crashes down on her, but it barely bows her head.

Rolleck isn’t even half way to the ground.

The fire chief yells, throwing everything he has forward towards the oncoming wall of scales and teeth. A huge cascade bursts across the dragon’s scales, spilling out over the plaza and drenching everything. The flames of damnation are quenched in the flood.

But the dragon breaks through.

A talon the size of a green bear comes down on Torgliff, and his roar of defiance becomes a scream of anguish. The silence that follows is so deep that the crackling of flames and the swash of water do not touch it. It is a silence that exists only for Rolleck.

You can’t run away in anger.

“Then I won’t.”

When you stop, I get closer.

“So be it.”

Marvellous.

Rolleck lands in half an inch of water. The impact should break him, but his bones are iron. His sword runs its barbs through every facet of him, pulsing in time with his anger. Its laughter is a quiet menace that is not quite confined to Rolleck’s head. Deep, black oil drips from his pores, but it does not slick his grip on the hilt. That is so fierce that not even the sundering of the world could break it.

Rival turns to face him. She meets his eyes, and even the colossal dragon hesitates. His right is bloodshot, but his left is pitch black with a vertical smudge of crimson down its centre.

“Nothing you do will stop me, human,” she says after the moment has passed. “And now, my flames can reach you.”

A turquoise fireball lashes across the ruined plaza, gleaming with a promise of incineration for everything in its path. Rolleck raises his blade and grinds his teeth. His slash rips the air apart, ripples around the plaza and slams against the surrounding buildings. It leaves marks in the wood, and the shockwave blasts the fireball into flickering streamers of nothing.

 

Rival looks around. Every fire in the plaza has gone out. She looks down. There is a gash across her chest, just beginning to bleed. Her heart stops as she returns her gaze to the human.

“Nothing can reach me now, dragon.”

“Impossible,” Rival says.

It is her last word.

She blinks, and Rolleck is gone.

She blinks again, and finds she is looking at the ground.

She blinks a third time, and her sluggish thoughts cannot comprehend what she sees. Scales. So deep and green. Like the depths of a storm-driven sea. Scales like her own.

Her head hits the ground, and she is looking up at herself. And it is growing dark.

She blinks a fourth time. And she does not open her eyes again.

 

Rolleck does not turn to watch the dragon fall, though he feels her body shake the floor with its collapse. Instead, he looks down at Yosht Torgliff. The burly man has almost been torn in half. The massive claw that ended his life passed through most of his midriff and into the ground below, making a divot for his blood to pool in. The dragon’s foot has crushed his legs to the point that they are unrecognisable.

Rolleck lets out a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t… I can’t let it any closer.”

It’s too late for that.

Laughter rings out. The wires tighten, the barbs dig deep, and Rolleck feels his heart being constricted.

Keep running, but eventually, this is all you will know.

It would be fortunate if the pain made him pass out. It never did, though. Losing track of time did not help, instead turning it into an eternity. His screams echo around the plaza, straining his voice hoarse. He writhes, unaware of anything but pain, until everything around him is blackness and everything within him is fire. Then it fades.

Run, the voice says once more.

Then it is gone.

Rolleck lies in a mud born of water and ash, staring at a pleasant blue sky that makes a stage for warm, golden sunbeams to dance across. Every breath comes slower, until his suffering is a memory once more. Then all he can feel is his sodden waistcoat clinging to him, his sore muscles complaining about the strain. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he has just finished a workout, and that his greatest problem is how to get the stains out of his clothes.

The blue of the sky is briefly stolen by an arcane silver light that adds shadow where shadow should not be. It brings Rolleck back to a gradually burning wooden city under siege by dragons. He drags himself to his feet. No matter what he does or does not do, it still follows him. It will still catch him. So even if it may cause him pain, he will use it to help his friends.

 

 

 

 

Emerald feels a sensation she has never known before. A sensation, perhaps, that all dragons should feel at least once. She burns. Not the aching, nagging sensation of her bloodflame, but her skin. The scales of her left arm have melted, the skin beneath a fierce red that almost glows where it hasn’t turned the black of char. Her left wing stings where it has been graced only briefly by Bronze’s flame.

“What creature could stand before us, armoured in flame?” he roars at her. “We will melt this world!”

“And then destroy ourselves,” Emerald says. “Bronze, you have to stop. You’re burning too quickly.”

He breathed at her again, and she darted aside, pitching her own flame out in a controlled burst to counteract his where her speed wasn’t enough to avoid it. Her move brings her closer to Black, who is grinning as though he is watching a performance in his honour.

“Black, please,” she said. “This power will kill your mate.”

“Silence,” he growls. “You and Bracken sought to keep this gift from us, all because you knew it would let us rule this world. You are both traitors to our kind, and now you beg for your pitiful life.”

Emerald grinds her teeth. Behind her, the city she promised to help protect sits aflame in spite of the dryads’ efforts. Ilintorphrasill squats resolute at the centre of an inferno that will burn until all that remains is ash. The tree being intact, however, gives her some hope that the dragons are not simply rolling over her newfound allies.

Bronze will not listen. Black will not listen. She took nearly a decade to master this ability, to avoid burning herself from the inside out. The power that flows through him is numbing him to the searing of his veins, but to make his flame hot enough to burn through her scales will eat that power, his very life energy, away to nothing in a matter of minutes.

She growls as another wave of silver fire rolls towards her. A pinpoint burst of indigo pushes a hole in the wall and lets her slip through, and a powerful leap brings her inside Bronze’s range. He rakes his claws through the empty air where she’d landed, only to find her driving an uppercut towards his face.

He roars, and the intensity of his cowl becomes overwhelming, exploding outwards and forcing Emerald to blaze hers to protect herself. She stumbles back, fists clenching. Her cowl fades, while Bronze’s does not.

“If you won’t let me save you, all I can do is watch you die, Bronze.”

“Then lie down and watch,” he snarls, “but I will not die. I will simply shine beyond anything any dragon has ever achieved. I will carry Yl Torat’s will to the very ends of this world.”

His cowl grows even brighter, billowing up towards the clear skies.

“Bronze…” Black says. There is a hint of uncertainty in it, but it comes far too late.

Bronze roars, filling Emerald’s existence with fire and pain. She wraps herself in her wings, burns her cowl to its safest limit. Still she feels her scales begin to melt. Crackling agony wracks her, drives her to her knees. It pares back the skin of her wings and scorches her very bones.

When the heat falls away, she is barely able to see. Her wings droop to the ground behind her, oozing blood onto the earth. She meets Bronze’s triumphant gaze, and lets her cowl fade away to nothing. His silvery light now competes with the sun in its brightness.

“So you finally kneel before your king,” Bronze says.

“I’m sorry,” is all she says in response, and looks away as his cowl begins to soar.

“Bronze!” Black says. “Extinguish it, now.”

“I… I can’t.” There is panic rising in his chest. He can feel his every blood vessel, as though needles flow through them.

“Do it!” Black roars. “Put it out!”

“Help me…” Bronze says.

With an almighty rush, Bronze’s cowl reaches for the heavens, enveloping everything around him. Both Emerald and Black are blown away by the force of it, and the swirling column of flame spins for almost a full minute before fading away. Ash and embers flutter down like snow, settling on a scorched, empty field.

“No!” Black screams, leaping to the centre of the scar where Bronze had been standing. He digs at the pile of soot, then jerks his head from side to side, the desperation in his eyes heart-breaking even to Emerald.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

Those eyes find her, and another scream escapes him.

“You did this,” he wails. “Why did you have to stand in our way? Why would you defend these humans?”

“You need to be stopped,” she says. She is tired and hurt, and her voice reflects it. “We’re filled with a need to destroy, Black, and it’s the reason that, despite all our advantages, the humans are better than us. Because even if we destroy them, burn their cities and claim their land, it isn’t enough. We turn on ourselves, again and again. Why do you think father, just one generation before us, had to build our kingdom from nothing?” She met his eyes again, urged him to hear her. Urged him to see his heartache as a reflection not of the humans’ actions, but of his own. “Its because we destroy ourselves more thoroughly than anything we might breath our flame on, rip apart with our claws. It’s a cycle that we have to break ourselves. Father knew that. He started us on a path to redemption by building something, rather than destroying it. We’re all capable of continuing down that path after him. Even you, who see only the fire of destruction, managed to make something beautiful with Bronze.”

“And now he’s gone.”

“That’s right. The path of destruction has destroyed him. This will be your legacy, too, Black.”

“It will destroy you too,” he says, springing forward and bringing his claw down at her.

Emerald closes her eyes. She has tried, at least. She hopes her father would be proud of her.

“That’s not quite right, Prince Gruff.”

Emerald opens her eyes. Riyo Falsemoon stands between them. Black’s claw presses hard against thin air a little above her head.

“We own our own paths, and Emerald doesn’t walk one of destruction.” Gravity shifts, and Black stumbles back, unable to resist. “While you were out setting fire to things, she made friends. She learned and taught and became better by enriching others. That’s the path of the saviour.”

Someone steps up next to Emerald. She glances right and finds the swordsman, his wolf pelt soiled but still somehow shining, his left eye black and horrifying. She looks left and finds the bird man, his feathers caked in soot but rippling with holy blue light.

“So, while your destruction has wrought it back to you in turn, your sister will be saved, body and soul.”

“Those who followed you down your path have seen it reflected at them,” Ravi says.

Rolleck gestures back at the city. “The sky is empty of dragons, the people of Folvin are safe, sheltered by those who also walk the path of the saviour.”

“Your conquest ends in failure. All that remains is you.” Riyo lets her reality go, then turns and helps Emerald to her feet. “What will you do?”

“I…” Black says.

A shadow falls over them, and a second later, Bracken slams into the ground behind the prince. He shows very little sign of having fought twenty of his peers the previous evening.

“Come, Black,” he says, voice almost kindly. Like a teacher encouraging a surly student. “Let us go home. Let me tell you of your father. Of what he did, and what he wished to do. Of the path he forged, and that we all can still follow, even now that he is gone.”

 

Black turns to face his mentor. He sees compassion there. Recognition of what he has lost. He sees it in his sister’s eyes, too. Even the humans share it. He wants to hate them for it. He wants to crush them, show them that he does not need their sympathy. He should be stronger than this.

But he isn’t. He looks to the place where Bronze was taken from him. If he had been strong, his mate would still be there. His soul would still be whole. He digs his claws into the earth, lowers his head, and lets go. Even when the emptiness forms anger and tries to point blame at someone or something, memories rise and tamp it back down. Memories of Bronze. Of their time together. Of their shared life. Memories of his father. His friends. Even his sister. Times when he was happy. His tears make craters in the ash before him.

He feels Bracken approach.

“Time will help,” he says, “but the heart does not heal the way the flesh does. This wound will remain tender forever. Such is the mark he made on your life. Remember him, and remember what your anger, your hatred, has cost you.”

Black can only manage a small nod. He turns to face the mountain. The kingdom he thought he wanted. It’s a dream as empty as any other now that Bronze cannot be in it. He trudges toward it, seeing nothing. Feeling nothing.

 

 

Riyo lets out a soft breath as Prince Gruff walks away from his conquest. He walks a new path now, but she still doesn’t know what it will look like. It could be a better one, but it could equally be a more dangerous one. It may be easy to fight one’s own nature, but the reasons could be bad as well as good. He could fight down his hatred and live a better life, or he could fight away his compassion and become fixated on revenge. It was the knife’s edge.

She can no longer play a role in that. She turns to her friends. They look like they have been put in a tin together with some rocks and mud and then shaken vigorously. Rolleck’s eye is weird, Ravi’s tail feathers are noticeably shorter, and Emerald’s wings are practically skeletal.

“You all could use a bath,” she says.

“You don’t look so presentable yourself,” Rolleck says.

“I look stunning, thank you very much,” Riyo says. She looks past them, towards the gate. “This city could use a bit of a make-over, though. Where’s the Chief?”

Rolleck shakes his head. “I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

That hits Riyo right in the gut. The giddiness of victory had finally been dawning on her, but now it falls out of the bottom of her stomach.

“Clara and the dryads?”

The four of them look between each other, reflecting each other’s uncertainty.

“We are mostly alright,” Tremythenira says.

They all turn to the nearest tree.

“What do you mean by mostly?” Ravi says.

There is a pause. “The dryads of Folvin were five. Now we are four. Aetokelishpa has passed.”

More rocks find their way into Riyo’s stomach. “How is Clara?”

“Upset.”

“Is there anything we can do to help her?”

“Not right now. She is resilient, and we will help her, but she needs time to grieve. It is both a blessing and a curse that Aeto is the mother to her first child.”

“Oh,” Riyo manages. “Please pass along our thanks for all she’s done to help us when she’s recovered.”

“We will. We would also like to thank you all for saving this city. I’m sorry I cannot convey that in person, but what was destroyed must be rebuilt before people can be moved out of Ilintorphrasill. And the dead must be buried.”

The tree fell silent, and they were all left feeling glum whilst staring at a tree.

Riyo turns to Emerald.

Emerald turns to Riyo.

“Thank you. For everything,” Emerald says. “Both Folvin and Yl Torat owe you more than can ever be repaid.”

“You already paid,” Riyo says. She taps the hilt of her sword. “I have this.”

“It’s a small thing, compared to what you did today.”

“Small things are easier to carry,” Riyo says.

Emerald smiles. “You are truly a special woman, Riyo Falsemoon. I hope we meet again.”

“Me too,” Riyo says, then leaps forward and hugs the dragon around the waist. “Be a good queen.”

“I’ll do my best,” she says. She hates saying it. Having almost been burned to death in the defence of her father’s legacy, she still dreads carrying its weight. “Travel well, Riyo.”

Riyo nods, and then watches as Emerald begins her long walk back to Yl Torat, her wrecked wings drooping behind her.

“I hate when winning feels like losing,” she says.

“It tastes sour,” Ravi agrees.

“From my experience, there is no winning,” Rolleck says. “You just try to mitigate your losses until you die.”

“That’s a cheery thought,” Ravi says.

“Well, if it’s the best we can hope for, then I’d say we mitigated this one pretty well,” Riyo says. “A lot more people could have died if not for us. Plus, making new friends is never a waste of time as far as I’m concerned.”

“What now?” Ravi asks.

“We keep going,” Riyo says. “The sunlight stone is still wherever it is, and that just won’t do.”

“We’re not staying in Folvin?”

Riyo shakes her head. “We still have the whole afternoon left for walking. Besides, Folvin is still on fire.”

“We could help with that.”

“We’ve done enough,” Rolleck says. “After something like this, people need to do what they can do. Only we could fight the dragons, but the people of Folvin will feel better for being able to deal with the aftermath.”

“So that’s it? We just keep walking?”

“Yep. The Reach is still a long way away.” Riyo looks up at the sun, looks left, then looks right. Then turns around.

“It’s that way,” Rolleck says, pointing east.

“Right,” Riyo says. She takes a step, then frowns back up at Yl Torat. “Actually…”

 

 

 

Emerald looks at her people. A spectacular array of omnichromatic faces looks back at her. There is no jubilation, no expectation. There is barely even curiosity. They don’t know her. Earning their respect will take years. Escaping the contempt of those who held her brother and his mate in high regard will take far longer, if it is even possible. Her new path is one of hardship and leads to a place that she is not sure she wants to go. But it is one she has chosen herself, ultimately. So it is the one she must walk.

The silence in the cavern seems to stretch into eternity. Beside her, Bracken sighs and rolls his eyes.

“You are a lot like your father, Emerald,” he says quietly. “Like you, he looked to the humans and other races to find a template for his escape from our cycle of destruction. But he looked to their leaders for answers, while you looked to the people themselves. He adapted what he saw to his needs. Now, you must do the same.”

Emerald nods, slowly. In her mind, she sees a crown made of water break apart and splash onto a blonde head.

She steps forward.

“I am your queen,” she tells the gathered crowd. Her voice echoes through the massive space, but those who hear it do not know what to do with it. They don’t cheer. They don’t wail. They don’t know her.

“And yet, you don’t know me. I left this place because I wanted to see what lay beyond these austere rocks and burning air. I found a home out there. I found something better.”

That elicited some reaction. It was mostly anger. It didn’t burst against her, but she could see it beginning to seethe in their breath.

“Even so, I came back. My father made this kingdom because he believed dragons could be more than just their anger and their hate. More than just destruction and death to all who looked upon them.

“And he was right. Because when I told you how I felt about it, you growled in your throats. You held this place close to you. You said, ‘Who is she, to insult us so?’.

“Because this is not my father’s kingdom. It is your kingdom. You take pride in it. You defend it. You see what my father saw. A home. A family. Something better than hate. Something better than destruction.

“So here is my first act as your queen.” Emerald inhales her pilot. The gathered dragons are watching her with interest, now, and there are gasps and roars of surprise as she is enveloped in her cowl. With the strength of a raging fire flowing through her, Emerald leaps into the air. Bracken has the good sense to vacate the ledge, and with a crash that thunders through Yl Torat, Emerald smashes it asunder. While the dust settles, she lets her cowl fade, her blood cool.

“From now, there is no queen, no king. You will choose a leader, together, and they will speak with the voice of all dragons. You will all shape this kingdom. You fought your need to destroy for my father and look what you built. Now, fight it for yourselves, and see what your future can be.”

Now there is jubilation. The roar slams into the walls and the mountain shakes in sympathy. The cacophony blooms, then fades, then blooms again in waves of sound that last nearly ten minutes.

Eventually they level out, taking her metaphor of a unified voice and making it true. It forms a single word.

“Bracken.”

The old dragon looks at Emerald and smiles.

“You’re okay with this?” she asks once the chant has fallen off to a level where words are possible once more.

“It is the will of the people, and I could never let your father down.”

“Thank you.”

Bracken shakes his head. “You may not have much love for this place, but you have done her the greatest service you could. If a better world is born from this, then it is by your strength. Now, I imagine there is somewhere you wish to go.”

“There are a lot of places I wish to go,” Emerald says with a smile.

“Then go, child,” Bracken says. “Spread your wings once more.”

 

 

“How long are we going to wait, exactly?” Rolleck asks.

“It shouldn’t be long,” Riyo says. “I probably won’t have to strip down to my bra like last time.”

Ravi raises an eyebrow.

Rolleck shrugs. “It’s even hotter down in the caves, and this idiot decided to get in a fight with a dragon down there. It’s a wonder she didn’t combust from the inside out.”

“You can hardly make insinuations about decency,” Riyo says. “I’ve never even seen you wear a shirt.”

“My feathers keep me modest,” Ravi says. “Besides, it’s really hard to find shirts that fit me.”

“I’ve met some very skilled tailors, in my travels,” Rolleck says. In spite of their recent ordeals, his waistcoat and trousers are surviving quite well. Neither show any rips or signs of fraying. “I’m sure we’ll happen upon someone up to the challenge eventually.”

Ravi frowns. “Even with a shirt that fit, I wouldn’t be able to pull anything off as well as you, Rolleck.”

Rolleck smirks and twirls his moustache. “Clothes maketh the man,” he says. “It’s all about finding the style that works for you. If you try to imitate, you’ll always look like that’s what you’re doing. If you find a way to complement your own uniqueness, you’ll shine above all the copycats.”

Riyo stares at Rolleck for a moment as the silence stretches into uncomfortable territory.

“What? A man can’t pay attention to his appearance?”

“A man with a scary sword stuck to his arm?”

“That’s what makes the extra effort necessary. Offsetting or lightening the impact of flaws is one of the most important aspects of fashion.”

“Well, I appreciate it, Rolleck,” Ravi says.

“Thank you, Ravi.”

Riyo rolls her eyes. “I’ll be glad to have another woman along. At least then I’ll be able to talk about feminine things. Like fighting and eating.”

“You seem very confident about that,” Rolleck says. “Don’t underestimate the compelling power of duty. People with strong wills choose to do the right things in spite of their difficulty.”

“Yeah, but only dumb people choose to do the hard right thing when there’s an easier option that’s also the right thing.”

“You’re weighing monarchy against democracy in very simple terms, there. Changing the entire political framework of a kingdom is no small shrug of the shoulders. I bet-”

“Bet taken,” Riyo says, just as Ravi says, “She’s coming.”

“Boom. You owe me your eternal loyalty.”

“That was not what I was going to wager.”

“Too late. You lost. Take your lumps.” Riyo throws the last over her shoulder, as she is already running down into the crater. She leaps at Emerald and almost knocks her over with a hug.

“You waited,” Emerald says once Riyo lets go of her. “How did you know?”

“It was a hunch,” Riyo says. “Come on, let’s go.”

“You’re really leaving?” Rolleck asks, he and Ravi arriving at a more leisurely pace.

“They elected Bracken to lead them,” Emerald says. “He is far more capable than I.”

“What about your brother?” Ravi asks.

“Imprisoned, along with those who survived the attack on Folvin. Time will tell how he feels once he has had time to grieve, but for now he has accepted his punishment quietly. There is nothing left to tie me to this place.”

“Good,” Riyo says, “because I’m hot. The next place we stop should be somewhere cold.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Rolleck says as they begin walking. “The next town will probably be another cluster of wooden houses in the endless shadow of the endless forest.”

“It’s called Risselle,” Emerald says. “Assuming you’re going east.”

“It’ll be useful having someone so knowledgeable about the Song with us,” Ravi says. “At least we won’t get lost.”

“We won’t be in the Everstall Song for much longer, though,” Rolleck points out.

“Which is next?”

“Frosthold,” Emerald says.

Riyo grins. “Somewhere cold.”

“It’s just a name,” Rolleck says. He sounds sullen. “It’s not even that cold.”

 

 

 

In the Heart of Yl Torat sits a dragon with onyx scales and an air of contentment about him.

“I was sorry to hear of Trenchant’s loss,” a voice in his head says. “I know you were close, for what such things mean to your kind.”

“Thank you,” Bracken says. “But I think the events of these few days will benefit the dragons, in the long run.”

“Because you are their leader?”

“Because our eyes have been opened wider than they ever were before, especially young Black. I am not so much younger than Trenchant was, and when I am gone the people will choose again. I hope by then, I will have made him worthy of the leadership his father wished for him.”

“And the hero of this episode?”

“She is very interesting indeed,” Bracken says, smiling. “I think you are worrying for nothing, Elvolar.”

“We will see, old friend. We will see.”

 

Book Four

Fire Eater

 

Ravi Matriya is now a celebrity. There is talk in Folvin of some people who helped Chief Torglif repel the dragon prince, but nobody has seen much of them. There is also talk of an avian gentleman with mesmerising plumage and impeccable manners, and everyone has seen him. He was seemingly everywhere, the previous day – helping those trapped by fire, guiding people to safety, leaping across rooftops and quelling flames the Chief’s rain couldn’t entirely defeat. A gallant, exotic stranger in a town gives the people something to talk about that isn’t the trail of new saplings marking graves in a quiet corner of the park.

Ravi wanders the streets, greeting people courteously and hoping the way his ears burn at the whispers and feminine giggles that follow him isn’t visible. He had thought he might continue making himself useful around the city, but, with the fires extinguished, people are proving the tenacity that has seen them through all the previous attacks. He finds himself at a loose end, a small but insistent part of him regretting not accompanying Riyo and Rolleck to the volcano.

They will probably be fine.

Probably.

“You wear a pair of idle hands, avian,” a woman says as he passes a small group of people. He turns to find they are crowded around one of the dryads, her silken skin almost translucent in the cascading afternoon sunlight.

Ravi is unsure what the protocol is for talking to them, but, given their exalted position in Folvin, he decides to err on the side of flattery. He bows to her.

“Sister,” he says, because he has heard others refer to them so. “Is there something I can do for you?”

The gaggle of onlookers, who had apparently been watching the dryad fix their houses with her arts, are now muttering and smiling. The Sister pays them no heed.

“You chose not to travel to the volcano with your companions,” she says. “Why is that?”

“I didn’t feel I would be much use to them,” Ravi says. The strands of guilt that have been plaguing him all morning start tickling the bottom of his stomach again.

“And it has nothing to do with the danger a city of dragons presents?” the dryad says. She wears a smile that says she already knows the answer.

Ravi does not want to say it out loud.

“It’s perfectly acceptable,” she says, still smiling. “If this could be solved with words, the Chief would already have seen to it. It is a dangerous expedition with no chance of success.”

“Then why did you let your apprentice go?”

“Clara has something to prove to herself,” the dryad says. “For a human, her powers are strong, but she has only the Sisters to compare herself to, and so she feels inferior. Maybe this journey will help her find her worth, or maybe it won’t. She cannot know until she tries, but it speaks well of her character that she has chosen to undertake it. When she is ready, she will bear us beautiful, strong children.”

“Um. Us?” Ravi says. There is probably something important to him within the dryad’s words, but he is rather distracted by the last bit.

The dryad nods, smiling wider at his surprise. “The leaf guild is just the name we take in the Folvin parlance, Sister just a title we have adopted from them. We dryads are born to a colony, then, once we come of age, we wander the forest alone, sometimes for decades. When we find a new colony that accepts us, and that we accept in turn, we join it. In human terms, it is akin to marriage, but to many rather than one.”

“So… Clara is your wife?” Ravi asks, blinking. His brain is travelling down a path of imagination that involves a harem of beautiful, scantily-clad dryads. He tries to focus on the dryad’s glittering brown eyes rather than her exposed curves, but it does not help much.

“Yes,” the dryad says. Her eyes shimmer like gemstones. Ravi suspects she is teasing him, though why she would do this, he cannot fathom. “The dryad reproduce slowly. Conception is difficult, gestation long and often painful. We have found, however, that humans who share our powers can also bear our children, and they do so on a human timescale with much less risk. It is greatly beneficial to take a human into our colonies.

“And it helps that she is so young and pretty.” The dryad adds. She gains a faraway look for a moment, and Ravi tries in vain not to follow her train of thought to a place of drooping greenery exposing pale skin…

“Why are you telling me this?” Ravi asks in desperation.

“We have drifted a little off-topic, haven’t we?” Her smile is unashamed. “My point, was that Clara feels she must find worth. She thinks it is for us, but she is already everything we could wish her to be and more. Many of the colony, myself included, are deeply infatuated with her. She seeks worth for herself, and we wish her to find it, so we allow her to walk into harms way in seeking it. You have the look of someone who seeks the same worth.”

“I…” Ravi says, but falls short. He hasn’t thought about it. Hasn’t thought about anything but his village and its curse for so long that he had resigned himself to that fate. Now that he is free of it, he doesn’t really know what he wants.

“The trees tell of your village, Ravi Matriya,” the dryad says, grinning at his surprise. “You did an admirable thing for this forest and its denizens, but now you must move on. Seek your worth. To do that, you must decide what it is that will make you feel worthy.”

Ravi is silent for a moment. The dryad’s words have expelled his baser thoughts, allowing him to think of himself. What did he want? What would fulfil him, now that he walked the earth with no darkness looming in his wake?

“Think on it,” the dryad says, turning back to her work. “And know that, even though you fought alone, your actions have made you friends both here in Folvin and across the endless forest. Even if all they can do to aid you is share their wisdom, please receive it graciously as thanks for what you have done.”

The group of humans who had been lingering far enough away to be respectful sense the end of their conversation, and return to the dryad, offering help and thanks for her rebuilding their livelihoods.

Ravi frowns after her for a moment, not really seeing anything. His thoughts gnaw at the dryad’s words like feral kingrats, trying to find a juicy truth within them. Instead they find a hole that needs filling, and a creeping sense of guilt. He looks toward the volcano and sighs. Outside of Fefille he has nothing, but he owes a debt to Rolleck and Riyo. And, truth be told, he is rather fond of them. It is just a hunch, but he feels that his worth may lie with them. And if he is to find it, then he will probably have to stand face to face with a dragon.

 

 

“Excuse me?” Emerald says. The girl’s cheery grin does not jive with her words, and, though she is small of stature and skinny of frame, she wears a dangerous aura.

“I can’t squish dragons,” she explains. “I need to work out how to do it if I want to find the sunlight stone.”

“You are in our home,” Emerald says. The anger that flares in her is a surprise. She does not belong here. Even so, the notion of someone threatening this place reminds her of those memories that brought her back to her father’s side. She might not see her people in the light he did, but just knowing how he felt is enough. “If you are not very, very careful, you will be ‘squished’.”

The girl rolls her head to either side. The sound of her neck cracking echoes in the hot dark space.

“Gravity Mould,” Riyo says. Her reality rolls out in front of her like a corridor. She has always defaulted to opening it as a sphere, but the smaller it is, the greater her capacity to manipulate things within it. If she is to overcome the dragons’ ability to resist her, she will need to find ways of increasing her strength. She must become more adept not only at manipulating things within her reality, but at manipulating her reality itself.

Emerald blinks as something soft and ephemeral envelops her.

“I see,” she says. The girl’s confidence begins to make a little more sense. Emerald has encountered crafters before, however. Whatever the girl’s reality does, she will find Emerald even more capable of resisting it than others in the crater.

“Are you ready?” the girl says.

Emerald narrows her eyes.

“Here we go.”

Weight. Emerald feels as though the cave has collapsed, and Yl Torat rests on her shoulders. Her knee hits the stone beneath her and it shatters, making the cavern quake and sending wriggling cracks webbing out around her. She puts a hand down, struggling to breathe past the vice grip around her chest. Her talons etch new grooves into the rock, her wings press painfully into her back. She feels it in her ears, in her chest, in her belly. Her muscles strain and scream, but she cannot even raise her head.

She is being squished. By a human.

“It’s better, like this,” the girl says. “But it’s easier because you’re a smaller target.”

Emerald barely hears her over the rushing of her blood. The shock of it is wearing off, and anger floods in to replace it.

“You think me easy?” she growls.

“No,” the girl says. “You’re resisting harder than the other dragon I met.”

“Well then,” Emerald says, and drags in as deep a breath as she can.

She has travelled the Everstall Song and learned much of the people and creatures that live there. In doing so, she has learned even more about herself. The dragons’ pride in their instincts, in what comes to them from birth, has blinded them to what they can be by examining those instincts. And by surpassing them.

The pilot flame in her throat burns backwards, down into her lungs. Dragonflame licks at the blood that comes to take oxygen, and her bloodstream ignites. Fury burns all the way through to her heart, rushes up to the surface of her skin, seeps out from beneath her scales.

Riyo’s mouth drops open as the dragon before her is wreathed in pink flame.

It opens even wider as she stands up, her wings unfolding with a burst of heat that tousles Riyo’s hair. Amber eyes crackle in the magma-lit gloom, enough anger in their depths to shame the sun.

This. This is what a dragon should be.

Emerald roars, and the pressure leaves her body completely as she sends a thin stream of raw indigo flame at the girl. It melts the wall opposite like ice, rock turning white hot and sloughing down to the floor.

The girl is gone.

“That,” her voice says, the echo making her difficult to locate, “was amazing.”

Emerald’s eyes pierce shadows to her left and right and find nothing. She growls and turns her attention to the ceiling. The girl is standing upside-down, her hair windswept but rolling over her shoulders as if she were on the ground. Sweat drips upwards over her bare stomach.

“Let me show you more,” Emerald says, curling her talons and feeling the fire flicker through her knuckles.

“Please,” the girl says. She sounds excited. “Even if I keep trying, I can’t squish you.” She raises a foot and slams it down on the ceiling. Rock sunders and the whole cave shakes, spilling crumbling debris towards the floor.

But it doesn’t reach. A starscape of floating stone fills the space, each one spinning gently in place.

The girl pulls a pair of needle-like daggers from her belt. Holding both in reverse grip, she falls into a fighting stance.

“Round two,” she says.

 

 

Rolleck the Lost could get lost in a place like this. The caves are all the same scorched black stone, lit at intervals by oozing magma. They twist and twine and turn, with branches and fissures that could lead to the other side of the mountain or dead-end a few metres into their darkness. The air is a soup that is not diluted by his sweat. The soft layers of ash make his footfalls crunch like he is walking on a carpet of autumn leaves.

Bracken growls behind them, and he flinches. Clara gives a little whimper. Though the dragon has been nothing but courteous, he is still a dragon. Rolleck has not had long enough to become accustomed to having him in his blind spot.

“It is quiet,” he says.

Rolleck has been wondering about this. Yl Torat is called a kingdom of dragons, but, so far, the guard at the gap and Bracken are the only two he has seen.

“Is there a meeting, or something, planned for today?” Clara asks. Her voice shivers as though she is in the middle of a blizzard.

“No,” Bracken says. “But if one were to be called, perhaps by a certain prince in response to the news that humans have come to the crater for the first time in more than fifty years, then…” He growls again, turning them into a passage that angles upward. “The meeting hall is close to the surface.” He takes a few massive strides and then growls a third time, turning back to Rolleck and Clara as they catch up. “This will be undignified and uncomfortable,” he says, putting a claw down, ‘palm’ up, “but it will be far quicker. I have a bad feeling.”

Rolleck glances at Clara, then shrugs and steps up onto the dragon’s claw. He figures that Bracken is one of the stronger dragons in this kingdom, to earn the rank of general. He has had plenty of opportunities to crush them and has taken none. He helps Clara up after him, and Bracken lifts them awkwardly to his back. His scales are hard, and though the ridges of his spine offer something to hold onto they are not ideal for it.

“Hold on as best you can,” Bracken says, and begins to trot through the caves. They are bumped and jostled around, but Rolleck has to agree that they cover ground much faster this way. They twist and turn through identical passages, Bracken’s talons pounding the rocks and kicking up ash that settles quietly back to the ground in their wake.

Rolleck grabs Clara’s arm to keep her from tumbling from the dragon’s back as it comes to a grinding halt that leaves deep claw marks in the rock. The barbs of his sword arm dig in to his flesh where he is hugging the sole spine keeping them from a harsh fall onto hard stone. He then looks around, eyes finding shadows and shapes in the gloopy magmalight. He can feel Bracken’s tension, a tangible omen of something terrible.

The ground begins to shake.

 

 

Emerald ducks as another meteorite rockets through the space her head just occupied. It smashes into the ground behind her, making another crater and sending fragments of stone and billows of ash ricocheting through the field of floating debris. The thunder of the impact rolls through the cave, followed by a rainfall clattering.

The girl is in her face again, and all she can do is bring her arms up to block. Her punches fall with the same impact as the rocks, and, though Emerald can resist them, even her flame cowl will not negate them completely. She feels herself slide back and growls in anger, loosing a wide arc of fire from her throat. The girl is gone again.

She moves quickly, changing direction at a whim and bouncing between her asteroids, each one a potential projectile. Emerald quickly determined that her most intense flame was too slow to touch her, so she had switched to releasing wide billows in the hope of catching her. For her part, the girl now has a vivid red burn on her left arm and shoulder, and two gruesome scratches have made grooves in her left thigh. They are not deep enough to be fatal, but hot red blood drips out of them over her ruined trousers.

If one were to glance at their battle, see Riyo’s dishevelled hair and clothes, her bleeding leg and sooty face, it would seem that she is losing. Emerald knows that this is not the case, and it infuriates her. Her cowl is the only thing keeping her from being crushed by the girl’s reality, and it is running out. She can already feel it. A sensation no dragon should ever know. Her own blood is burning her. And it hurts.

She attempts to grab the girl as she sweeps by, but her talons rake through nothing but air. She spins and is forced to slam aside another igneous fastball, the impact on her forearm sending a monumental lance of pain through her that temporarily masks the rising agony of her every blood vessel. A guttural cry of pain escapes her throat, and the cowl flares violent and bright around her. The shadows shudder along the walls. Emerald spies the girl amidst her flock and breathes her utter fury straight at her.

Riyo is running out of time. Her body is tired, and she is straying into overtime on her reality. Too much longer and closing it will render her unconscious. Longer than that, and she is in real trouble.

The next gout of flame is enormous. She cannot reach its edge safely, so she pulls in her satellites, smashing them together into a shield then pushing the air around her away, keeping the impossible heat from giving her any more blisters. It’s another strong manipulation, and Riyo decides she has one more move to end this.

The flame begins to die, and the earth begins to shake.

Emerald stops, panting. Each breath is torture, and with a final growl she lets all the air from her lungs and waits. She starves the fire in her blood as the deep, ominous note of the earthquake builds in intensity. Her chest throbs with the aching need to breathe, but she has to be sure the cowl is extinguished, or she will harbour the flame too long and burn herself from the inside out.

Riyo lets her shield crumble. The dragon is kneeling, her body still. The flames around her die down, losing their brightness and letting hot darkness seep back into the world. She doesn’t really get it, but it seems their fight is over. She lets her reality close. A searing pain fills her mind with a brand-new kind of fire, seeming to scorch her very thoughts. She screws her eyes closed and bears it for as long as she needs to. The only sensation of time passing is the rumble of the volcano, growing louder and stronger.

When Riyo opens her eyes, the only light is the distant magma flow. The dragon’s crimson scales are dark, her eyes barely catching the glow. They are both breathing hard, watching each other without moving.

Emerald feels it, then. The quake becomes something else, the shifting of earth and magma taking on a shape she recognises. A rumbling wail of despair. Of sadness. Of loss.

“No,” she whispers. Her muscles ache in protest as she stands. Her blood no longer burns, but it still runs hot through her veins. Her arm throbs where the girl’s rock hit it, and another blooming bruise on the back of her hip makes itself known too. She shoves down all the pain, turns, and starts running.

“Wait,” Riyo shouts, but the dragon does not. “That was fun!” She cups her hands around her mouth. “Let’s do it again sometime!” Her voice echoes for a moment and then falls silent. She looks around at the battered tunnel, long swathes of the walls missing or crumbling, melting or falling. She looks forward into darkness, and then backward into darkness. “Where the heck even am I?” she asks nobody.

 

 

 

Though dust had ruffled down from the ceiling in sheets and the very stone that surrounded them seemed to roar like an animal, Rolleck doesn’t notice any true structural damage as a result of the quake.

All is still once more, save for Clara, who is at risk of vibrating into her constituent atoms.

“What w-was that-t?” she moans.

Bracken is quiet. Rolleck feels that the moment that passes now is deep and powerful. That the dragon beneath him has changed.

“Yl Torat mourns,” Bracken says. There is a coldness to his voice that was not there before.

“The king,” Rolleck says, closing his eyes. “I am sorry.”

“His time was here.” The dragon begins walking. “Yet knowing it does nothing to gentle the pain.”

“You were close?” Clara asks. Her trembling has lessened somewhat, though there is still a quaver to her voice.

“Not in a personal sense,” Bracken says. “We shared the brotherhood of comrades. In some ways distant, but in others much closer than even lovers. We shared victory and defeat, as well as serving each to each other, at times. Truthfully, I don’t think words can encapsulate our relationship in any definite way, except to say that it was long. I don’t think you can share your life with someone for that long without them becoming a central part of it, or without there remaining a chasm when they leave it.”

It’s minutes more of walking in contemplative silence before they begin to hear a low, churning growl, as though some horrific creature is moving through the walls. Bracken turns a corner, and the tunnel opens up into an enormous cavern with a pool of magma bubbling in its centre. The growl is not one monster, but more than a hundred. Dragons muttering to one another in small groups creates a bass susurrus that vibrates the very rock of the volcano.

Bracken stays close to the entrance rather than strolling into the meeting with a pair of humans on his back.

“This is a very poorly timed coincidence,” Rolleck says, looking over the mass of dragons. That they should all be here the very moment the king dies, while there are humans present in the volcano, smacks of conspiracy to his police officer’s instincts.

“He wouldn’t…” Bracken says.

Gruff emerges from a tunnel on the other side of the cavern, still favouring his leg and with his eye closed where Rolleck struck him. He is accompanied by the massive dragon that met them at the gap, the one Bracken had called Rival. The earthquake murmur of dragon gossip falls away as Gruff steps up onto a crop of stone that forms a podium.

“People of Yl Torat,” he says. His voice is even harsher than it had been when he was promising to destroy Folvin. “My father is dead.”

The dragons roar. It rolls through the caverns of Yl Torat, unfolds across the Everstall Song like a thunderclap, and the forest shudders before it. Rolleck feels it in the marrow of his bones, has to brace himself against the air as it shakes. Clara’s cry of pain and fear is lost to its grand cacophony.

When it dies away, Gruff grips the edge of his platform with the talons of his good claw. They dig deep into the stone, crumbling it and sending streams of dust down towards the crowd. The next comes out as a furious hiss, that sucks everything out of the cavern.

“Murdered.”

Silence so complete that every heart in the space is still. Disbelief robs the world of its senses for an eye-blink moment.

“By a human.”

A wall of noise hits Rolleck once more. The previous roar brought grief and despair with it, but this time there is no unity of emotion. Dragons clamour in a thousand shades of confusion and anger. Chaos threatens with gnashing teeth and gouts of flame. He feels Bracken’s voice only because the scales beneath his feet vibrate in a different pattern to the air. He grabs Clara and drops to the ground, ignoring the girl’s confusion.

“You must leave. Immediately,” the dragon says. His voice is near-deafening to overcome the fury behind him. “Go until you reach a turn, then turn left. It will take you out into the crater. Return to Folvin and warn them that oblivion comes for them.”

“But…” Clara says. The noise is falling, so her yell is audible, if only to them. “He must be lying.”

Bracken’s claws bury themselves in the rock, grinding like a whetstone against a blade. “It does not matter. Deception is not in the nature of dragons, and we are equally poor at recognising it in others. That Black declares it will be proof enough for most, and spell destruction for Folvin and the Everstall Song. Go.”

“What will you do?” Rolleck asks.

“I cannot stop them now that the king is dead, but I can buy you time.”

“Thank you,” Clara says, putting a hand on the dragon’s claw. She is still shaking, but Bracken nods before turning towards the congregation of dragons.

“What we must do is clear,” Gruff’s voice echoes out through the caves as Rolleck and Clara begin running.

“Nothing is yet clear,” Bracken replies.

 

 

 

Riyo pursues an anguished wail into a grand chamber. The heat here makes her skin numb, makes her eyes water and her knees weak. The magmalight ripples as the air shimmers, melting Riyo’s entire world.

The ceiling has collapsed, spilling huge chunks of rock down into the centre of the cavern. And onto a dragon.

Her crimson-scaled rival kneels before the cascade of stone, sobbing onto the snout of the unfortunate soul that sticks out from the pile. Riyo walks slowly up to her.

Emerald wails again. All of her guilt for not coming back sooner sticks swords into the gaps between her scales. It feels as though her heart has burst and beats no more. It feels as though everything she is has drained away, leaving emptiness. It feels…

She slams her fist into the ground. Trying desperately to turn this devastation into something she can understand. Into an emotion that makes sense.

She tries anger.

The human woman is by her side, and Emerald’s claws are ready to rip out her throat and cast her body into the fires of Yl Torat. Her breath seeps out as flame as she growls, furious that this creature would interrupt her grief.

And the woman stands still. Her head bowed, her hands clasped before her. Her eyes closed.

Emerald stays her hand. Her anger is not for this woman. She looks up, to where rock has been carved with claws and melted with flame.

“Is there anything I can do?” the woman says. Her voice is soft. Kind.

“The rocks,” Emerald manages, looking back to her father. Little of him is visible. “Uncover him. Please.”

Riyo nods and whispers open her reality. The debris rises, delicately, from the body of the dragon, then drifts to the back of the cavern where magma churns like boiling stew in a deep cauldron. Deep, molten splashes mark the steady demise of the cave-in, revealing the gruesome battering the elderly dragon has endured. His scales are darker than his daughter’s, faded with time to the near-black of coagulated blood. Despite the ruin of his body his expression is serene, his features calm, his eyes closed.

“Stand back,” Emerald says.

Riyo nods, retreating towards the cavern’s entrance and watching with solemn interest. She has many questions, but even she recognises that this is a time to keep her silence.

Emerald kneels by her father’s head. She lays a delicate kiss on his snout.

“I’m so sorry, father,” she says. “Your end should not have come this way. To be abandoned by your daughter and betrayed by your son. To have built something so great, only for it to be ignored by the one and used by the other. We are neither of us worthy of your legacy.” She stands and moves around to his neck. She feels a tear slip over her cheek as her claws rake through the scales of his throat. His arterial blood dribbles from the wound, thick and still hot, but without the drive of a heartbeat.

“Born of flame, so returned to it,” she says. “May your power be shared by everyone you love, may your life be written in ash and smoke across the history of this world, and may your soul join with eternity, an ever-burning flame.” Her pilot gathers in her throat. She holds it, channelling her grief and pain into it. It builds in intensity, until pure white light shines out between her fangs. With a scream that echoes her loss through the cavern, she ignites her father’s blood. It burns deep into his body, roaring into his heart and out through every vessel. Indigo light flickers from his back, then near his left forearm, then from a dozen other places, tracing patterns around his scales until they join together to form his final grand pyre.

“Your father was a great dragon,” a voice says from the entrance to the hall. Riyo spins around to find three dragons entering, their scales fading into colour as magmalight reveals them. The largest, on the left, is clad in deep violet. The second, not so much smaller than the first, and on the right, is a blue as proud as the clear sky. The smallest in the centre glimmers like gold. Or bronze.

“His strength in uniting the dragons and building this kingdom will no doubt be remembered for millennia.”

“Bronze,” Emerald says, turning her back on her father’s funeral pyre.

“What they’ll remember best about him, though, is his son.”

“Where is he?” Emerald growls.

“Your father may have built this kingdom, but Black will build an empire. This world will bow before him. And you…”

“Where is he?” Emerald’s yell carries her anger into the walls, shaking the mountain once more.

“Your name will be trampled in the dirt. You will be spoken of with hatred as the human-loving filth that harboured his murderer.”

“What?” Riyo says.

Emerald glances at Riyo and she scowls. “So, he’s in the audience chamber.” She shakes her head. “You think you’re being so damn clever, but I’ve seen human infants with more guile.”

“And yet we trap you here anyway,” Bronze says smirking. “And once we present the human’s corpse to the kingdom and declare you the fool who brought her to this very chamber, not one of them will believe you innocent.” He turns and begins receding into the shadows once more. “Kill the human, restrain the princess.”

Malt and Riches smirk and step forward.

“You’re content to help my brother, knowing he killed our father?” Emerald says, low and cold.

“Your father was on the brink anyway,” Malt says.

“He was too weak to do what Prince Black will,” Riches says.

Riyo frowns. “I think a dragon that commands the respect of an entire kingdom and leads them with wisdom is far stronger than one that has to lie and murder his own father to make people follow him.”

“He was stronger than any of us,” Emerald says.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Riyo says, turning to her. “And I’m sorry I never asked your name, too.”

“Emerald,” Emerald says. “Your name is Riyo, is it not?”

“That’s right.”

“I apologise for attacking you earlier, Riyo.”

“My fault. I phrased my search for a sparring partner kinda badly,” Riyo says, turning back to her leering would-be murderers.

“You did it on purpose so that I wouldn’t ignore you.”

Riyo smiles. “I guess you see through guile a little better than a toddler.”

“Not really, since you got what you wanted.”

Riyo tries to feel chagrined, but she is pleased that Emerald isn’t upset with her. “So, what now?”

“You said you wanted to learn to squash dragons.” Emerald gestures towards the violet-scaled dragon. “Malt has volunteered to be a test subject.” She comes to stand before Riches, looks up at him, and curls her talons into a fist.

The two large dragons glance at one another, both scowling at being ignored.

Malt breathes her flame at Riyo, while Riches steps forward and stamps on Emerald.

This does not go as either of them plans.

 

 

Ravi wipes his brow. It is a hot enough day that the shade of the trees is little comfort, the sunlight dancing freely between leaves and needles to find his flesh. Even the soil beneath his feet holds the heat. Were he not heading towards his sure and certain death, he might call the weather nice. With the volcano looming ahead of him, though, the sweat on his skin feels like a portent of flame that makes him deeply uncomfortable.

His plan is to go to the lip of the crater and try to spot the others without getting spotted himself. It seems unlikely that they would go inside the volcano unless something has gone very badly wrong. If that’s the case, then… Well. He will come up with a new plan once the first proves to be insufficient. For now, he concentrates on the trek, on the relentless motion and the silent forest.

“Ravi Matriya,” a voice says.

Ravi leaps. He snatches hold of a branch and swings onto it, pulling his bow over his shoulder and knocking an arrow. It is a swift, seamless movement that requires no thought, allowing his eyes to scan the woods around him.

They are still empty. His perfect eyes see nothing.

“Ravi Matriya,” it says again. From behind him.

He spins, a flicker of blue light responding to his sudden fear, crackling down his bowstring. The trunk of the tree glares down the shaft of his arrow, unamused.

“Yes?” Ravi says slowly.

“Oh good, you haven’t passed the treeline yet,” the voice says. It is coming from the tree, and it is warm and feminine.

“I take it I am speaking to a dryad?” he says, feeling a little embarrassed. He has been moving quickly, but the edge of the forest is still a way away.

“Yes. My name is Tremythenira, we spoke earlier.” There is a sliver of unaired laughter in her voice. “I have news. I’m afraid you are best served by returning to the city.”

“Um,” Ravi says.

“The dragon king is dead. It seems an attack is imminent.”

“Oh.” Ravi realises he still has his bow drawn and relaxes, carefully returning the arrow to its quiver and putting the bow back over his shoulder. Simple movements. Simple thoughts. “That’s quite bad, isn’t it?”

“Clara thinks so, yes. She and your friend Rolleck the Lost have just reached the treeline and relayed the news. The chief was hoping you all would hang around and see if you can help?”

Ravi sits down on the branch with a sigh. “Help with what? An evacuation?”

“Or a defence. The city council are arguing with him about it now. The Sisters are going to go along with whatever plan they come up with. Personally, I’m not sure there’s much point in evacuating. Gruff will start burning the rest of the Song once he’s done with Folvin.”

Ravi watches the shadow of his legs whip across the ground below as he swings them back and forth. He had thought he felt set adrift after liberating Fefille, but while travelling with Riyo and Rolleck he’d at least felt as though he had a destination. Now he is merely wandering around, being pulled back and forth by his own indecisiveness. He is realising that he needs some manner of direction, at least until he becomes happy without his shackles.

“I will wait here and return with Rolleck and Clara,” he tells the tree. “Whatever they decide to do is what I will do.” A moment passes. “What about Riyo?”

“Apparently some complications arose during their talks with the dragons.”

Ravi finds himself smiling. The sweat on his skin is already starting to feel less ominous.

“That does not surprise me.”

 

 

 

In a simpler, better world, the things that Riches steps on give way to his strength, are crushed and broken. In a simpler, better world, things Malt breathes on ignite and die screaming.

In this world, Emerald catches Riches’ talon and stops it dead. The rock beneath her cracks, sending up a billow of dust.

In this world, Riyo creates a wedge of shifted gravity as she had in Folvin, peeling the heat and flame away to either side of her.

When dust settles and fire dies, both Emerald and Riyo are smiling.

Riyo’s run of bad dragons has ended. She has determined that, while many dragons suck, it is not true of all of them. Emerald and Bracken have renewed her faith in an image of terrifying but beautiful creatures of legend. As with humans, however, it seems that only a few can be legends. The rest, despite appearances, are boring. So, though she has not yet found the power to squish them, she is at least strong enough to defeat them.

A leap takes her right into the dragon’s face. She has seen fear in the eyes of a dragon once before, and she is gratified to see it again here. This time it is all for her, and it only has time to widen Malt’s eyes before her kick connects with the side of her snout.

Emerald takes hold of Riches’ claw with both hands and roars as she snaps the digit it is attached to. She then twists, planting her own claws deep and wrenching the larger dragon around. The throw sends him rocketing into the wall on the right side of the cavern entrance just as Malt hits on the left. Twin booms of shuddering earth and cracking stone chase each other through the tunnels of Yl Torat.

Riyo grimaces as she closes her reality again, pain jabbing needles into the back of her eyes. Emerald collapses with a sigh and looks back at her father. He has burned away to bone, and even that is becoming ash. She is tired. But she is not done yet.

She still needs to kill her brother.

She looks up and finds Riyo standing over her, hand outstretched. She takes it and lets the human help her up.

“What now?” Riyo says, looking towards the tunnel the bronze dragon had taken.

“I make my brother pay for what he’s done,” Emerald says.

“Okay, but…” Riyo yawns. “I’m not sure I can hack another big fight.”

“You need not be involved,” Emerald says. “You need not be here at all.”

“That’s true,” Riyo says. “But that bronze dragon seemed pretty confident the other dragons would believe him over you. You might have to fight all of them. Seems like that might be pretty difficult alone. Especially since you’re tired.”

“And whose fault is that?” Emerald says with a glower. Riyo has a point, however. The other dragons, having been informed of Emerald’s ‘betrayal’, will burn first and ask questions later. Such is their nature, particularly when they are angry. And Black will ensure they are angry.

Riyo grimaces. “I had no idea when I provoked you that we were about to be framed for killing the king.”

Emerald growls. She cannot let Black and Bronze get away with their treachery, but she also cannot reasonably fight the entire kingdom. She needs a way to convince them of her innocence before they claw her to pieces.

“I need to speak to Bracken,” she says.

Riyo nods. “He seems pretty reasonable. Strong, too.”

“The strongest dragon I’ve ever known,” Emerald agrees.

“I hope he was able to keep Rolleck and Clara out of this mess.” Riyo frowns. “I should probably go and find them.” She turns back to Emerald. “See you around, I guess.”

Emerald grabs her before she gets more than a few steps.

“Are you an idiot? Do you even know the way out from here?”

“No,” Riyo says. She shrugs. “I usually end up where I need to be eventually, though.”

“Just follow me,” Emerald says with a sigh. “If Bracken is with your friends then he’s probably close to the surface anyway. I’ll take you out and then find him.”

“Oh ok. Cool.”

Riyo pauses by the entrance to pay her final respects to the dragon king, who is now only embers amidst ash. Emerald returns to him and bows her head. She whispers a final “I’m sorry,” under her breath, then takes one of his claws. They are the only part of him able to withstand his flame. She slips it into the strap around her waist and together, she and Riyo head for the surface.

Riyo is reminded of how hot she is. While she has had other things to focus on, she has been able to mostly ignore her sweat slicked skin and growing thirst. As they walk in silence, however, the air reasserts itself. It presses down on her as though she has given it extra weight herself. She seeks to distract herself.

“Why do you wear that stuff?” she asks, waving generally at Emeralds collection of leather straps covered in various bits and pieces from around the forest. She is also curious as to how it survived Emerald setting herself on fire, but she is willing to chalk that down to dragon magic.

“I travelled,” Emerald says, glancing down at her collection. “The forest always appealed to me far more than the volcano, so I left home as soon as I could. I gathered things I liked and kept gifts I was given by the people and creatures I met.

“My father always used to say I was strange,” she smiles at the memory, but it quickly turns sour as she recalls the blaze of his funeral pyre. “He was always so good to both of us. He indulged us each in our own desires. Black always wanted to be strong, to be the pinnacle of what he thought a dragon should be. Father trained him, encouraged his growth at every turn. And when I told him I wanted to leave, to explore, he had Bracken teach me everything he could of the world, then sent me out into it with a smile. He built this kingdom, but he never forced its weight onto either of us.”

“Sounds like he was a good dad,” Riyo says. She doesn’t wonder about her own parents, simply accepts that they were never there. Perhaps their reasons were good, perhaps not. It doesn’t really matter. She would be a different person if she had had a kindly father, a different person again if her father had been a dragon. She is who she is, and that is fine with her.

“Maybe. Or maybe if he had imposed on us a little, I might not have ignored the responsibility entirely. Black might have seen this kingdom as more than just a means to destroy the Everstall Song.”

They fall to silence again, but it is not long before they reach the surface. They do not get there before Black and Bronze, however.

“The people have accepted my plan, general,” Black growls.

“And as I keep telling you, that is not how monarchy works.” Bracken sits in the entrance, the sun behind him as it slides towards the lip of the crater. “If your father had wished for you to take his throne, he would have said so. Instead, he was clear that it would pass to his first born.”

“So, you would make a traitor queen?” Bronze says. He and a cluster of Black’s bloodthirsty coterie stand in opposition to Bracken. There are perhaps twenty of them, a rainbow of scales glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

“I am no fool, Bronze,” Bracken says, narrowing his eyes. “Spare your lies for those with fungus behind their eyes. They may traipse behind you for a while, but when your deceit in unveiled you will find you are the ones branded traitors.”

“And who will find the truth?” Black says. “Now that the human is dead, and Emerald is imprisoned, nobody remains to dispute what I say.”

“You underestimate your sister,” Bracken says. “And humanity, as well, apparently.” He looks at Emerald and Riyo then, amusement in his eyes.

Black turns, along with the rest of the group of dragons, and fearsome snarls break out across their features.

“Bronze?” Black snarls.

Bronze is silent for a moment, wearing a perplexed expression. “Sorry, my heart. It seems I did underestimate them. I will deal with it.”

He and several other dragons step forward, but a crash draws their attention back to Bracken.

The black dragon has slammed his claw down, shattering the ground.

“You will do no such thing,” he says. A number of the other dragons take a step back from his anger.

“Make yourself light,” Emerald mumbles. Riyo glances at her, then nods. Her reality opens, flush against the surface of her skin and clothes.

“I respected your father, Black. He was far stronger and wiser than you, and he knew that to declare war against humanity was foolish. He carved out this kingdom to keep the dragons safe from them. Your naivete has made our people trust you, but it will also get them killed.”

“What?” Black scoffs. A titter of laughter passes amongst the dragons, but it dies quickly in the intensity of Bracken’s stare. “Humans are pathetic and weak. Perhaps in their swarms they might slay us alone, but acting together, we are unstoppable. We will burn them.”

Bracken shakes his head. “I have been out there. I have seen them. Your father trusted my knowledge of battle enough to make me general, and I know what our people are capable of. Should the humans have reason to destroy us, they will. Utterly. Do not give them that reason, Black.”

“You have grown weak,” Black says. There is pity in his voice. “Just like father. I will show you just what we can do. Starting with that one.” He tosses his head towards Riyo. “Kill her.”

Emerald grabs Riyo, and before she can feel the rush of passing air they are standing beside Bracken at the cave entrance. For his part, Bracken does not blink at this turn of speed.

“Go,” he says.

“He killed my father,” Emerald says. “If you are going to fight them, I’m staying.”

Bracken shakes his head. “Even the two of us cannot beat twenty, and you do not look like you are at your best.”

“I am fine,” Emerald says, staring into her brother’s good eye; a mirror of her own but for the darkness dwelling there. A festering hatred that is born of ignorance and rides on arrogance, it dulls the amber they have inherited from their father, steals the light he gave them.

“You are not. Go. Rest. I will try to convince your brother of his foolishness, but if he will not be swayed, then the humans will show him that which I have tried to warn him. Fight with them, and you will see justice for your father.”

Emerald is silent. Torn. There is wisdom in Bracken’s words, and her heart burns to see her brother pay. To crush the very life from his throat with her own claws.

“What about you?” Riyo asks.

“Black dare not kill me. Not yet. Our people do not know Emerald – even those who did so when she was a child believe her corrupted by the outside world. I, however, have their respect. Should he kill me, they will begin to question him. With scrutiny, they will see his lie about the king’s death, and he will be undone. I will be restrained.” He smirks. “Or I will put them all in their place. If there is no attack on Folvin by tomorrow, assume these old scales proved tougher than I thought.”

Emerald growls. “I do not like this.”

“Nor do I.” Bracken’s tone is serious once more, the deep rumble of distant thunder. “Now go.”

Emerald turns her back on her brother.

“Good luck,” Riyo says.

Emerald grabs her by the belt.

“Hey, hang on. Can’t I just ride on your back?”

“Not a chance,” Emerald says, and leaps, spreading her wings in a great crimson arc. They catch the air, pushing heat and sunlight back towards the earth as they drive her higher into the air. Riyo dangles from her hand like a suitcase, weightless and complaining.

 

 

Black watches as his sister escapes, his teeth grinding once more and hatred burning in his gut. If she had just stayed gone, lost herself in the forest she loves so much, this would have been so simple.

“She is no longer important,” Bronze says, nudging him gently with his snout. “Either she will return as powerless to change the people’s minds as she is now, or she will fight with the humans in Folvin, further confirming her treachery. We must focus on the general for now.”

“We kill him,” Black growls.

“No,” Bronze says. “He spoke out against us at the assembly. If he is killed, the people will think we wish him silenced. But they agreed to the destruction of Folvin, so for him to stand against us here is in defiance of the people’s will. For us to show mercy will only make us more credible, and him, less. For us to pity him, to explain away his treachery as irrationality born of grief for his fallen friend, will deflect attention away from what we do not wish them to look at.”

Black nods. He loves Bronze for the way he sees Black’s ambition as his own, and more, sees the way to achieving it.

“Stand aside, general,” Black says. “It is the dragon’s will, the will of Yl Torat, that the human city be destroyed. You can lead our army to victory, as you did for my father, or you can let us pass. Anything else is betrayal.”

“I will happily betray liars and murderers, my prince,” Bracken says. “I will happily fight for your father’s ideals, even if it means fighting his son.”

“Then you leave us no choice,” Black says.

“You chose the path that brought us here. Not I,” Bracken says. “But perhaps this is for the best.” He widens his stance, spreads his wings. “I have had no luck convincing you that the world beyond this mountain is not our rightful domain, but theirs. Instead, I will show you. Everything I learned out there. Everything they taught me.” He inhales his pilot, a deep, powerful breath that sets a torch to his blood as it passes his lungs. His cowl builds, and burst forth from beneath his scales, drawing shocked gasps from several of the dragons before him. “Watch carefully, young prince,” he roars. “All of my power is but candle to the inferno the humans can bring to life. Test me and see if you still wish to ignite their enmity.”

He charges.

 

 

Six figures wait at the gate of Folvin, lit by a pair of flickering torches that barely hold the newly-gathered darkness at bay. Emerald lands gracelessly before them and tosses Riyo to the ground, where she wakes with a start. She regained her weight when she fell asleep, but even under normal gravity she is lighter than she looks. She looks quite light.

“Ouch,” she says, standing, then, “Oh, we’re here. Hey guys.”

Emerald recognises the bird man that chased her out of Folvin and the fire chief, who stands as tall as her and twice as wide. A third is a leaf-clad dryad, her arm around the waist of a short, similarly-attired human. The last are a human with a sword strapped to his arm by cruel wires and eyes with iron in their depths, and a scrawny human with greying hair and a twitchy demeanour. His hands clutch at an exceptionally-crafted wooden cane, and his clothes are smartly-cut.

All of them look hard at her save for the twitchy man, whose countenance is one of uncertainty. There is tension in the way they all stand, like animals that are not sure whether the situation makes them predator or prey but are ready to act as either.

Emerald drops to one knee. Her flight has given the day time to catch up with her, and she is so tired she can almost feel the grave pulling her towards it. Her father is dead, her people have cast her out and chosen violence over reason, and the physical exhaustion of her fight with Riyo still aches inside her muscles.

“Um,” the grey-haired man says. “There is a dragon here.” He looks to the chief, his expression a war of fear and anger. “Chief? Can you… Can you deal with her?”

“It might be prudent to listen to what she has to say first, Mister Mayor,” the dryad says. She does not invest his title with much in the way of respect.

“It might also be prudent to kill her before she kills us,” he says, his voice rising in pitch as Emerald turns to look at him.

Riyo turns to the fire chief and whispers open her reality, shaking her head. “Anyone who touches her gets flattened.”

“Speak your piece, dragon,” the dryad says.

“My name is Emerald.” She sounds as tired as she feels. “My father was once king of Yl Torat, but now he has passed.” She turns her gaze to the well-beaten soil before the gate, fearing they will see the fresh tears threatening in her eyes. “My brother has framed Riyo for his death and cast me an accomplice. He will come here tomorrow with his closest, most zealous companions, intent on Folvin’s destruction. I am sorry I was not able to stop this.” She scrunches her eyes closed. “I’m sorry for… so many things. Decisions I made that brought us all to this place, for the ignorance and bigotry of my people. These things I cannot change before tomorrow, but I would like to humbly request that you let me fight alongside you.” She waits, hurting inside and out.

“We can’t trust her,” the mayor says. “She’ll turn on us.”

“No she won’t,” Riyo says, scowling at him.

“And why should we trust you? Who are you, anyway? And you people, too,” he gestures at the bird man and the swordsman. “I am the mayor of this city.”

“But you are not its protector,” the dryad says. “Your ancestors invited us into Folvin, and we built her walls, her homes. We fended off the creatures of the forest and repaired the damage the dragon prince did to this place. You were happy to let us do these things, and no doubt you were expecting us to fight with you tomorrow. I say the dragon princess fights with us, or the dryads withdraw to the forest and do not fight at all.”

“If she is the equal of her brother, then I think it’s worth the risk,” Fire Chief Torglif says. “How many dragons are we talking?”

Emerald shakes her head and glances at Riyo. “Bracken will not go down easily, but they will seek to overwhelm him with their numbers quickly.”

“Somewhere between fifteen and twenty,” Riyo says.

“Velum forefend,” the mayor says, his eyes going wide. “We should begin evacuating Folvin right now. We would as well go chasing the sunlight stone as try to defend these wooden walls.”

“One thing at a time,” Riyo says. “Besides, most of them are small-fry.”

Rolleck raises an eyebrow.

“Small-fry by dragon standards,” she clarifies. “You could probably take a couple.”

“That is gratifying to hear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What about the remaining eighteen?”

Riyo yawns. “Ask me after I’ve had a nap.” She lifts an arm and sniffs gingerly at her armpit, then recoils. “And a bath.”

“If you’re going to stand with us tomorrow, you can stay at the same place again, free of charge,” Torglif says.

“Sweet,” Riyo says, and makes for the gate. She closes her reality again, and almost falls.

Ravi steps forward and grabs Riyo’s shoulder, then frowns around as everyone else winces or touches their head uncertainly. Odd looks pass around the group, then gather on Riyo. She doesn’t seem to notice and laughs off her stumble before heading in through the gate. Ravi accompanies her, with a backward glance for Rolleck.

The mayor seems nonplussed, not making any necessary connections. “I see a decision has been made.” He taps his cane a couple of times, irritation plain on his face. “I feel, however, that this should be put to the people.”

“I actually agree,” Torglif says. “They should be warned.”

Aetokelishpa taps her lips with her free hand, then nods. “We will tell them that the attack comes, and that we intend to repel it. We will also remind them of the dragon prince’s repeated promise to burn the entire Song. Then they may choose to leave and take their chances in the forest or shelter within Ilintorphrassil.”

Clara’s eyes widen. “Will the others agree to that?”

“It is the safest place in the city, and large enough to accommodate everyone. We dryad prefer our privacy, but there are exceptions. You are one of them,” she kisses Clara on the forehead, making her blush, “and the imminent approach of a war-party of dragons is another.”

The mayor gains a thoughtful expression. “I suppose I can accept that.”

“Then I will triple the night watch,” Torglif says. “Should the horns not sound before then, we will meet at dawn.”

The gathering nods, and heads into the city.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” Emerald says to the fire chief.

 

 

Riyo feels nothing. It is pleasant. Though she floats in the hottest bath, compared to the Heart of Yl Torat it is like a mild summer breeze. Far above her, clouds hide twinkling stars. They gain a golden-blueish tinge towards the eastern horizon, where the crystals of the Voiceless Desert shine their light across their undersides. Far beyond that, they will begin to curve upwards into the sky, forming an inconsistent tunnel around the Reach. Wind and the gravity tide will drive them into the atmosphere of Calis, where they will swirl and join and separate, dropping rain that crystalizes as it falls through the strange magical energies above the ant’s nest of mana caverns where the sunlight stone hides.

Riyo finds her mind often drifts with those clouds. It would be a simpler journey if she were a cloud. But if it was simple, she wouldn’t be doing it at all.

The sound of rent wind cuts across the rooftop, followed by the gentle tap of claws on wood.

“You bathe late, Riyo Falsemoon,” Emerald says.

“I’m probably punishing my skin even more, but it doesn’t feel that way.” She keeps her eyes on the clouds. “Care to join me?”

“That’s okay,” she says, appearing at the wrong angle in Riyo’s peripheral vision. “You would be surprised how little dirt remains on you after you’ve set yourself on fire.”

“Unfortunately, you probably wouldn’t be surprised by how little skin remains on a human after you set them on fire. I think I’ll stick to my hot water for now.”

“That’s fair.” Emerald dips out of sight, and there is a faint splish as she puts her feet in the pool. “I wanted to ask. Why is it you’re fighting here?”

“I told you,” Riyo says, watching the clouds’ eternal flow and riding with them to her destination. A destination where things much more terrifying than dragons await her. “I’m not strong enough.”

“There are better ways to become strong.”

“Those ways involve being like my master,” Riyo says. She imagines she sees the robed figure of Elvolar Lightseer amongst the shadowy mess above her. “Strict training regimens and concentrating on things. Books. Lectures. Headaches.” She rolls backwards, kicking her feet into the air and bringing them down with a waterlogged crash. She surfaces in front of Emerald, scattering water across the roof. “I need excitement. Challenge that goes beyond wracking my brains and learning new words. I need to butt heads with the universe hard enough to crack it open, then learn from what I find inside.”

Emerald rubs her bruised forearms. She finds she is smirking at the memory of her fight with Riyo. She had known, much better than other dragons, how strong humans could be. Riyo has taught her a little more, but she has also learned that she still barely knows anything at all.

“Hey,” Riyo says, drawing her attention back to the little blonde human. “What are you going to do after we win?”

Emerald looks up to the endless night, then back down, to where a mountain burns with the breath of hundreds of dragons. “If I win, I will be queen.” She swallows a lump in her throat. “My father created a great and powerful kingdom. He poured his life into uniting them, making them see each other as comrades. As family. It’s my job to make them see the beauty in the home they have found, to teach them the worth of their neighbours, to show them what Yl Torat can be, free of war and malice.” She looks down at her hands. “I see that now. I think it’s why my father let me out to wander. He had to focus on the dragons themselves. It’s up to me to look to the outside world.”

The weight of it is different from Riyo’s reality, but it presses down on her scales all the same. Her life will become something different tomorrow and, though she has accepted that, it comes with sadness. Even should she defeat Black and expose his treachery to the rest of the dragons, she will still feel as though she has lost far more than just her father.

Riyo nods. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.” She splashes water at Emerald’s face, startling her out of her melancholy. “But you know, your face says you’ve decided to walk into a prison and stay there forever.” She mutters to herself, and Emerald feels the tingle of her reality. “Where I’m from, a queen is someone with a lot of power.” Some of the water from the bath rises before her, and she fiddles it around with her fingers, until it forms the shape of a crown. It is a delicate weaving, considering she must have done it only by shaping the direction of gravity around the water. She places it on her head. “Someone who can make decisions, maybe even change the way the world works with a word. Of course,” she whispers again, and the crown collapses, dousing her head, “where I’m from, kings and queens only exist in stories.” She moves her damp hair away from her eyes.

“So, what will you do, if we win tomorrow?” Emerald asks.

“I’m going to find the sunlight stone,” she says. Water lifts from the pool once more and forms two spheres, one a little smaller than the other. They rotate around each other in a slow, mismatched waltz, joined together by a thin strip. Riyo reaches into the smaller sphere and closes her fist. The water splashes back down, and she opens her hand and stares at her palm.

“How do you know it even exists?”

She shrugs and flicks the remaining moisture from her hand into Emerald’s face. “I don’t, but it’s going to be fun to find out, and then I’ll know. And nobody else will. Not for sure.” She grins.

Emerald stares at Riyo for a moment, and then laughs.

Riyo stretches, arching her back. “I’m one big prune,” she declares. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Emerald says as Riyo climbs from the bath. “I have a gift.” She stands and pulls it from the strap at her waist.

Riyo blinks. “Is that…?”

Emerald runs a finger tenderly down the blunt edge of the sword. “My father’s.” She has spent the last couple of hours with a weaponsmith recommended to her by the fire chief. The result is a little rough and unbalanced, but her father’s claw is now a sword capable of piercing dragon scales. And balance is just a matter of weight.

She turns it and offers the hilt to Riyo. “Dragon’s aren’t sentimental people, normally.” She gestures at her collection. “I’m a special case, and I took the claw in the hope that it would let me carry him with me.”

“Then you should keep it,” Riyo says.

She shakes her head. “It’s not going to work. My only memories of him come from years ago. They serve to remind me that I abandoned him. That I returned too late to help him. Save him. It carries a monstrous weight of guilt that I am already struggling to shoulder. And if we win tomorrow, then it will only grow heavier.”

Riyo reaches out and grips the sword. It is a much larger blade than she is used to wielding, and its inward curve is severe enough that it is more a sickle than a sword. Even so, it is lighter than it looks, and with a little practice she thinks she might be able to use it.

“Carrying heavy things is my speciality,” she says, propping the blunt edge of the sword on her shoulder.

“It suits you,” Emerald says.

Riyo raises an eyebrow, glancing down. She is naked and par-boiled to a shimmering red sheen.

“You’re right,” she says. “A few more claws and I will be the lobster I was always meant to be.”

Emerald snorts out another laugh, shaking her head. “Sleep well, Riyo.”

“You too. And Emerald,” she holds out the sword, “we all have our weights to carry, but sometimes you can let others share the load, and other times you can choose to pick up something different instead. Something lighter. Don’t get so focused on an idea that you forget that there are always other paths.”

Emerald turns away with a sigh. “Would that it were as simple as that.”

She bounds from the roof, wings crashing against the warm night air. She will sleep in the forest, amidst the scent of trees and the soft noises of nocturnal creatures at hunt. It may be the last time she ever does.

Book Three

Fire Fighter

 

Riyo Falsemoon barely remembers Folvin from her journey out to Galsbreath. By this point in the journey she had been tired and bored with the whole process, and had passed through the city in a sleepy stupor that took her to the inn in the evening and then out into the pre-dawn sadness without stopping to take mental pictures to remember it by.

The Folvin of her memory, though hazy, was, however, almost certainly not on fire.

“Um,” Ravi says. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

Rolleck the Lost raises an eyebrow at him.

“What? I’ve never left Fefille before.” He turns to Riyo. “You said the world was full of interesting sights.”

“It is.” She looks at Rolleck in turn. “Maybe it is supposed to look like that. A fire festival, or something.”

“And the screams?”

“Joy,” Riyo suggests.

“Can we help?” Ravi says, saving Rolleck from coming up with a response. His eyebrow can only rise so high.

Riyo frowns. “Maybe. My reality isn’t really suited to putting out fires, but I can help with getting people out of buildings, I think.”

“We should do what we can,” Rolleck agrees, and they jog through the open gate into the city.

Folvin is a city that has taken full advantage of the Everstall Song’s most abundant resource: wood. A thousand different species of tree can be found across the Song, depending on things like soil and amount of light and other local flora and fauna. Ravi knows this because he has been living in and learning about the endless forest for his entire life. Riyo does not know this, but she does know that the vastest majority of trees share the trait of being flammable, and that it is therefore inadvisable to build a city out of them at the foot of a volcano.

They stop on a cobbled street. Folvin seems a city more carved than built. Wood grain surrounds them in every shade, from the white of sun-bleached bone to the deepest, darkest reds and browns that seep out of shadows in the night. The buildings flow into one another, creating a tapestry of beautiful woodwork that incorporates doors, windows and alleyways into a singular artwork parading along either side of the street.

Ravi, Riyo and Rolleck see none of this, however, because there is a dragon in the middle of the road.

“Do you think that’s what started the fire?” Riyo says.

Rolleck grabs her and dives left while Ravi darts right. A wall of incredible flame rolls from the dragon’s mouth and bursts out of the Folvin gate. Surprisingly little takes light from the rush. It stands to reason, Rolleck decides, that the people of Folvin would have safeguards against fire in a city made entirely of wood. Some manner of lacquer or protective coating keeping every stray candle flame from burning the whole place to the ground. It is not quite enough to make it immune to dragons, though.

“I’m going to try and squish it,” Riyo says, peering out of the alley they’ve rolled into.

“Do you think you can?”

“I can squish a lot of things,” Riyo says, but she is frowning.

“But…?”

“I feel like a dragon shouldn’t be one of them.” She pouts. “Honestly, I’ll be a bit disappointed if this works.” She makes to step out, and Rolleck grabs her sleeve.

“Do you have a plan for if you can’t squish it?”

She pulls out her tiny little knives, spinning them by the loops at the ends of their grips.

“That’s a terrible plan,” Rolleck says.

“It’ll work,” Riyo says. “Just back me up.” She turns back to the mouth of the alley. “Gravity Mould.”

Rolleck rolls his eyes, but he can feel his blood beginning to sing. It rushes against the wires that pierce him and they resonate like the strings of a violin. His blade is thirsty, once again.

Riyo steps out, expanding her reality to include the dragon. It is three stories tall, stands on all-fours and is covered in shimmering crimson scales that grow paler on its underbelly. A mane of black hair flows like a horse’s down the back of its long neck, and a tail as long again as its body swishes from one side of the road to the other, crashing into delicate woodwork. It has turned aside from the main thoroughfare, raking massive obsidian claws into the houses on the right side of the road and rendering an entire wall to splinters. It leans in, its massive maw gaping wide to bare a multitude of vicious fangs, and breathes another stream of flame into the hole it has made. Fire explodes from doors and windows all along the street like a firework display. Riyo feels it on her skin like a sunburn.

Her reality encloses the creature, and she increases its gravity. A creature that large should be having a hard time not being crushed under its own weight to begin with. A little push should be able to flatten it into mush.

It resists. Riyo does not sense another crafter’s reality, and the dragon roars, swinging its head around to bring its scorching amber gaze to rest on her, suggesting it is not completely immune to her pressure as Ravi is. It is a creature that is inherently capable of resisting another reality’s influence upon it. Riyo accepts this and is fine with it, because it is a dragon.

“This city will be ruin,” the dragon growls. This does surprise Riyo. Admittedly, its voice sounds like a mountain falling over, but she had expected it to be feral and mindless, like the colour wraith.

“Wait,” Riyo says, but it does not. Another gout of flame bursts from its mouth. Gravity pulls left and right, strongly enough to create a cone devoid of air in front of Riyo and Rolleck. It parts the breath of fire, rushing it into the much-abused houses on either side of the street.

Fire combusting predominantly air is very light. As such, Riyo has to alter gravity very heavily in order to make it move so quickly. She does not like the idea of having to do it multiple times. She already feels the strain on her reality. Her pressure on the dragon itself makes things worse, but she is sure now that it is having an effect. Through means magical or mystical, the dragon is fighting her. And it is expending effort to do so.

“Aim for the right eye,” she says to Rolleck.

Rolleck is reasonably confident in Riyo’s crafting. He has seen her do some incredible things. Even so, his heart is beating a rapid tattoo in his chest, pumping adrenalin through him that is definitively screaming flight rather than fight. He stomps on the instinct pushing him toward the very sensible course of running away from a dragon and nods. As the flame falters, he leaps forward. He is grabbed from behind and carried forward. What should have been a short leap becomes the start of a comet’s path, streaking upward past the dragon’s face.

Both Rolleck and Riyo pass through the last remnants of brilliant firelight, feeling its heat wash over them but moving too fast for it to leave its mark. The dragon is not prepared to dodge. It manages to close its eyes, and while Riyo’s dagger skitters off hard skin and steel-like scales, Rolleck’s blade cleaves a burning line across the creature’s face. The stench of sulphur billows from pitch-black blood, and the roar that follows as they both arc back towards the ground is nigh deafening.

Rolleck feels himself slow, but his speed is such that he is still forced to throw his momentum into a roll as his feet meet the cobbles. He uses it to turn, then drives himself towards Riyo, barrelling her out of the way of the dragons thrashing tail. Ash and splinters tumble through the air like rain, and both Riyo and Rolleck pull back down the street, further into the city. The dragon now stands between them and the gate, and fire still reigns behind them.

“This city will fall!” The dragon’s voice shakes the ground. Its wings, folded against its back until now, spread out over the rooftops, leathery and dark, dark red. Rolleck braces himself and looks to Riyo, but she is distracted by the sensation of another crafter’s reality coming into contact with her own.

“Not today,” a deep but human voice declares. A jet of water rushes over their heads, hitting the dragon full in the face. The force is such that its claws dislodge cobbles and leave grooves in the earth as it is pushed back. Rolleck feels his body lighten the moment he takes his first step forward. As the water recedes, his sword plunges into the dragon’s chest. Its blood is like burning oil against his skin, and he bellows in pain as he pushes off the creature’s scales. His sword comes free, and he tumbles backwards into a soft, leisurely landing.

The dragon’s claw descending towards him does not look soft or leisurely, but then Riyo is there next to him. The claw comes to rest against her inversion of gravity, pushing down at them like a falling meteor. With a shout of exertion, Riyo pushes back. She contracts her reality to the space between her and the dragon’s claw and, for the briefest of moments, pulls the claw upwards with the force of a black hole.

With a crack like a falling tree, the dragon’s leg breaks, and the whole creature is wrenched into a backflip that ends with an earth-shaking crash and the sound of tortured wood. It roars with pain and fury, its voice filling the Everstall Song as it rights itself.

“Your magics will not save you!” Its eyes burn with rage as it pins them all with its glare. “Your fiery end comes.”

Favouring its broken leg, it uses the other three to leap skyward, beating its wings hard enough to push Rolleck to his knees. Riyo negates the downdraft with her reality and remains standing as they watch the dragon’s impossible flight. It quickly gains altitude and turns towards Yl Torat.

“Thank you for your help, friends,” the deep voice says, and Rolleck finally takes his eyes from the dragon long enough to identify its owner. He is a huge man, perhaps eight feet tall, and built like a rhinoceros. His chest is almost as wide at the shoulder as Riyo is tall. He has a wild, bushy beard that matches his unkempt brown hair, and is wearing dark, treated leather clothes that cover him completely, including a hood with a mask dangling from it.

“What was all that about?” Riyo asks, unfazed by the towering man. “You’re a crafter, aren’t you?”

He nods. “I am. My name is Yosht Torglif, chief fire officer of Folvin.” He offers a massive hand to Riyo, which she allows to enfold her own.

“Riyo Falsemoon,” she says. “I’m searching for the sunlight stone. What was with the dragon?”

Yosht looks her up and, mostly, down, then lets out a bellowing laugh. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He shakes his head. “Well, I certainly won’t mock the aspirations of someone who helped drive off that surly prince.”

“Prince?” Rolleck says, offering the man his left hand. “Rolleck the Lost,” he adds.

Yosht spares a glance for Rolleck’s unusual sword, then clasps with his own left hand. “The prince of Yl Torat. The crater is home to a city of dragons, and Gruff there is second in line to its throne.” He turns back to the rapidly-shrinking speck. “He wants to flatten Folvin to prove he should be first in line.”

“Is his name really Gruff?” Riyo asks.

Yosht laughs again and shakes his head. “Their names aren’t for human tongues. Even if he would deign to share it with us, you need to be able to breath fire to speak their language properly. Most of them have simple translations humans can use, but Gruff hasn’t told us his.”

“Speaking of fire,” Rolleck says, casting an eye at the smoke making a roof over the city.

Yosht’s booming laughter redoubles. “You’re right,” he says. “But now that the cause of the blaze is gone, putting it out should be simple.”

Riyo feels his reality grow. He’s a strong crafter, but like when she shrank her reality to exert more power, so Yosht’s influence wanes as his widens. Once it covers the city, all he can do is make it rain.

“That should deal with the flames,” he says. His voice is a little strained. Even this soft rain will drain him quickly over such a wide area. “Once they’re gone, we can repair the damage.”

“It seems like a lot of damage to repair,” Rolleck says. “How often does Gruff try to burn down Folvin?”

“Every few months,” the fire chief says. “But worry not. Repairing the place is actually quite simple. Come,” he gestures towards the centre of the city. Above, the fires are already beginning to fail. “I will take you to meet the leaf guild.”

“That sounds fun,” Riyo says, falling in next to him.

“Hey,” Rolleck says, catching up. “Where’s Ravi?”

 

While nobody would argue that Ravi Matriya has lived a sheltered life, his struggles up until now have been of a singular nature. The same problem has been the centre of his existence for the last decade. Now, however, he is free. Free to experience all manner of new and exciting struggles.

Facing down a dragon is not for the faint of heart, and Ravi is not that. He would argue, however, that facing down a dragon is also not for the strong of heart. Indeed, if you have a heart at all, and wish for it to continue beating, then facing down dragons is not for you.

Ravi has instead turned to the original plan of helping people, and he has discovered he is quite good at it. His eyes pierce smoke and flame as if they are not there, and he moves quickly. His light frame and strong legs let him leap through high windows and pull people from places inaccessible to others. The people of Folvin are well prepared for fire – which makes sense – but even the most thoughtful of preparation cannot stop the panic and terror setting in when the flames rise and the smoke smothers. Once they are not in immediate danger, however, they know what to do. This is good, because, once he has removed them from immediate danger, Ravi has no idea what comes next. This city is massive and foreign to him. In Fefille, a fire would gather the entire village on the common and bucket chains would make short work of the blaze. He wonders what these people can do against such a consuming inferno.

It begins to rain as he passes a furious and clawful cat back to its grateful owner. He looks up and smiles as fat droplets splash across his cheeks. Fortune seems to favour Folvin today.

To his right, somebody hmmms. Ravi looks over to find a tall figure with a hunch wrapped in a long, voluminous cloak mirroring his heavenward gaze. The hood falls back, revealing a curved snout of crimson scales and crackling topaz eyes. Hair mottled with a dozen shades of ash is visible for a flash, before she grabs the hood and pulls it back over her head. Her furtive check to make sure she hasn’t been noticed brings her face to face with Ravi.

“Shit,” she says, in a surprisingly soft and clear voice.

She takes off into the closest alley, her cloak flapping high enough to reveal talons far fiercer than Ravi’s pounding the cobbles. Though he doesn’t know why, he chases her. They race from alley to street to alley again, whipping the smoke to a frenzy with their passage and smashing fledgling puddles back into raindrops. She is quick, but Ravi is quicker. As they pass onto a wide stretch of road near the centre of the city, Ravi pounces high, landing with a foot on each of her shoulders and gripping hard with his talons. She is driven to the ground with a yelp, and Ravi keeps his balance right up until her wings burst from the back of her cloak, shoving him off her.

He stumbles back, and the dragon lady finds her feet. Her hood falls off completely, and Ravi sees fire and fear burning in her eyes.

“Who are you?” she yells.

“Who are you?” Ravi counters.

“Why are you chasing me?”

“Why did you run?”

There is a cry of alarm from down the street, where a group of Folviners are gathered at a crossroads.

The dragon lady scowls, which looks truly fearsome on her. “I don’t have time for this.” She rips the cloak off, revealing something akin to a leather harness that criss-crosses the paler scales of her chest and abdomen. The straps are studded with decorations – beads, wooden carvings, precious metals and stones, ribbons and even feathers. It’s a wonder Ravi couldn’t hear her clattering as she ran. But everything is secured, and she barely makes a sound as she turns and runs once more.

Ravi follows, but she makes a bee-line for one of the buildings that is still on fire. She ignores a veritable wall of flame in the doorway, and Ravi is forced to watch through the flickering shapes as she turns past a burning pillar and disappears.

He frowns after her. It probably isn’t a coincidence that she is trying not to be seen while there is a full-blown dragon attack underway. She has something to do with it, but what?

Ravi has no way of pursuing her through the flames, and the buildings here are all interconnected, making predicting her exit a fool’s gamble. He does not know how he would track her on the other side. Living in the forest has made him a good tracker, but these stony streets and endless wooden facades do not take the same marks the underbrush does. Once the dust settles, he will just have to tell the police what he has seen.

The police bring Rolleck the Lost to mind, and Ravi decides to go and find out how his companions escaped the dragon.

 

 

Yosht leads Riyo and Rolleck to the centre of the city. Here, the forest begins again. A vast park full of flowering fruit trees surrounds a squat monster, with bark like the spiny hide of a cliff urchin and enormous, bulbous branches.

“That’s a tree?” Riyo says. “It looks more like a palace.”

“It’s both,” Yosht says, coming to a halt at a path through the orchard that shoots a straight line to the giant tree.

A young woman is asleep at the base of one of the trees. Her chestnut hair is long enough to swish around her ankles and covers her like a duvet. Her clothes, such as they are, are made from vines and leaves. They twist and twine around her body, covering much but still somehow seeming inadequate. A ring of yellow flowers encircles her throat like a choker.

Yosht coughs, then, when the girl does not stir, gently kicks her in the shin. She comes awake with a start, peering up at them while blinking her eyes rapidly against the glare of the sun.

“Chief!” she says, jumping to her feet and saluting. She then notices the rain that has matted their hair and made the grass outside the shelter of her tree damp. “Is Gruff gone?” Despite being aware that her city was under attack by a dragon, she has still decided to take a nap. Riyo is a little put out by how casually the people of Folvin are treating an incident with a real-life dragon. Her image of them as powerful beings of ruin is being sullied by their indifference.

“Aye,” Yosht says. “Thanks in no small part to our guests here,” he gestures at Riyo and Rolleck. “How soon can the Sisters begin their healing?”

“Probably later this afternoon,” the woman says, staring at Riyo and Rolleck. Mostly at Riyo. “I like your hair,” she blurts out.

“Thank you,” Riyo says, smiling. “Yours is nice, too. Why are you wearing plants?”

“Oh,” she says, glancing down. Her cheeks colour faintly, as though she is embarrassed now, where she wasn’t before. “My masters, the Sisters, are dryads. I’m, sort of a novice dryad. They say I have to get as close to nature as I can for my powers to flourish.”

“I thought you had to be born a dryad,” Rolleck says. The Everstall Song has been home to the dryads for longer than it has been home to humans, if the legends are to be believed. Rolleck has seen a couple while travelling through the endless forest, but they generally keep to themselves. Or so he has been told. Neither of the ones he met spoke to him.

“Oh, you do,” the woman says, blushing further and not meeting their eyes. “But sometimes humans manifest similar powers. A weaker version, anyway. They’ve also found that, um… No. Nevermind.” She looks up suddenly. “Oh! I’m sorry. My name is Clara. Clara Telmir.”

“Riyo Falsemoon,” Riyo says. She finds the flustered woman endearing and shakes her hand vigorously. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Rolleck the Lost.” Their handshake is far more restrained.

“The first dragon attack was thousands of years ago,” Yosht says. “Folvin was lost completely. The dryads took pity on us and helped us rebuild – their woodcraft has not only made Folvin beautiful, but also helps our poor wooden houses resist flames.”

“They’ve had a home here ever since,” Clara says, gesturing at the massive tree. “Apparently some dragons targeted it a few hundred years ago, but it didn’t even get singed.”

“That’s cool,” Riyo says. “Hey, can you show me some dryad powers?”

“Oh. Um.” Clara glances away again. “I’m really not very good yet.”

“Please?” Riyo says, grabbing her by the hands and forcing her to look up into her eyes. Her face is very red.

“Um. Okay. Um.” She scurries away and stops under her napping tree. She closes her eyes and takes a breath, trying to shoo away some very prominent anxiety-based distractions. She places a hand on the tree and feels the roughness of its bark, the warmth of the sun on its leaves and the sweetness of the rainwater being absorbed into its roots. She pushes on it. Encourages it. Adds some of her power to the wealth of life that pulses through the tree.

“Ooooh,” Riyo says, as an apple grows on the tree’s lowest branch. It only takes a handful of seconds to grow bigger than any other apple she has ever seen. Its skin shines, vibrantly red, and its weight causes the branch to droop. She reaches out and takes it with both hands. Raises it to her lips. Bites down with the most beautiful, crisp crunch.

And spits out a mouthful of sawdust.

“Damnit,” the woman says as Riyo splutters. “I still can’t get the taste right.”

Rolleck laughs at Riyo’s devastated expression.

“Still, you are making progress, Clara,” Yosht says.

“It looked so good,” Riyo says. Her eyes are watering, and she keeps grimacing as her tongue finds more of the deceptive apple between her teeth.

“It’s no use if it just looks good,” Clara complains.

“On the contrary,” a new voice interjects, and they all look round to find another woman with her hand against the tree.

Riyo has travelled a long way and seen a lot of people. This woman is more beautiful than any other she has met. Her skin is a pale green, barely covered at all by her interwoven foliage clothing. Her hair is the colour of damp grass, her eyes like the richest soil. She has a lithe, strong figure and long, elegant fingers, and her smile turns lead to gold and refracts the light into rainbows.

“You are getting better, Clara,” she says. “Your touch no longer makes the trees anxious. They think of you as they do us. The taste will come.” She steps up behind Clara and wraps her arms around the much shorter woman’s waist. Her smile turns wicked. “Speaking of taste…” She brings her mouth to Clara’s neck and licks her. Her fingers dig into the skin of Clara’s inner thigh.

“Ah! Company, Sister,” she says, almost pleading.

The dryad looks up at them but does not alter her grip on Clara. “Chief,” she says, “and guests. Welcome to Folvin.” She plants a kiss on Clara’s neck, startling her, before letting the woman go. “My name is Aetokelishpa. You may call me Aeto, until I decide that you cannot. I understand that you were of some assistance removing the invader.”

“That’s right,” Riyo says. Public displays of affection are common in her home city of Ragg, but for Rolleck, who has spent all but his earliest years in the more reserved areas of the Everstall Song, such brazen lesbian activity is a little shocking. He manages to maintain his composure, but Riyo noticed the way his eyes widened, and the way his eyebrow tried to climb. She will store this knowledge to torment him with later. “How did you know, though? We only just got here.”

“The trees whisper,” Aeto says, laying a delicate hand on the tree once more. “The wood trembles, the sap flows, and the story flies from grain to grain to grain.” Apples begin to weigh down the branches of the tree. They do not grow as large as Clara’s had, but there are dozens of them. She plucks one and tosses it to Riyo.

Having once bitten, Riyo is twice shy, but even the most tentative of nibbles yields a staggering flavour. She takes a full bite, and her mouth is filled with sweet and tart. It is the most perfect apple she has tasted in her life.

“The endless forest has been the domain of the trees since before memory existed. We are but travellers, passing through. When we are gone, only the trees will remain. We dryad believe that no flesh-and-blood creature owns any part of this world, and so, though we came to this place before humans, we share it with all those who came after.” She curls an arm around Clara’s waist again. “Many humans think the same. But many dragons do not.”

“Their king is old,” Yosht says. “He has kept them in line for nearly two hundred years, for the most part.”

“And Gruff?” Riyo says. The name is one more thing ruining dragons for her.

“He sees his father’s decline and tries to convince others among his people that now is the time to be rid of human and dryad alike,” Aeto says. “The dragons are conquerors, by nature. They do not believe in sharing.”

“You said he is second in line to the throne,” Rolleck says. “Who is first?”

“We have no idea,” Yosht says.

 

 

Emerald presses her claws against the gnarled oak tree, resisting the urge to dig in and tear the wood to splinters. Instead, she extends her senses into it. It welcomes her, passes the susurrus of the forest wind into her mind to ease her fears. It tells her of the pain in Folvin. The dryads meld and remake the wood into the shapes of houses and walls, but the trees remain. Such is their remarkable power. The trees are willing to share themselves with Emerald, but she cannot move them with her soul the way dryads can.

She is relieved to feel the roaring agony of burning wood and splintering branches has faded. The touch of soft rain eases char and cinder, and the claws that rent everything are gone from the city. Emerald has travelled all across the Song. The endless forest is not named such for no reason, and it is occupied by so many different people and creatures. Emerald has met them all and lived with them for a time, criss-crossing her verdant home with no map and no destination. She feels comfortable among all her trees and with all her flavours. The only place she does not like is the one that is now calling her.

Because she has found that, no matter how far she travels and how many new bonds she makes, nothing can pull at her like her burning blood. And her father is dying.

 

 

Black, known to the humans as Gruff, has a jaw capable of crunching boulders. Little can resist the pressure of his teeth. Fortunately, his other teeth can, otherwise he would have ground them to dust by now. He lands on the lip of Yl Torat’s crater, then screams his pain and frustration as he puts his right foreleg down. Those humans had been lucky. His father has a matter of days left, and once the old man finally passes it will be easy to convince a handful of his friends to help him raze Folvin. That is all it will take. The man with his water magic and the accursed dryads are all that stand between him and his victory. Just one ally among his kind, and they won’t stand a chance.

“You’re too loud,” someone says, and Black turns a furious snarl on them. His fire might not touch another dragon, but his claws are one of the few things that can pierce dragon scales. He mentally adds that human’s disquieting sword to that short list. His eye will take years to heal. Even now, it throbs with a strange pain that seems to burrow deeper into his flesh with every heartbeat.

The voice belongs to Bronze, his companion. Dragons come in a multitude of shapes and sizes, but though Bronze is nearly half Black’s size, he is almost his equal in power. Size does not indicate strength among dragonkind. This is a shame, because Black’s elder sister is one of the smallest dragons he knows of. Would that he could squash her like he did humans. He puts her out of his mind. She is irrelevant, now. She has exiled herself, and, when his father passes, he­ will inherit the throne and burn this entire forest into a purer, more beautiful form.

Bronze lets out a rumble of surprise. He nuzzles at Black’s leg, making him flinch.

“They hurt you,” he says. “Your eye…”

“It will heal,” Black says, gruffly. “It will all heal. What I do to them in return…” he hisses flame through his teeth. “That will not heal.”

“Then please wait, this time.” Bronze’s metallic eyes carry a pain that Black does not like to see. He glances away. “The humans rebuff you, time and again. And now you bear these injuries.”

“They got lucky,” Black growls.

“That is what humans do,” Bronze says. “You have seen them. They are everywhere. We are powerful, but we cannot fight them all, and all it takes is for just one of them to ‘get lucky’ and it will not matter whether you are king or craven – you will die.”

“Do you think so little of me, my heart?”

Bronze shakes his head, coppery scales flashing in the sunlight. “I think humans are dangerous. Only a fool could deny it. You are proud, and I love you for it, but you are impatient. What is a few days or a week to creatures such as we? We can make this land our own and make this forest our burning bed. Once you have a kingdom, you will find it much easier to expand it.”

“If you just helped me…”

“Then I would be killed. Only you can so brazenly defy the king. Is that spindly little city worth my life to you?”

Black bows his head, ashamed. “No. I’m sorry. I am angry that they’ve done this to me.”

“Then let us wait together, so that we might make them suffer for it together.”

 

 

Ravi finally finds his travelling companions in an unscorched tavern near the park at the centre of the city. He has been wandering around Folvin all day, learning its streets and helping its people find their families and possessions, fighting those fires too large to be completely snuffed by the rain and sweeping away ash and soot. He has also seen something amazing.

“There are dryads here!” he tells Riyo as he sits down.

“Oh,” she says. She’s lacking her usual buoyance. “Hey Ravi. Yeah, we know.”

“Oh,” Ravi says, deflating. He notices that they are joined by a third person – a you girl wearing plants. He glances at Riyo, but she is staring into her drink with a frown. Rolleck is distracted by Riyo. It is hard to read his face, but Ravi thinks this expression might be concern. The girl looks like she was expecting them to make more of an effort in her introduction too, but neither of them notice the awkwardness descending upon them.

“Um, hi,” Ravi says, offering his hand. “I’m Ravi.”

“Clara,” the girl says. “I’m an apprentice to the dryads.”

Ravi blinks.

“Humans can be born with something like their power.” It’s clear from the way she glances at them that she has already had to explain this to Riyo and Rolleck. “They’re teaching me.”

“I see,” Ravi says. He glances to either side too, but the others are still ignoring them.

“Um. I can’t really craft the trees that well, so I’m not really much use to them.”

Ravi nods, but it feels insufficient. The silence lasts a little too long. “Still, it’s pretty amazing to be able to do what they do, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Clara says. She doesn’t feel that way. It would certainly be amazing if it was useful. She still can’t even get apples right, though.

The silence slithers back in, wrapping around all of them and oozing with its discomfort, until Riyo stands up and slams the table with a yell. The whole tavern turns to look at her.

“Dragons suck,” she declares.

Rolleck closes his eyes with a sigh. He has assumed it was something like that making her brood. And he knows it is not the fact that they are attacking the city that bothers her about them. It is that they are kind of boring.

The people in the tavern, who have survived numerous Gruff battles, make some noises of quizzical agreement. Dragons certainly do suck, but it’s a strange thing to declare it so dramatically in such lukewarm terms.

“I’m going to Yl Torat.” She finishes her drink while the other patrons paint the roof with their eyebrows.

“You struggled to manipulate just one of them with your reality,” Rolleck says. “Is going to their kingdom such a good idea?”

Riyo shakes her head. “It’ll be fine. Dragons suck.”

Rolleck looks down at his sword, ever pulsing with hunger. It might not come to violence, he supposes. Their king has been able to keep all but one from attacking Folvin. Perhaps relations between human and dragon aren’t actually as bad as all that.

He stands. “Fine.”

Riyo turns to Ravi.

Ravi does not believe in facing down dragons. He believes that not being on fire is the key to a long and fulfilling life.

“I think I’ll stay here, if that’s okay?” Part of him chimes in with the suggestion that he needn’t be so hesitant about not going to a city full of dragons. That is a small part of him, though, and he is, after all, chickening out.

“I’d like to go,” Clara says in a quiet voice.

“Okay,” Riyo says.

“I know I’ll probably just be a burden,” she says quickly, “but through all these attacks I’ve done nothing to help the Sisters or the Chief. If we can talk to them, then maybe… Please, let me come with you.”

“She said ‘okay’,” Ravi says.

Clara blinks. “Oh. Thank you.” She tilts her head forward to let her hair cover her blush.

Rolleck grabs Riyo’s arm as she passes. “Let’s go tomorrow, shall we? It’s been a busy day.”

“Mmmm,” Riyo says, as though she might disagree. “Yeah. Okay.” She turns for their rooms – free, compliments of the fire chief. “We’re going early, though.”

 

 

The dragons rule a realm of heat. The magma caves inside the volcano have been torn wide to accommodate the largest of them, and burning air flows through the subterranean network like arterial blood. On the surface, pools of glowing lava dot the crater, but by design they vent their heat in a way that allows certain areas to remain cool. Because sometimes, a little chill on the scales is pleasant. This also once allowed other races to visit and treat with the dragons, though this purpose is now defunct.

In the deepest chamber, known as the Heart of Yl Torat, Black stands before his father. King Trenchant is a little smaller in size than Black, but his last few years have bowed him, weakened him, reduced him, so that now he seems barely larger than Bronze. He is no longer able to lift his grey-maned head. No longer able to breathe his flame, even. His voice is quiet, when he speaks at all. Mostly, he sleeps.

And yet still he lives.

Black looms over him. With the swipe of a single claw, the kingdom could be his.

“Patience,” Bronze says from the edge of the room. He has a way of seeing into Black’s mind. “Even if nobody were to pin it on you, a murder would only cause uncertainty.”

Black snorts. “I know. I want my people to follow me down the mountain.” He turns away from his father. His failing form is sickening. “But the time chafes on me like a leash.”

“Waiting is painful,” Bronze agrees. “But pain is necessary, sometimes.”

“Prince,” Rival says from the chamber entrance. She is the largest dragon in the kingdom, half again as big as he, and she is one of his loyal coterie who wishes to see the humans vanquished from the endless forest. She sounds worried.

“What is it?”

“You need to come to the crater. Quickly.”

Black’s teeth begin grinding together again. There is a feeling stirring inside him – a resonance in his blood.

“No,” he growls. “Not now.” He scampers out of his father’s cavern, limping on his injured leg and cursing flame out with every breath. “Not now.”

 

 

Emerald stands in the single crack in the rim of the crater, where the passage of people has worn a path into a place where, once, all but dragons feared to tread. Before her stands a young dragon with malice in his eyes. He is new to the role of guarding the crater, and he is therefore not aware that the post is given to dragons that have not yet realised that guard duty for a city full of dragons is just a way of keeping idiots distracted.

Well, she supposes today is a little different.

“I would like to enter,” Emerald says.

“I don’t recognise you,” the young dragon says. “I don’t think a tiny thing like you even belongs in our kingdom.”

“Unfortunately, my size has nothing to do with anything. I was born here, and I wish to speak to my father. If you will not let me pass…” She lets go of the threat, but it is probably too late. She doesn’t want to fight him, but he’s exactly the sort of dragon that they would let guard the gate, so he will rise to any threat – even an incomplete one.

He doesn’t even wait, the cretin. He brings his claw down on her like he’s stepping on a bear, laughing vindictively. Emerald grabs it, twists, and hauls the dragon’s massive weight into the air, bringing him down on his back with a crash. He opens his mouth, the pilot in his throat flashing bright as he goes to breathe. Emerald puts a hand on her hip and waits as the flame engulfs her, then peters out. It doesn’t even ruffle her hair.

Her adversary scrambles back to his feet, shaking out his wings, and swings at her again with a roar. She stops it with an outstretched arm, and the wind created by the impact sets her harness clattering.

“Stand down,” a rough, angry voice says, and Emerald groans internally. She had hoped to speak with her father before this confrontation.

Gruff – Emerald enjoys this nickname the humans have given him – pads up into the gap from deeper in the crater, Bronze dogging his heels.

“Prince Black,” the young dragon says, and Emerald rolls her eyes.

“So they recognise you, then,” she says. “Just not their future Queen.”

“That is your fault, not mine, sister,” Black says. “You abandoned this place.”

“I chose not to be confined by it,” Emerald says. “Where is father?”

“Asleep in the Heart,” Black says. “I will not allow you to disturb him now.”

“I must speak with him.”

“You had chances to speak with him, while he was healthy. While he was ruling our kingdom. While he needed the support of his family. You chose the outside. Now you return, like an impatient carrion eater.” Black makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “You will find you are not welcome here.”

“Our laws say I am,” Emerald says. “I heard you’ve been flouting them regularly. So please, tell me more about how much you respect our father and our people.”

“Our people respect strength. I wish our laws changed, and so I fight for it. You ran away and ignored everything.”

“If it’s strength you want, let me show you what the outside world has taught me,” Emerald growls. “Unless you’re scared to fight me after your humiliating loss to the humans?”

“Welcome home, Emerald.”

The tension is stolen from between Emerald and her brother as they all turn to find that Bracken has lighted upon the lip of the crater, just where the cliff falls away to form the gap. He is their kingdom’s greatest warrior, counsel to the king for decades and the only one able to command both of their respect. He is roughly the same size as Bronze, but his presence overawes them all.

“It is good to see you again, Bracken,” Emerald says.

“And you. I see your travels have done you good.”

She nods. “I have learned a great deal.”

“It is a shame you will not be able to share the tales of your adventures with your father,” Bracken says.

Emerald’s heart skips a beat, leaving a gap that seeps through her veins and chills her whole body.

“Is he…?”

“He is weak, and his mind has faded.” Bracken shakes his head. “Black’s words are harsh, but they are true. You have left your return too late, child.”

Emerald swallows. It does nothing to ease the sorrow welling up within her. “I would still like to see him,” she says.

“He rests in the Heart,” Bracken says. “No one else will impede you.” He shoots a stern look at Black and his friends, then drops into the gap, landing beside the young guard. “Come along, Fallow. It is time for you to read the laws again. This time, you will do so eight hundred times. Perhaps that will help you remember them.”

Fallow hangs his head and follows Bracken down into the crater. Emerald turns to face Black again.

“The people will not accept you,” he growls. “You will ruin this place.”

“The people do not have a choice, brother.” She walks past him, heading towards the Heart. “Father was king, I am his heir. You could kill me, but I think you’re too much of a coward.”

Black watches her go, his claws planted in the rock beneath him, the pain from his broken leg the only thing keeping him from launching after her and ripping her head off with his teeth.

“Be careful, my heart,” Bronze whispers. “This is a complication, but you are right. The people will not accept her. As long as we keep it that way, you will still have your kingdom.”

 

 

Riyo rises early. She makes her way to the bath, which is a thing of beauty. Everything is wooden, of course, but so smooth as to feel like porcelain. It sits on the roof of the inn, kept private from its neighbours by heavily branching trees, but allowing a view out over the misty park and Yl Torat beyond it. The dryads have sent roots deep into the earth at the base of the volcano, bringing hot water up and mixing it with the cooler groundwater the trees collect, allowing bathers to find their perfect temperature among four different baths.

Clara is sitting on the edge of the hottest pool, her feet swishing the milky water around. Steam floats up around her, muting the light. Riyo pads up beside her on quiet feet, but she looks around anyway.

“I hope you weren’t going to push me in,” she says. There is a soft smile on her lips.

Riyo had been thinking about it. “No,” she says. She sits down and kicks at the bathwater. It is practically boiling. “Yowch.”

“It takes some getting used to.” Clara swipes a hand through the water. Ripples roll across the surface, making a peaceful, clean sound. “I like the hot bath, though. It really feels like its scouring you.”

Riyo nods. “I suppose it doesn’t compare to getting breathed on by a dragon.” She holds her nose and pitches forward into the bath.

“Riyo!” Clara yelps. It takes her maybe half an hour to gradually get used to the temperature of the water in the morning. She finds the process relaxing. Diving in head-first is not relaxing.

Riyo breaks the surface with a yell that shatters the morning into fragments and scares away the steam.

“It’s hooooooooooot!”

Her face is already as red as a tomato beneath her sodden blonde hair. Even so, she dunks herself again, and then a third time. Clara giggles and slips into the bath herself, gently, feeling the tingle as the waterline climbs her leg, then her torso. She sits on the submerged bench at the edge of the pool and Riyo joins her there, panting.

“Why are you going to Yl Torat?” Clara asks. “You came to Folvin yesterday. Our concerns aren’t yours.”

“I know,” Riyo says, looking up at the sky. “I’m not doing it for Folvin.”

“Then why?”

“I’m going to find the sunlight stone.”

Clara feels the snub in the way her heart suddenly hurts, in the way the words sink down into her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she says anyway. “It isn’t my place to ask.”

“People keep saying things like that,” Riyo says. “But I really am going to find it. Maybe one day I’ll actually look like the kind of person who could.” She glances at Clara. “That’s why I’m going to Yl Torat. The dragons are strong, even though they suck. I wanna take a piece of that strength away with me.”

Clara can’t hold Riyo’s gaze. It’s far hotter than the bath. Perhaps even hotter than dragon flame.

“So you’re really planning to cross the Reach?”

“Yep. What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want? Everyone has a sunlight stone. Mine’s the sunlight stone. What’s yours?”

Clara looks down at the surface of the water. She sees Aeto and the others reflected there, wrapped in leaves and life, their smiles as enticing as their bodies. She swipes a hand through the images in her head and they ripple away across the bath.

“The dryads have given me everything,” she says. “When I try to give back, it never feels like enough. I know what I want to do, but…” She sinks a little lower in the water, until it almost covers her mouth. “I don’t think I’m good enough.”

“Me neither,” Riyo says.

Clara looks up at her.

“Dragons suck, but I can’t squish ‘em. That means I’m not strong enough to take the sunlight stone yet.”

Clara drops even further into the water and blows out a stream of bubbles. The heat has flushed through her and painted her face red, narrowly beating her embarrassment to the punch.

“My problems seem pretty irrelevant compared to that,” she says. She touches the wood at the side of the bath and asks it for a little chill. The trees on the far side of Yl Torat oblige, still basted in the volcano’s shadow and enjoying the cool morning air. “I just want to be a mother.”

Riyo blinks. She sees herself first as an adventurer. Then as a crafter. In a distant third place, she sees herself as a woman, with all the trappings and tribulations that come with it. On top of this, she is young, and so the idea of motherhood has never trilled long on her heartstrings.

“I think it’s a pretty important decision,” she says carefully. She imagines having a child for a moment, and for that moment she is certain that it will be far easier to find the sunlight stone. She retreats from the idea. One thing at a time.

“People do it all the time,” Clara complains. “There’s literally one for every person alive.” Clara is young, too, but she has never known a desire as strong as this. “Why don’t I feel like I can do it?”

“Most people probably feel like that,” Riyo says. She doesn’t really know. She only has vague memories of her own mother, and no idea what happened to her. She remembers anger and sadness, and she remembers the way people looked at her with a sorrow that couldn’t mask their disgust. After that, it was just the orphanage.

“And yet they do it anyway. While I don’t.” Clara sinks lower in the water again.

“Whose child do you want to have?” Riyo asks. She has never been one for tact.

“The Sisters,” Clara says, not looking at Riyo.

“Oh.” Riyo is worldlier than Rolleck the Lost. She has a comfortable understanding of both birds and bees. She is missing a few pieces when it comes to dragons and dryads, however. “How does that work?”

Clara has hidden most of her face below the surface again, and she practically inhales the bath. She stands, spluttering, and almost trips as she climbs out.

“Anyway!” she declares. “I think if I can face Yl Torat, I’ll have a better perspective on things. Come on! Let’s go!” She strides away from the bath.

Riyo watches her go, puzzled. “Do you have to release pollen, or something?” she calls after her. Clara does not respond.

 

 

 

The Heart is illuminated by streams of magma that leak from the walls and into holes in the floor. The deep, black rock of the walls eats any shadows the light tries to cast, and the air shimmers with the heat. Here, it is possible to feel the weight of the volcano above, and the strength it must have required to carve out its heart for a home. Here, the sheer tenacity and raw power of dragonkind is written not in words, but in deeds.

When she was young, Emerald believed there was nothing finer, nothing more beautiful. She has now seen things that impress her more. She has learned that all life makes its mark on the world, in each way different, in each way splendid. It is not for her, or anyone, to declare that one feat is finer than another, that the mark of flame and claw should cover those other signatures.

It does not feel like home. She had thought it would, but, though she has not yet found another place that does, the peace she felt here as a girl is gone. Perhaps it is that she no longer recognises her father. Only the fact that he is here where she was told he could be found tells her she is looking at the Dragon King of Yl Torat. She stops, paralysed, by the entrance to the Heart. Surely her father is not so thin. Surely the raging inferno that tempered this kingdom has not grown so dim, the diamond claws that shaped it so dull. Surely, she is looking at a lie.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Her voice is lost in the cavern. “I’ve been so childish.” She goes to him, resting a hand on his nose. He does not stir. She can feel the rush of his breaths, long and slow. “My travels have made so much of me, as you told me they would. But the girl in my heart still believed that you were invincible. Immortal. That I could run to you whenever I needed you, that your strength would be behind me forever.”

She tells him, then, of her adventures. Of all that she has seen and done. She tries not to imagine him laughing and cheering as he would have. Tries not to see the look of pride on his face. Even so, she cannot keep herself from tears.

“There is more… to see.”

His voice is little more than breath, but Emerald’s heart soars to hear it.

“Always more.”

His eyes are still closed. He might as well be sleep-talking. Emerald hugs what she can of him.

“I never missed this place, father. But I always missed you.”

“You never… belonged here.”

Emerald feels this, but it hurts to hear her father say it.

“I will always belong with you. This is your kingdom. When…” she fights a new wave of tears off. “When you’re gone, this will be all that is left of you.”

“No.” It is a long time before he speaks again. “What is left… is you… and Black. This is… a place. We are… travellers… in this world.”

“Those are the dryad’s words,” Emerald says.

“What matters… is us.”

“The places look after themselves,” Emerald finishes for him.

“So tired,” he says.

“Rest, father.” Emerald stands. Her blood runs with grief, but also relief. The thought of becoming Queen has frightened her, feeling like shackles binding her to an uncomfortable throne. Her father’s words seem to lift the crown from her brow and open the world to her. And yet. As king, her brother will make an ashen desert of her beloved forest. They might just be travellers and the places might have their own tenacity, but they are all linked together. To break those bonds out of nothing but selfishness and ignorance would be a terrible thing, and she could not keep it on her conscience. Even if the flame that burns is not hers, she cannot just turn her back as the smoke rises.

The open roads and open skies might call her, but they will keep. She can be Queen in a kingdom that is not hers for a spell, if it means protecting the things she truly cherishes.

 

 

“It’s so hoooooooooot,” Riyo says. Sweat is dribbling over her face and dripping from the tip of her nose like someone has left a faucet on. The trees have abandoned them, leaving only cruel rocks and black ash to meet their boots at each step.

“It’s a volcano,” Rolleck says. He is sweating too, but where Riyo looks like a soggy wretch, he wears his exertion like a fashion statement. It drips over his bare chest and accentuates his muscles, makes him shine like polished bronze.

Clara does not really notice either of her companions. She focuses on her feet, trudging with laboured breaths and aching thighs. She is not accustomed to walking so far, and though it is barely noon she would like nothing more than to go to bed. If there is one blessing in her anguish, it is that she has not been able to concentrate on the destination and all the giant, fire-breathing dragons there.

“Is it much farther?” Riyo says.

“I don’t know,” Clara pants. Somewhere ahead, the lip of the crater has crumbled, creating a gap. The path they are on should lead to it, but Clara has never walked it before. Few have. She is struck again by the possibility that this journey is a mistake for her. There must be a way for her to prove to herself that she is strong enough to bear the Sisters’ children without having to face down a kingdom of dragons. She takes a swallow of water from her flask and returns her attention to her sore feet. Plod. Plod. Plod. Dragons are a problem for later.

The sun is unhelpfully bright. Riyo is thankful she had the forethought to leave her big coat behind. She has still soaked through her shirt until it feels like she is wearing the salty sea, and so much of her sweat has dripped into her eyes that she can no longer feel them.

The view is spectacular. The forest spreads out around the mountain like a carpet, soft and green all the way to the horizon in every direction. It had been worth a few minutes of wonder once they cleared the tree line, and now sits picturesquely behind her while she focuses on the uneven ground beneath her boots. Such big, thick boots. They are the only ones she has. She had liked them a lot until she started climbing a volcano in them.

Time grows hotter as it passes. Boots crunch and sweat drips and nobody is particularly happy.

With eyes downcast, they trudge on, and step into shadow.

Riyo looks up to find walls of menacing rock climbing towards the sky on either side of her. They are not the owners of the shadow.

“You trespass on sacred lands, humans,” says a voice rough enough to grind stone to dust.

The dragon is huge. Bigger even than Gruff. Its eyes sparkle in obsidian, its scales reflect the sunlight in the deep green of a storm-blown sea.

Riyo smiles at it. “Finally!” she says, stretching her arms and arching her back. She has tied her shirt around her waist, reasoning that giant, scaly monsters probably weren’t going to be scandalised by a human in just her bra. “Gravity mould.”

Her reality stretches out over the gap, but for now she just wants it open in preparation.

“We’ve come to talk to the king.”

The dragon snarls, flame flickering between its teeth. “You have come to lie in your graves.”

“No,” Riyo says patiently. “We came to talk to the king.”

“The accords,” Clara says. Her voice is a squeak, and, as the dragon’s attention turns to her, it dies away completely.

“What?” the dragon growls.

“There is an accord between the kingdom of Yl Torat and the city of Folvin,” Rolleck says. “A peace treaty. We are guests seeking an audience. You are supposed to offer us passage.”

The dragon laughs, a roaring, painful chuckle that makes Clara’s teeth grind together.

“The accords are but ash in the wind, little human,” the dragon sneers. “Made more than a hundred years ago by dragons with guttering flames.”

“One of those dragons is your king, child,” a new voice says.

Riyo is treated to a moment of realisation as she watches the dragon’s face. It is not very expressive, but there is a shift in its brow, a flaring of its snout, a widening of its eyes. She can now say she has seen a dragon feel fear.

It turns and looks up, and the humans follow its gaze to find a second dragon. It is less than half the size of the first, but its scales are as black as midnight in the deepest part of the forest. Its eyes blaze gold as it drops from the lip of the crater. Riyo expects it to swoop gracefully to a halt, but it just lands. Rocks shatter, dust and ash billow and the ground trembles in awe.

“You speak with such confidence of times and people you do not know. You are young enough to feel you understand everything there is to understand, but I will warn you again and again that you do not. That you are at the age when the greatest mistakes are made, the greatest changes wrought. That you should walk your youth with caution.”

“I apologise,” the first dragon says, burying its snout in the ground in supplication.

The black dragon sighs. “And, of course, my advice will roll off you like flame.” It walks up to stand before the humans. “You are dismissed, Rival. It is not your place to arbitrate when foreigners approach in peace, only to rebuff them if they come in war.”

“As you say, general,” the larger dragon says. It turns from the humans, swishing its tail and sending a cloud of dust at them. Clara flinches back, but Riyo flattens it back to the ground before it touches them.

“I’m quite filthy enough already, thanks,” she says.

The dragon looks at them for a moment, pinning his stare on Riyo the longest.

“I am Bracken,” he says. “I bid you welcome to the Kingdom of Yl Torat and apologise for the youngster’s behaviour.”

“They called you general,” Rolleck notes. He does not have an eye for the gender of dragons, but he decides that referring to them as ‘it’ might be rude, and he does not want to be rude to a dragon that other dragons are afraid of.

The dragon nods. “When our kingdom fields an army, I command it, yes.” It shrugs. “We have not fielded an army in decades, so it is a mostly empty title.”

“We came here to complain about your prince,” Riyo says, never one to tiptoe around a point. “He keeps setting fire to Clara’s city.”

“He does,” Bracken says. “And yet I fear your visit will not help.”

“If we could just speak to the king…” Clara says, her voice a little stronger. She is emboldened by this new dragon’s comparative courtesy.

“As I say, it will not help.” He shakes his head. “The king lies on his death bed. He will be dead within the week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Riyo says, frowning. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Bracken looks at her for another long moment. Then his head shakes again. “Life is an illness without a cure, young crafter. The king’s comes to an end.”

“Then Gruff will take the throne?” Clara asks.

The dragon snickers. “The dragon you call Gruff is named Black. And the matter of the throne is complicated.” He turns towards the crater, peering back over his shoulder. “Come. Though it may look like a vision of what your priests of Velum call the Pit of the End, there are places where we might talk more comfortably.”

The dragon is not lying about the crater. Pools of lava smoulder amid black ground, and the heat as they descend turns the air to porridge. Clara can barely breathe, and she is worried that her leafy skirt and rubber boots might catch fire. The temperature seems to rise with each step, building to an oven heat where she feels her flesh begin to cook.

And then she steps into a snowdrift.

She looks up, staggered, to find Riyo and Rolleck wearing similar expressions of surprise and wonder. Clara turns and waves a hand back the way she has come. She feels the burning air even more keenly, like touching a hot pan. She snatches her hand back.

“How…?”

Bracken laughs again. For all that it sounds like the voice of the volcano itself, it is not an unpleasant thing to hear.

“Dragons are masters of heat and flame,” he says, descending into a dip in the ground and making himself comfortable. In front of him, on a raised outcrop that brings it to his eye level, is a small wooden table. A little fountain of water sprinkles from its centre. Clara’s mouth waters in time with the droplets. Bracken nods towards it.

“There was a time when we saw many more visitors than we do now,” he says as the three of them sit down at the table and fill wooden cups with sweet, sweet water. It is only a little shy of being ice. Riyo pours a cupful over her head.

“We once entertained people from across the Song. From across the world. But times change, and nothing changes them more than politics. Problems arose and fell and rose again, and we cut ourselves off, becoming distrustful. Now we stand on a precipice, and I fear there is little that will keep us from falling.”

“Is this going to be a long story?” Riyo asks.

“I can make it quite short, if you will allow me to be blunt.”

“Go for it,” Riyo says, ignoring the way Rolleck and Clara look at her.

“Very well.” The dragon sighs. “I’m sure you know that, no matter what you humans do, if the dragons decide with one voice to destroy Folvin then even the dryad’s powers will not be enough to save it. Many dragons respect humanity for their tenacity and their cunning, but that is respect for your species as a whole. One city cannot resist us.

“The king has two children, and they hate each other. Both are headstrong and wilful, but they both desire very different things. Black has always been a warrior, Emerald, a thinker. If Emerald were to take the throne and rule with all her energy and wisdom, Folvin would be fine. If Black comes to rule, Folvin will be destroyed within a day of his coronation.”

“Emerald is the elder, right?” Clara asks. “So she’s first in line?”

“Yes,” Bracken says. “But Emerald left the kingdom more than twenty years ago. She travelled the Song and gained a taste for freedom. Meanwhile, Black remained and became one with the flame of this mountain. He drank in the very worst of our paranoia and hatred for other races and came to believe that we should not just rule this volcano, but the entire world.

“Emerald’s right to the throne is clear, but her desire for it is anything but. To take it, she would have to give up her freedom. What is more, the people of Yl Torat have been listening to Black for years, while she has been gone so long that there are those who do not even know her name. Will she sit in a place that she does not want to be and withstand the scorn of the people and the anger of her brother with the constant threat of a coup looming over her, all to protect a single city of humans?” Bracken shakes his head. “Most people would not take up that burden when they could simply turn aside and live a life they truly want.”

Rolleck scowls, but he agrees with the dragon’s assessment.

“Perhaps we can speak to Emerald,” Clara suggests. “If she’s seen the Song, then she’s seen us – the people, the dryads, the animals. Maybe we can convince her to help us, right Riyo?”

She turns to find an empty seat where Riyo had been.

“Um.” She glances up at Bracken, who shakes his head.

“I believe I was too caught up in what I was saying to notice when she slipped away.”

Rolleck is not overly surprised to find her gone, but he is disappointed in himself for not keeping a closer eye on her. He covers his eyes and sighs.

“Where could she go that would cause the greatest upset?” he asks.

Bracken hmmms deep in his throat, making Clara feel as thought the volcano is about to erupt.

“It would be ill-fortune indeed if she were to meet with Black. Rival will have alerted him to your presence here, but they would not try anything with me around. Seeing a human alone in their domain? He might attack before he even thinks of talking.”

“He definitely will,” Rolleck says, standing up. “She broke his leg yesterday. He strikes me as the type to carry a grudge.”

Bracken’s eyes widen slightly. “We should find her immediately.”

 

 

Riyo has found a cave and entered it, in the hope that it will be cooler inside. It is not. There is wind in the cave, but it blows like the humid breath of a giant. Even so, Riyo descends into its depths. She does not like listening to stories when there are places to explore, and she reasons that if she wishes to cross the molten metal bridge known as the Reach, she will have to learn to deal with heat.

Sweat cascades from her as she walks, and she hears the occasional rumble from deeper underground. She cannot tell if they are seismic or dragon-born. The walls are scored with lines and patterns, crafted by impossibly hard claws. Riyo admires them as she delves deeper, the light of the sun fading. A fearsome orange glow begins to replace it, and as the cave turns she comes across the source. Magma seeps down the wall to her left, a bleeding stream or pure heat. Just looking at it seems to blister her skin.

The cavern is wide, likely to admit the likes of the dragon that had met them at the gap. It gives Riyo enough clearance to pass the dribbling magma without cooking her innards, and she continues on. She passes more magma as she goes, but the heat remains the same; heavy and painful, but not excruciating.

“What are you doing here?” a voice asks from behind her.

Riyo stops and turns to face the dragon.

Emerald puts her hands on her hips. “How did you even get here? Who are you?”

Riyo smiles. “Riyo Falsemoon,” she says. “I came to learn how to squash dragons.”

 

 

 

Book Two

The Church of Cackling Shadows

 

The Everstall Song is vast, and empty of what most would call civilisation. The skies are grey more often than not, and the land is an evergreen labyrinth that stretches beyond human imagining. It is where the people of Valos go if they wish to be lost.

Rolleck the Lost is comfortable striding through her infinite woodland. The solitude brings him peace, the silence is a balm that eases the pain of the burdens he carries. His footfalls do not interrupt the tranquillity of this place, his breath is at one with the wind and he senses the calm of the creatures that live alongside him here.

Well, except for one.

Riyo Falsemoon is not at home in the forest. She was born in the city of Ragg, in the Tower’s End Song, in the shadow of the Reach. She grew up in its chaos and learned to mirror it, clash for clash, scream for scream. Her footsteps are discordant, her breath a maelstrom, her mere presence a distortion of the space.

And she is bored.

“Are the trees getting paler?” she asks.

“Yes,” Rolleck says, though he knows she is not really interested in the flora. “It means we are getting closer to Yl Torat.”

“Cool. What’s Yl Torat?”

“The volcano at the centre of the Everstall Song.”

“And Folvin is on the other side of that?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. How long until we get there?”

“A while.”

“Cool.”

They manage another few minutes of silence before Riyo feels the need to fill it again.

“What’s the next town called?”

“I don’t know. I came to Malvis from the south. People around here don’t travel much. Didn’t you pass through it on the way to Galsbreath?”

“Probably,” Riyo says with a shrug. “I wasn’t really paying attention on the way here. So you really never came out here the whole time you lived in Malvis?”

“We’ve been travelling for three days now. It’s not exactly a casual jaunt.”

“I s’pose,” Riyo says, and for a moment it seems like that might be the end of the conversation, but the silence of the forest leeches the patience from Riyo and uses it to fertilise the soil.

“What kind of plant is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cool. Do you think it’s edible?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well-”

“Don’t eat it, moron.”

“But it might be really good.”

“Or it might kill you,” Rolleck snaps, then grinds his teeth. “You know what? Go ahead and eat it. At least if you die you’ll cease asking your stupid questions.”

Riyo pouts at him. “Fine. I won’t eat it. Hey, what kind of bird is that?”

“For the love of the blood moon, I don’t kn- Oh.” Rolleck tightens his grip on his sword handle, barbs digging into his palm. “That isn’t a bird.”

The creature squatting on a branch ahead of them certainly looks like a bird. Elegant, silver-white feathers cover a sleek frame, but on closer inspection that frame is humanoid, and he holds a bow with an arrow drawn to his cheek.

“Turn back,” the bird man says. His tone is that of a young man, perhaps even a teenager.

“No,” Riyo says, before Rolleck can try a more diplomatic approach.

Riyo whispers open her reality as the bird man’s bowstring snaps, and his arrow thumps into the ground at Rolleck’s feet. By the time the sound has finished, the bird man has another arrow drawn.

“The next one won’t miss,” he says, though Riyo knows that the first one wasn’t supposed to either.

“A good recovery,” Rolleck says, “but I suspect the same thing will happen to the next arrow as happened to the first.”

The bowstring snaps again, and Riyo gently nudges its weight, such that it lands right beside the first.

“Look,” Rolleck says as the bird man draws again, “we mean you no harm – we just wish to reach the next town before nightfall.”

“That’s why you should turn back,” the bird man says. “This place is cursed. You should find another way to where you are going. I promise, the next one won’t miss.”

“What’s your name?” Riyo asks, ignoring the warning and stepping forward.

“What?”

“What’s your name? Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the bird man says, shaking his head. “If you continue to Fefille, you’ll die, and if you turn back then you won’t see me again.”

Riyo harrmuphs. “I’m not going to die – I still haven’t claimed the sunlight stone. You’re a good shot with that bow.”

“Are you even capable of staying on topic for a second?” Rolleck asks.

“I missed. Twice,” the bird man says.

Rolleck shakes his head. “So you admit it wasn’t on purpose?”

Riyo kicks a pine cone up off the forest floor and catches it, then balances it on her head. “You said your next one wouldn’t miss,” she said. “I bet it will. If it does, you have to tell me your name and let us pass. If you hit, we’ll be on our way.”

“What?” the bird man says. “Are you some kind of idiot?”

“Yes,” Rolleck says. “She is. Even so, you’ll miss.”

Riyo narrows her eyes. “Maybe not.”

Rolleck frowns, but before he can ask what she means, the bird man says “Fine.” And the bowstring snaps a third time. Rolleck tries to track the arrow, but it is already pinning the pine cone to the trunk of the tree behind Riyo. A faint blue flicker writhes around the arrow for a split second before fading. Rolleck blinks.

“I knew it,” Riyo says.

“Well?” the bird man says.

Riyo shrugs. “You missed. Tell me your name.”

“I did not miss,” the bird man says indignantly.

“Yes you did. You hit a pine cone that was on my head and I remain perfectly unpunctured.”

Rolleck covers his face with his palm.

“But, you clearly meant…” the bird man says, but it doesn’t matter. Riyo has won. Rolleck knows this, and now it is only a matter of time before she gets exactly what she wants.

Riyo turns and makes to inspect the arrow, then places her foot on the trunk of the tree and pushes off it. She does not move as quickly as the arrow, but, as Rolleck had suspected, the archer’s reflexes are not that fast either. Before he can understand what has happened, Riyo is stood on the branch beside him.

They are both very still for a moment, then the bird man sighs. “Ravi,” he says. “I suppose you can pass, but it really is for your own good if you turn back.”

“I’m not the sort of person who turns back,” Riyo says.

Ravi stands up. He is a little taller than Riyo, and he has silver-white markings on his face that match the pattern on his feathers. The feathers that cover his chest are small, soft and downy, while others emerging from his shoulders and the outside of his forearms are much longer and broader. He is wearing loose brown trousers, but no shoes, and his toes look like talons.

Rolleck frowns again. Somehow the realisation that the two of them are now both standing perfectly happily on a branch no thicker than his little finger is annoying.

“Good luck,” Ravi says, and Riyo nods.

“Come on Rolleck. The next town is called Fefille, by the way.”

“Thank you for that,” Rolleck says, wandering over and waiting as Riyo drifts gently back to earth. Ravi has turned his attention back to the track, waiting for the next travellers he must warn. “Good luck to you too,” Rolleck tells him, and hears him grunt in response.

“I wonder what he meant by that thing about a curse,” Riyo asks.

“Now you think to ask?” Rolleck says, but Riyo is ignoring him.

“I guess we’ll find out. Hey, what type of flower is that?”

Rolleck sighs.

 

The town of Fefille seems prosperous to Rolleck’s eyes. He and Riyo are met with smiles from cleanly dressed residents as they stroll through a gate festooned with flowering vines. Soft music can be heard drifting over the town, and the air smells of cooking meat and ripe fruit.

“Welcome to Fefille,” a woman in a floral crown says from where she is brushing the front porch of her house. A golden-furred dog sits by the step, panting and wagging its tail. “Are you here for the festival?”

“No,” Rolleck says, “we’re just passing th-”

“Yes,” Riyo says, running up to the woman. “I love festivals.”

“Well you’re in luck,” the woman says. “Just head on down to the common – follow the sound of music.” She holds her hands out flat in front of her, the tips of her middle fingers touching, and bows.

“Come on Rolleck,” Riyo says as he frowns at her. “We’ve been walking through boring forest for days. Let’s have some fun.”

“I thought your master was hot on your trail?”

Riyo shakes her head. “I’m not so sure of that anymore. He should have caught up by now. I think he’s seen where I’m going to go and is waiting for me somewhere along the way.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?”

“Of course,” Riyo says, “but it also takes things out of my hands. I’ll deal with my master when we find him.”

“We?”

“Of course. He’ll be one of the obstacles between here and the sunlight stone. We’ll have to get past him at some point.”

“There’s that ‘we’ again. I’m only travelling with you until I find a good place to stop. It might even be here. Fefille seems nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Riyo says, then turns towards the centre of the town. “Let’s go see just how nice.”

The clamour grows louder and the streets busier as they move from the main thoroughfare towards the marketplace and the town common. Smiles and good spirits abound, fences and doors bear bouquets of flowers wrapped in coloured ribbon and the strains of music glide over the worn dirt roads. Riyo feels infected by it. She begins to skip along in time to it, her boots scuffing an extra layer of percussion into the tune. She returns every smile she gets, until at last they reach the centre of the commotion.

The town common is a small field of grass with trees standing sentinel around it. It is half covered over with clean wooden boards that make firmer foundations for stalls and stages. Revelry abounds, and the air churns with talk and laughter. People perform their strange bows in Riyo and Rolleck’s direction occasionally, and when they reach the centre of the common they find a large plinth surrounded by men and women brandishing various instruments. Atop the plinth stands a statue of a beautiful woman, her hands together like the bowing people, her voluminous hair swept back by a wind that only exists in the sculptor’s imagination.

Beyond the common stands a large, red-brick church surrounded by a garden of its own, full of coloured flowers and a row of short trees on each side of the path leading up to the building itself. At the end of the path is not a door, but a grand, arching window – a single sheet of glass stained in a thousand swirls of colour. Smaller windows radiate out from the main one, some containing silhouetted figures depicted in stained glass.

“Welcome to the festival of colour,” a man in a tie-dyed robe says. His head is shaved and painted in swirling colours that match his robe. “Are you travellers?”

“Yes,” Riyo says. “We’re going to find the sunlight stone.”

The man seems taken aback. To everyone else, that phrase is a rude dismissal – a suggestion that someone mind their own business. Riyo is, of course, frankly outlining her genuine plan.

“But this festival seems fun. What’s it for?”

The man blinks, trying to understand a sudden change in Riyo’s demeanour that doesn’t exist in the first place, then decides to gloss over it, his smile returning.

“The festival celebrates our patron, Deis Lisanna,” he gestures at the statue, “the bringer of light and colour. You see, a bare decade ago, Fefille was a barren, dying town. The shadows of the forest loomed large over her, its dark creatures determined to wipe all trace of humanity from the place and render it back to their teeth and claws.

“Then the Deis came. The people thought nothing of her, at first, for she seemed like an ordinary woman. Everyone she spoke to, however, walked away happier, brighter. She brought the town back together, and taught us that to maintain a positive spirit is always enough to turn a situation around. So, we brightened, and fought back, and the Deis smiled upon us, revealing herself and bringing light and colour back to our town.”

“She sounds amazing,” Riyo says. “I’d like to meet her.”

The man smiles brightly. “I am afraid she moved on, no doubt to bring joy to another town, and then another, and then another.”

“Oh,” Riyo says. “That’s a shame.”

“Not at all. It would be selfish to wish she stayed here after her work was done.”

“I suppose,” Riyo says. She scratches her head. “Oh. A bird guy told us this place was cursed. What did he mean?”

The man’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “Ravi is a tragic kind of soul, who cannot see a blessing without searching for a hook hidden within it. He lost his sister some few years ago, and it made him jaded. We have tried to show him that holding on to such bitter feelings was what caused Fefille to fall to darkness in the first place, but… Well, the Deis was strong, but even she could not liberate every heart.”

Riyo nods. “I guess not.” She turns her attention to the surrounding festival. “Looks like she got most of them, though.”

The man’s smile returns. “Indeed. I hope you can put poor Ravi from your minds and enjoy yourselves; he will eventually recover from his pain, I am sure.”

Rolleck is beginning to feel uncomfortable. There is a muttering dissonance in the air that has crept through the levity, and the man’s rainbow pate and cheerful stare provide a focus for it. What initially seemed like a joyous festival now smacks of people trying very hard to feel an ingenuine happiness.

Riyo does not feel this. Instead, she smells wondrous smells and sees wondrous sights. She returns the man’s smile.

“So, what’s good to eat around here, then?”

“Well if you’re looking for something sweet, the forest fruits around here are particularly juicy. I believe Arem Carter over there is selling a twelve-berry medley in whipped cream. As for savoury-”

Riyo raises a hand to stop him. “Sweet it is. Thank you.” She attempts to perform the palms-up bow, and the man grins wide as he returns it. “May you walk a colourful path, travellers.”

“You too,” Riyo says, and they part. Rolleck follows, stewing in his growing unease.

“This is beginning to feel strange,” he says.

“That’s because you’re not used to joy,” Riyo replies without looking at him. There is a line for the berries, which Riyo joins, her hands rubbing together in her impatience. As the line fails to move, she distracts herself with Rolleck. “Why don’t you look around and find something you like? Look, they’re painting faces over there. You’d look good as a culber bear.”

Rolleck scowls. “Fine. I think I’ll just find somewhere to sit down.”

“Suit yourself,” Riyo says, noticing the line has shifted and scurrying forward. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Rolleck wanders off through the festivities. Perhaps it is time they parted ways for good. Fefille is too weird for his liking, but no doubt someone could point him towards a town in need of a good police officer, and it needn’t be in the direction Riyo Falsemoon is going.

His unease grows as he crosses the common. The noise rises and the colours swirl into one another, making him feel nauseous. Laughter grates across his consciousness like guilt, nagging him to be something he is not. Something he has not been for a very long time. He is drawn away from the crowd towards the relative silence of the church and its peaceful garden. A light breeze shakes its grass, carrying the scent of its flowers past his nose; mellow, compared to the roaring of cooking meat and cloying sugars.

The path and gently-lilting trees guide him neatly to the grand window. Despite the fierceness of their hues, the colours in its glass do not stab at his eyes like the festival’s excess. Instead, they lull his overstimulated senses and calm his agitation. He has made the right choice, coming here. Perhaps, if the festival is just a one-off extravagance, he could be persuaded to stay in Fefille after all.

The noise seems to fade, cast into the periphery of his attention. The colours captivate him. He is a little surprised to find himself standing directly before the window, but isn’t it natural to be drawn towards something so beautiful? He looks around at the other windows, some depicting figures, others empty but for more swirls of colour. He looks back at the main window and blinks. There is a cold, black dot at the very centre of the swirl. Had that been there before? It is difficult to remember. In fact, most of his thoughts come slowly. Around the dot, colour starts to fade to grey. The effect slinks across the window, until it is only a monochrome smudge hiding a memory of vibrancy. The other windows are fading too.

Rolleck glances to one side and finds the flowers in the garden are growing dark. He should be dismayed, but colour is leeching from his mind, too. As the green of the trees and grass darkens to grey, then towards black, Rolleck looks back to the window. It is now a looming portal of darkness, inky and foreboding. The brickwork of the church joins it in its unnerving shade, and the paving stones beneath his feet follow. By the time Rolleck turns around again, everything is gone.

 

Riyo’s cheeks tingle like someone is playing music in her mouth. The berries are sweet, the apples and peaches are sweet, the honey and cream are wound together around the fruit to create a sweet, sweet sweetness that nestles in her soul.

Before the statue, a boarded space is cleared for dancing, and Riyo takes to it with sugary giggles, prancing and lilting through the crowd with a smile for everyone she swings around. The rhythm of the music seems to make the colours pulse around her, and she becomes lost in it all for a while, her worries about her master and her desires for her future covered by a mist of white joy.

Her foot catches on something close to the edge of the dance floor, and she tumbles to the ground with a yelp. The music seems to grow quieter, the entrancing beat dropping her like a careless juggler. She blinks. Fun is fun, but this is something else. She looks back to the floor and finds what has tripped her. An arrow pierces one of the boards, fletched with silvery feathers and flickering with soft blue light. Riyo blinks again.

“Gravity Mould.”

Her reality opens, simple and small, affecting only her. Immediately, she feels two new sensations. The first is freedom. It is as though a fog has cleared from her mind. The second is pressure. Her reality enfolds her, and she senses the shape it makes. At its edge, she feels something else pushing in. She has felt this sensation before, during her training. She has opened her reality within that of another crafter.

She glances around, but the revelry continues unabated. It looks different, now. More as Rolleck had described it; a veneer that hides something dangerous and dark. The people look tired in spite of their smiles. The music lulls and rages, off-tempo and at times discordant. The sweetness that had filled her mouth now tastes bland.

She gauges the angle of the arrow. It has to have come from between two houses at the edge of the common. She heads that way, aware of the constant pressure upon her reality. It is vast, and in the same way she can feel it, whoever it belongs to can feel her moving through it. It does not waver until she leaves the boundary of the village, past several more houses and through a number of small copses, into the shadow of the forest. She stops when she feels the pressure fade and turns back. She can just about make out the two buildings she passed between, but the music and people are far beyond her senses.

“I warned you,” Ravi said from above her.

Riyo swallows. The malevolent reality covers the entire village, influences everyone within it. Her master would not be capable of doing this. At least, she doesn’t think he would. Elvolar Lightseer has never revealed his full strength to her, but they have talked in vague terms about what is possible and what is not. This would have to be the work of a strong Archcrafter.

Said Archcrafter did not crush her reality, however. They let her leave.

“You should leave this place,” Ravi says.

She shakes her head and turns to look at him. “You’re a good shot,” she says. She can’t even see the dance floor, let alone the specific spot she would need to hit to make a specific dancer trip.

Ravi shakes his head. “A well-placed arrow cannot free this village and avenge my sister. No matter how good my aim, this curse will persist.”

“Why bother freeing me, then?”

“Because you bested me,” he says. His tone suggests ambivalence towards this fact, but his almost-human face wears the shadow of his wounded pride as a scowl. “I thought maybe you’d be different. Well, actually I thought your friend with the sword would. You, I pegged as a lost cause.”

Riyo stares at the bird boy for a moment, and decides she likes him. “You’ve been watching the village for a long time, haven’t you?”

He nods. “Ever since I escaped.”

“And you’ve never seen anybody else get out, once they’re trapped? Never seen the curse weaken or fade?”

“No,” he says. “Once people enter, they don’t leave. They dance and smile and eat. Sometimes for a long time, sometimes not. Eventually, though, they all go to the church.”

“And then what happens?”

“They vanish.”

“Huh.” She turns back to the village and scratches her chin. The spire of the church is visible over all the other buildings. That would be where her Archcrafter resides. But this doesn’t make sense. A reality this big, held open for years. It shouldn’t be possible. They would have to be the strongest crafter to ever have lived.

“I’m sorry,” Ravi says, dropping down from his branch and landing so lightly that Riyo barely hears his talons on the ground. “But your friend has already passed into the church.”

“Meh,” Riyo says, still thinking. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She doesn’t like this because she doesn’t understand it. Even if this was caused by a crafter, why would someone so powerful sit in a little village forcing a handful of people to be joyful and occasionally vanishing travellers?

She becomes aware of Ravi’s eyes on her and turns to meet them. “Mmm?”

“I guess you were deep in thought or something? I said he’s vanished. Nobody ever comes back once they visit the church.”

“Rolleck the Lost is a weirdo,” Riyo says, “but he’s a strong weirdo, and he’s going to help me find the sunlight stone. A hungry church isn’t going to stop him.” She turns back to the village, but its still the same. Still perplexing. She growls. “I hate not understanding stuff.” She looks at Ravi again. He’s staring at her sceptically. The ruff of feathers around his neck shimmers silver as the breeze touches it, his hair blowing out behind him.

“Do you mind telling me what happened to your sister?”

His features grow darker. “Why?”

“Your village makes no sense,” Riyo says, stepping past him and sitting with her back to the trunk of the tree. Just staring at the little cluster of civilisation isn’t exposing its secrets, and she is reluctant to go back in without figuring it out. The old her would have blundered back in regardless, but her master has taught her nothing if not a little caution. A little patience. She likes to have an inkling of what she is blundering into, now. That’s why she spent so long in the apothacarium in Galsbreath.

She will no doubt blunder anyway, but she likes to think she learns more from her blunders, these days.

“My village is cursed,” Ravi says. “What more is there to know?”

Riyo shakes her head. “It’s not a curse. A curse is fire-and-forget. Something the dying utter or the exiled throw behind them as they leave. This is persistent. Upkept. If you tell me what you know about it, I think I might be able to get rid of it.”

Ravi’s eyes widen. “You know what’s going on?”

“No, but I think I know more than you.” She pats the ground next to her. “Tell me about your sister.”

Ravi hesitates for a moment. His heart flutters with something he hasn’t felt for a long time.

Hope.

He’d stopped the two of them as he did all travellers, and neither of them had been fazed by his appearance or his skills with the bow. He’d wanted so badly for something to change, for a rest from his constant vigilance, that he had let them fall under the curse despite swearing he wouldn’t let anyone else be preyed upon. Perhaps, finally, he has been given a chance at redemption. Perhaps these two really are worthy of his hope.

He sits down beside the girl.

“What was her name?” she asks.

 

Rolleck the Lost does not feel lost. Though he finds himself in a vast, unknown darkness, only a soft contentment bubbles within him. His senses tell him nothing about the space, and yet he knows it is enormous beyond comprehension. If he were to start walking, he would die before he so much as stubbed a toe on a bump in the ground. Even the sensation of movement feels empty, here. He exerts the effort it costs to lift an arm but cannot tell if his arm has actually risen or not.

This should alarm him, but it does not.

Rather, he is pleased that it should be so. Perhaps this is what he has been looking for all along. He has been running for so long, without getting away, without fixing anything, without leaving any place better than when he arrived. That had been his goal, as he ran. To touch each place he stopped at with his heart and, maybe, deter his pursuer with the good he had done.

He had been kidding himself that it would work in the first place, and quickly left the lofty ambition by the wayside in favour of just living. Just continuing to exist. Malvis had reminded him, briefly, of his intended purpose, but once again he had seen the futility of it.

Here, though, he is enveloped by futility. Anything he does in this darkness will go unwitnessed – his successes and failures, his good and his evil – all irrelevant. A nothingness that he deserves and that he welcomes. An end like this would be painless.

You have forgotten, a voice that is not his own whispers.

“Oh shit,” Rolleck says, feeling the haze beginning to lift. His contentment is replaced by anxiety. There is someone watching the back of his neck as the hairs there rise. There is someone stepping in each of his footprints as soon as his boot leaves them. There is something breathing by his ear, and each whisper says run, run, run.

But he can’t run. He is trapped in this darkness that is no longer comfortable, that is no longer safe.

You have forgotten, it says again, louder this time. You have forgotten that there is no safe place. That there is no sanctuary, no rest. You run. And I follow.

Rolleck begins to run.

 

 

Ravi wiped the sweat from his brow and took a drink of water while one of the other workmen began untying the ropes. He looked up at their accomplishment and smiled. The statue was the finest anyone in the village had ever seen, let alone produced. And yet here they stood, their work almost complete, surrounded by colour and happiness. It hardly felt real.

The delicately carved face of Deis Lisanna smiled back at him, her gorgeous hair swept out behind her and her fingertips together in prayer. Though he was only fifteen, he still remembered how bleak things had been just five years ago, before she came. He still remembered the way his parents had spoken in hushed tones and dark words, before the forest had taken them, too. There were a lot of things he remembered that he wished he couldn’t, and when he looked at that smile, they faded just a little.

He helped the others wipe the dust of transit from the stone features, and as he beat his rag clean for a final time, he heard a soft exclamation of delight. He spun to find her standing at the edge of the common, her hand covering her mouth and her piercing eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” she said, words tinkling in the air and wrapping around Ravi like a warm hug. “I’m not so worthy as that.”

“You are our saviour,” the chief sculptor said, bowing to her over his upturned palms. “You are worthy of everything this world has.”

“Oh, but I’m not,” she said as everyone gathered around her. Ravi managed to jostle another boy a little younger than him out of the way and take up a place close to her. He could smell flowers on her. She reached out and touched his shoulder, making his feathers tingle. “Just as every one of you have come together to create this,” she gestured at the statue, “so have you come together to reclaim your village.” Her touch passed to others clamouring close, and jealousy tweaked at Ravi’s conscience. “If I am worthy of a grand statue, then so are you all.”

There was a murmur or protest and insistence that she was what had changed them, made them capable of doing such things. Ravi kept quiet, simply exulting in the opportunity to watch her, to be in her presence. She held them enthralled for nearly an hour as she inspected the statue and complimented them on their work. Ravi followed her around in a dream, laughing at her jokes and angling constantly to get close enough for her to touch him again, until eventually she bid them farewell, with one last outpouring of gratitude for their work.

They all dispersed in the utmost spirits, smiling and laughing and swooning over her grace.

“You look like a dumb puppy,” Arianne said. She was sitting on the common fence by the entrance closest to their house. While Ravi had inherited their mother’s avian nature almost completely, Arianne was more of a mix. She had a downy crest on her chest, and a long, elegant feather striking up past each temple, rising up over her head like the ears of a rabbit and hiding her real ears. Tail feathers longer than Ravi’s almost touched the ground behind her when she stood, but her hands and feet had no sign of talons. And though her eyesight was good, it was not perfect in the way Ravi’s was.

“Shut up,” Ravi said. The markings on his face did not hide the way he blushed.

She stuck out her tongue at him. “Admit it. You’ve got a massive crush on her.”

“I have a massive amount of respect for her,” Ravi said, crossing his arms. “She saved this village.”

“She’s also really pretty. She makes you feel all tingly inside. Like your heart might beat out of your chest and touch the stars. She-”

“Shut up!” Ravi yelled. He swung a kick at her shin, but she flipped up into a handstand on the fence, without a hint of effort. She was annoyingly fast. She raised one hand and pulled down her bottom eyelid, sticking out her tongue again before handspringing away from his follow-up swing. She landed softly and hightailed it back to their house, Ravi in pursuit but falling steadily behind. Arianne was the sole blight on Ravi’s perfect life, and if he was perfectly honest, he still found ways to love his sister in spite of her frustrating, bratty behaviour.

The next day, however, proved that life was not what he thought. It was the day Deis Lisanna left Fefille. The day the curse was revealed.

Ravi woke early, as he always did. He washed and dressed – as much as he ever did, which was underpants and shorts. His down kept him warm enough that extra layers quickly became uncomfortable, and his wing feathers made it difficult to find clothes that fit anyway. Though he did not have an apprenticeship like most of the boys his age, he managed to get by helping the village with odd jobs in exchange for food for him and his sister. This morning, he planned to help old Crispin with his fruit stall. That meant being at the market nice and early to help him get set up.

The sun was just slithering through the forest into their midst as he left the house. The fog was thin this morning, clinging to tree trunks and fence posts like untethered shadows, enjoying the last of the day the rising heat would allow them. Ravi’s talons left unique indents in the dust of the road as he made his way to the centre of the village.

He paused by the common fence, his heartbeat rising. Deis Lisanna was beneath her statue, flowing red hair blowing in the gentle breeze just like that of her stone image. Arianne was right. He was smitten with her. It wasn’t fair of her to tease him about it, though; especially since every other boy in the village felt the same. Most of the men, too, probably. He also knew, deep down, that she would never return his feelings. Women like her didn’t fall for scruffy, feathered teenage boys. Knowing that wasn’t enough to cow his feelings though. Wasn’t enough to stop him turning green whenever she so much as spoke to someone else, as she was now.

With a start, Ravi realised she was talking to Arianne. He had failed to recognise his own sister while he gaped at her. That was proof enough, if he had needed more, that he wasn’t worthy of her. He focused on his sister to distract himself from the warring of emotions and hormones that pestered him whenever he thought of Deis Lisanna. Arianne’s presence was odd. He’d assumed she was still in bed – she usually didn’t rise until almost noon. She also, as far as he knew, had no reason to speak to the Deis.

He wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, and, while he debated finding a way to sneak closer, Arianne turned away from the Deis in one of her patented huffs. The Deis laid a hand on her shoulder, and after another brief exchange, the tall woman led his sister past the statue towards the other side of the green.

Ravi looked to the sun. He still had a little time before Crispin would miss him, and, though his brain told him it was none of his business, his greatest crush was having a clandestine meeting with his sister. He couldn’t help but be curious. He glanced up and down the empty road once before jogging up to the statue and peering past it. The two of them were entering the church garden.

Ravi scurried across the open common, his heart in his throat. One of them could turn and see him. Never mind that Arianne would be angry with him, the Deis would hate him forever. How could he ever endure that? He should just go back and help Crispin. Maybe Arianne would tell him what they were talking about, if he begged her.

He stopped behind the first tree on the garden path, cursing at himself to go back and still not doing it. The two of them were approaching the grand window, the Deis’ hand still resting on Arianne’s shoulder. The damn brat. What he wouldn’t do to have that intimacy, that sensation of her touch. He felt his fingernails digging into the bark of the tree while he ground his teeth. He felt a rush of relief when she finally let go and took a step back.

Arianne continued to stare at the window. The Deis watched her, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her white robe didn’t move despite the breeze, and the image seemed to burn into Ravi’s mind. His inner voice, which had just been growling for the Deis to let go of his sister and touch him instead, now screamed for him to run. Ice ran through his blood. One moment, the morning sun was warming his chest, the next he had been dunked in a river. The green of the trees dulled, the mist thickened around him. It was like… like it had been before. Before the Deis came.

Arianne opened her mouth, and the beginning of a scream emerged.

Then she was gone.

Just gone.

Ravi’s heart stopped. He was moving before he even realised it, his talons scratching the stone of the path. The Deis turned and saw him.

And he saw her.

Lines of pale red blood were riven across her ashen face. Her white robes were marred with black and grey, its cloth rent as though by the claws of forest monsters. Her glorious red hair fell in cold, white waves, matted with dirt and grease. Her eyes were the worst. Black holes with jagged edges that sucked in his gaze and stopped him in his tracks.

She raised a withered hand, a screech escaping her broken lips. Behind her, the colours on the window grew brighter, until they seemed to burn. They seeped out into the air, like a rainbow trying to push its way through acres of syrup. Everything they touched grew warmer. A sensation of peace filled Ravi for a moment. The light wrapped around the Deis, and she was beautiful again. She smiled at him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

For a blissful moment, he believed her. The sun was shining, the forest was safe again, the village was prosperous. Everyone was happy. And it was all thanks to her.

But everything wasn’t going to be okay. Because Arianne was gone.

Blue light flickered across Ravi’s vision. It tore away the illusion. The Deis’ hideous form returned, and a fowl shriek filled the ravaged garden. Ravi looked down to find that blue light was dancing like lightning across his feathers. He stepped towards the Deis, and she stepped back.

“Where is she?” he howled. “What did you do to her?”

“She’s gone,” the Deis cried back. “Consumed. As you will be.”

“Bring her back!” Ravi kept walking, the cascading cowl of light growing brighter around him. “Bring her back!”

“Gone!” the creature screamed, her voice echoing with black malice. “Gone!”

Ravi’s yell became wordless, and he grabbed the Deis by her ruined robes with both hands.

“Impossible!” she screeched. “None may touch me!”

Ravi felt a rush of energy leave him. It took his breath away, drained the strength from his muscles and forced him to his knees. When he looked up, he was staring at the window. The Deis was gone, her light-warping eyes no more than a nightmare he had left behind.

But Arianne was gone too. And when he looked around, he saw the gloom, felt the graven miasma that had covered the village before. He realised that it had always been there. The Deis had hidden it, but they had never escaped it.

When he had the strength once more, he returned home. He packed his things, strung his father’s bow, and went out into the darkness among the trees. If it took him, as it had taken his parents, then he would embrace that end. If it didn’t, though, he would ensure that nobody else would feed whatever lurked beyond that swirling glass.

 

 

 

“I failed, though,” Ravi says. “My warnings were often ignored, and there were times I didn’t notice travellers moving through the trees until too late.”

Riyo’s brow is furrowed with thought. She thinks she has an idea what is going on in Fefille, but more than that, she thinks her new bird friend might be amazing.

“I need you to shoot another arrow at me,” she says.

“What?”

She stands, whispering her reality open as she does. “Come on.”

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people at random,” he says, standing anyway.

“This isn’t random. It’s a direct request.” She plants herself in front of the tree and points to another, perhaps a hundred feet from her. “Shoot me from over there. Do the thing you did when you shot the pine cone off my head. Aim for my heart.”

“You’re crazy,” Ravi says, shaking his head and making his feathery ruff rustle. “There are better ways to kill yourself.”

“If you do it,” Riyo says, meeting his eyes, “I’ll save your village.”

Ravi is suddenly very still. His eyes narrow, and Riyo continues to meet his gaze with a slight smile.

He turns and stalks across the clear stretch of ground, pulling his bow over his shoulder as he does. When he reaches the point, he turns and looses an arrow with a clean, quick movement.

Riyo judges it a perfect heart shot, but it’s not what she’s looking for. The arrow plunges into the ground well short of her.

Ravi frowns. He has been practicing with this bow for hours every day for the last five years. He trusts his aim and draw like he trusts his own legs.

“That wasn’t it, Ravi,” Riyo shouts. “Hit me, or I’ll just move on and leave you with your curse.”

Ravi raises his bow again and snarls. The girl had embarrassed him, the first time they met. Now she is holding his village hostage over a stupid test of his marksmanship. Whatever it was that made him miss her, he could beat it.

He looses, and this time the arrow swirls with the mysterious blue energy he has come to call his curse-breaker. It’s inconsistent, and, though he’s tried, he can’t actually break the curse with it. He had used it to banish the Deis, though, and escape the curse in the first place. He wants to believe that if he just practices, if he just bides his time and works hard, he can save his village with it.

Riyo cannot manipulate the gravity of the arrow. It is another perfect shot, and it moves faster than she can credit. Her heart races as the arrow slips through everything she has that could divert it.

She reverses her own gravity and magnifies it, making up down and falling that way at an impossible speed. It lasts a split second, but the arrow misses, passing straight through the thick trunk of the tree and disappearing into the forest.

Riyo lands, the exhilaration of danger roaring through her and making her grin like a cat. She jogs over to Ravi, bringing her close to the edge of the village.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

Riyo grabs him by both shoulders, still grinning. “I do.” She gives him a little shake. “I understand. And it’s amazing.” She turns him around and shoves him towards Fefille. “Come on. Let’s go save your village.”

 

 

Riyo feels the sensation of pressure envelop her reality, which she is keeping large enough to include Ravi. His ability is inconsistent, but Riyo is sure in time he can master it, and if he does… if he does, no crafter will be able to touch him. Not even Elvolar Lightseer.

He is skittish. He doesn’t know exactly where the boundary of the curse lies, but he thinks they are approaching it.

“Relax,” Riyo says. “We’re here to beat the curse.”

“And if it takes us? We’ll be dancing and eating cream until we wander up to the church and die.”

“It won’t take us,” Riyo says. “We’re already inside it.”

Ravi blinks, almost missing a step. He looks around, but none of it is visible to him.

“I can keep it from us. Just stay with me.”

They enter the village proper, and the revelry still permeates its soil. From inside her reality, it looks grotesque. The smiles she is offered become toothy slashes in people’s faces, held open to bleed their words onto the ground. The music becomes a grinding, mechanical malfunction. The colours become a brightly-painted threat.

“Ravi,” a young man says, approaching them with a sense of urgency. “It’s been so long.”

“I’m sorry,” Ravi says. “I’ve been trying to fix this.”

The young man shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he looks up and smiles, “but I’m glad you’re here. You have to come to the common.”

Ravi glances at Riyo for a moment, unsure. “Why?”

“She’s back.” He turns and runs off before Ravi can say anything else. Ravi feels his stomach sinking, clenching around something hard and old.

“No,” he says softly, turning towards the common.

“We need to go to the church,” Riyo says.

“I can’t,” Ravi says, clenching his fist. “If… if she’s back, then…” He does not finish the sentiment. “I’ll be fine.”

Riyo begins to object, but then she sees something blue flicker across Ravi’s feathers. She smiles and retracts her reality around only herself. Ravi stalks towards the common, Fefille’s reality skittering off him as hers had from his arrows.

She skirts the common and walks down the path to the church, where windows of colour emanate outwards from a central arch that looks like a portal through a rainbow. Some of those windows have figures depicted in them in silhouette. One of those figures has a sword fastened tight to his arm.

 

 

Ravi enters the common to the jubilant whoops of the crowd. They aren’t directed at him. In the centre of the dance floor, beneath a lithe-figured statue that bears her likeness, stands Deis Lisanna. Her auburn hair falls in silken waves over her shoulders. Her pristine white robes reflect the sunlight like a fresh snowfall, but even that is overawed by her pale skin and radiant smile. Ravi remembers her. He remembers peering through crowds at her, scurrying to high places to catch glimpses of her over walls of her ardent fans. He remembers chasing her soft, reassuring touches through his dreams, remembers shouting down friends and peers who claimed to love her more truly than he.

And he remembers what lies beneath.

The crowd look to him, and their joy quails before his expression.

“Ravi,” Theo says. He had been the lead sculptor, though he now wears colourful robes and paint on his shaven head. They had worked together for weeks on the statue, along with the others. They were times he had felt such happiness as he can no longer even comprehend. False happiness.

“Step back.” The Deis’ lilting voice rolls over the crowd. It finds purchase in his heart, as if no time has passed at all. It begs for his forgiveness. For things to return to how they were.

False.

All of it false.

He raises his bow.

The crowd cries out, bustling forward around the Deis.

“Ravi!” someone screams, grabbing him from behind.

“How could you raise a weapon to her?” someone else says.

“She saved us.”

“She gave us everything.”

His bow is torn from his grip before he can fire, and the Deis’ voice speaks into him as if from somewhere else.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

 

Rolleck the Lost stops running. He doesn’t know how long he has been going, but he is still in the same darkness. The air feels the same as it had when he took that first step, though now it roars in and out of his lungs.

Do you see? The voice says.

“I dare not,” Rolleck whispers.

You cannot hide.

“I know.”

You can only run.

He shakes his head at the darkness. “Not here. This place is a prison. The cage only allows me to run in circles.”

Then do you wish to keep running?

Rolleck feels himself shiver and grips his sword. He draws what strength from its barbs that he can, though it has never quite been enough.

“Yes,” he breathes.

One day you will face me.

“Not today.”

So be it.

The wires pull tight around his arm, digging deeper into his flesh. He feels them inside, snaking through his body until they are wrapped around his heart. He grits his teeth against the pain, against the oncoming death he must taste.

The moment hangs in the endless dark.

Barbs pierce his heart, and he screams.

 

Rolleck feels a brief resistance against his sword, and then light is dragging him downwards among a rain of broken glass. The pain still echoes through him, but it is receding with every second that passes, allowing the sensations of his body to return to him. His lungs burn with exertion, his eyes are blinded by the new light, and his stomach groans with the anguish of emptiness.

He lets the sensations fade, lets his eyes recover from their imprisonment. He finds himself lying on smooth stone, surrounded by the smell of life. When he looks up, Riyo Falsemoon is looking down at him, frowning.

“That was dramatic,” she says.

Rolleck sits up with a groan. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. What were you doing in there?”

“Cardio, mostly,” Rolleck says. He glances down at his arm. Blood and oil drip over his skin and the metal of his sword. “Are we done with this village?”

Riyo nods. “Pretty much. A few loose ends to tie up.” She sighs. “As festivals go, this one was kinda boring.”

Rolleck shrugs and pulls himself to his feet. “What’s left to do here, then?”

“The woman who started this whole thing is back there,” she hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the common. “I think she might be a ghost.”

“Uh-huh,” Rolleck says.

“You could be at least a little shocked,” Riyo complains.

“I’ve seen ghosts before.”

Riyo pouts. “Well then. If you’re so hot on the undead, you go kill her and I’ll deal with the church.”

“That sounds fair,” Rolleck says, looking towards the common again.

“Because I can, you know,” Riyo says.

Rolleck starts walking. “I’m sure you can.”

“And you couldn’t.”

“That’s right,” he says, smiling.

Riyo sticks her tongue out at him. He could at least pretend to be impressed or ask her how she’d figured it out.

She turns back to the church, approaches the window, and vanishes.

 

 

 

Ravi kneels on splintered boards. His former friends have taken his bow from him, and now their gazes pin him to the dance floor before their saviour. The woman who murdered his sister.

“Please look at me, Ravi,” she says. Her voice is cold and sweet, like ice cream.

He does. He tries to see her in that broken form, with empty eyes and ravaged robes. The image is fading, though. It seems like she really is the woman they all revere. Beautiful. Elegant. Kind.

“I don’t blame you, for what you did.”

“You killed her,” he spits, and his words send a ripple of angry energy through their audience. They won’t believe him. He has tried telling them this before, but the curse makes them incapable of seeing her ugly deeds as well as her ugly form.

“What happened to your sister was truly awful,” she says, “but I was not responsible for it. I tried to save her, Ravi.”

He finds himself believing her. Perhaps he had misinterpreted what he saw. Perhaps their argument before the statue had been the Deis’ attempt to dissuade Arianne from going to the church. Perhaps…

Blue light flickers around him, dispelling the notion. It is the curse talking, whispering into his mind a reality where everything is okay, and there is only happiness. False happiness. He stands, and, though nobody else sees it, her face flickers from kindly understanding to rage.

“Please stop this, Ravi.” Her words have lost their sweetness. Instead, they sound angry. Spoken through grinding teeth.

He takes a step forward, and the blue light builds around him.

“Ravi…”

“You killed her,” he says, more confident now. Her curse cannot touch him, and if he can destroy her then his village will be free.

A boy steps between them, stopping him. He is fourteen, perhaps. As Ravi himself had been, when he had declared that he would happily die for Deis Lisanna.

“I won’t let you hurt her, Ravi,” he says.

Ravi reaches out, slowly, unthreatening. He places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and blue light flickers onto his clothes, then over his skin. He jerks back, his eyes widening, and looks around. He sees, for the first time in nearly ten years. It might even be the first time he has truly seen what the world looks like.

He panics, turning his head this way and that. His breath comes quickly as the other villagers recoil from him, all as shocked as he is.

Ravi finds he is smiling. His heart soars, and he seeks out his old friends in the faces of the crowd. Theo’s chromatic pate sticks out, and Ravi darts towards him. He is so much faster than he once was. Now, if Arianne ran from him, he would catch her in a moment. Or perhaps not. She would no doubt have been quicker, now. The thought tempers his joy but does not stomp it away, as it once might have. He can break the curse. He has finally done it.

He manages to touch a handful of people with his curse-breaker. They immediately fall into disarray, wild-eyed and gobsmacked, and Ravi darts past them onto the next target.

Something comes swinging at his left side, and he diverts his momentum into a dive, sprawling into a member of the crowd and bringing them both down in a heap. He rolls off the woman and pulls himself into a crouch. A hot, stinging sensation draws his attention to his shoulder, which is bleeding down the feathers of his arm from a shallow gash.

“I let you get the better of me, last time,” the Deis says. Her voice is still mellow and beautiful, but her expression shows her anger. The people of Fefille, still static and uncertain, turn to her in surprise.

Ravi’s keen eyes flicker across the space and find his bow and quiver, forgotten in the chaos. The Deis notices, and she throws out a hand towards the man closest to the bow. He makes a choking sound, then falls as still as the statue whose shadow they stand beneath. His eyes dim. At first his irises simply fade to grey, then they sink deeper to match the pupil. His skin blanches, bleaches, dulls to the colour of rotten beef.

He turns a pair of familiar abyssal eyes on Ravi and screams in the voice of the dead.

The crowd find reason, at last, and echo the shriek, fleeing outward across the common like ripples on the surface of a pond. All except for ten of them, who are tethered to the Deis by translucent strands of darkness. Their colours begin to sag, and Ravi’s stomach writhes with horror. He looks into the face of the man by his bow and yells fear and anger at him, blue light rolling off his feathers. He charges, kicking out with a taloned foot. The creature, no longer the man with a life and family, dodges aside, catching only a short scratch on his arm.

Ravi dives past him, grabbing his bow and quiver and coming up in a roll, knocking and drawing before he is even sure of his balance.

“You have your wish,” the Deis snarled. “I will have to leave this place, now. Even the colour wraith will not be able to win them back into submission after witnessing this.” Her body ripples, and the vision of grace fails her. The ghoul beneath wears the same look of fury. “You have ruined years of work, rat. I will make sure you die here.”

She raises her hands, and the grey villagers all turn to him, their eyes pulling at him like the void.

Then a sword emerges from her chest, and she screams. The grey villagers scream with her, their unearthly voices making a choir of anguish.

The Deis’ form blurs, scattering apart like scraps of cloth. Behind her stands the man who arrived with Riyo. His aquamarine wolf pelt marks him a police officer of the Everstall Song, but Ravi has never seen a policeman like him. The way his sword is bound to him makes Ravi’s arm hurt.

He frowns down at it, then his eyes sweep to the right. Ravi follows, and finds the Deis standing unharmed by a drink stall just off the dance floor.

“I suppose it was a little optimistic to hope it would be that simple,” he says.

“You!” the Deis screams. “What are you? I cannot be touched my mortals. My realm is that beyond.”

When she turns her body, Ravi sees that she is not entirely unharmed. Light passes through the hole where the sword pierced her, though there is no blood.

The man shrugs. “I’m as mortal as the next man. More so, maybe.” He raises his sword. “This is a little special, though.”

The grey villagers pull in around the Deis, moving almost as fast as Ravi and wearing rictus snarls that drip saliva over their teeth.

“If you’re mortal, then you will die. None escape me.” The Deis raises a hand, and two of the tendrils that had transformed Ravi’s friends into monstrous thralls burst from her palm. Ravi grits his teeth, and a flare of blue energy bursts from his chest to meet the shadowy tentacle. The darkness roars into blue flame and falls to the ground, fading to nothing. The swordsman simply swats the one aimed at him aside, his weapon a grey blur.

The Deis growls.

“It’s Ravi, right?” Rolleck says, not taking his eyes from the creature or her minions. While he had told Riyo he had fought ghosts before, he is now willing to admit he may have been exaggerating a little. The spectres he has encountered as he runs have been grumpy spirits, easily dispatched by his blade. This woman is something else entirely.

“Um, yes,” Ravi says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rolleck the Lost,” Rolleck says. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Er. Likewise? Where’s Riyo?”

“She had something to do at the church.”

The Deis lets out a shrill laugh. “You experienced the church yourself,” she says. “I do not know how you escaped, but you have seen the nothing within. Creatures entombed there can only wait as they are drained of life. They die alone, oblivious to their own senses as they feed the wraith.” She turns her foul gaze on Ravi, and smiles. “That is how your sister died.”

Ravi growls and draws back the arrow he has been holding. It flies straight towards the Deis’ head, but a grey villager leaps into its path. It stops dead in the villager’s chest and blue energy spirals outwards, shredding the creature apart like damp, grey paper to the sound of an agonised shriek that echoes in and out of the void.

The arrow falls to the boards, still flickering softly with the curse breaker’s light.

Ravi pulls another arrow from the quiver at his waist while the Deis looks on, her features cold and still.

Rolleck the Lost laughs. “Nice shot.” He lifts his sword. “Shall we?”

 

 

Riyo Falsemoon stands in an empty church. The walls are unadorned brick, as outside. The high, curving rafters are an exposed ribcage of dark wood. The floor is dirt, covered with bones.

At the far end of the space, where the altar might be in a functioning church, the bones are piled high, and at the top sits a creature of darkness. It reminds Riyo of a toad – though it is skinny and humanoid, with elongated limbs, it has slimy grey skin and a neck that bulges out beneath its wide jaw and beady black eyes. It is slumped like a surly teenager, and though Riyo has entered its domain, it does not look at her.

“Hi,” Riyo says. Its eyes flicker, passing through every colour Riyo has ever seen in an instant before returning to black and focusing on her. It roars, primal and animalistic. And fearful. The clatter of bones fills the church as it scampers away from her.

“I thought so,” she says. It is the strongest crafter she has ever encountered, stronger than her master, even. But it is an animal. A creature of basic instincts and simple purpose. It wants only to eat. Its reality sings a lullaby to its prey, warming their heats and pulling them in until it can drain away their colour. “She’s using you, isn’t she? A vengeful spirit, with the power to draw strength from others, finds a creature whose power is so grand that even the tiny fragment she can siphon away is enough to turn her into a monster. She turned a whole village into a cult and sacrificed visitors and those who defied her to you.”

Riyo glances around. Nobody is present to hear how smart she is for figuring it out. Only the monster, cowering in the corner of a church built to venerate its rumbling belly.

“I wonder who she was, in life.” The creature doesn’t have an answer, and she is not sure she has an answer for it, either. What does one do with a creature like this? Killing it will leave a bad taste in her mouth. It is unique, and innocent by its ignorance. And yet it is so very dangerous. She wishes it had tried to kill her, rather than fleeing. That would have made this much easier.

 

 

 

The grey villagers do not really care when Rolleck stabs them. Like the ghost, the holes do not close up, but they also do not slow the creatures down. If they are watching Ravi carefully they are fast enough to dodge his arrows, but the moment they become distracted, they die. Rolleck keeps himself between the monsters and Ravi – if they are able to reach the archer, Rolleck’s job becomes much more difficult. For his part, Ravi is adept at avoiding them, but they are many and Rolleck and Ravi are two.

On top of this, the ghoul keeps herself behind her meat shield and flings blasts of burning colour at them, which are both blinding and painful. Rolleck’s left arm bears a silvery yellow mark that feels as though he has fallen asleep leaning against a lit stove. He slashes another glob of orange out of the way and darts between a husk and Ravi, slicing off a few of its fingers in the process of deflecting its strike. The creature stumbles, and an arrow appears in its forehead drawing out a scream that harrows and then fades. The creature’s remnants flutter away on the breeze. Six of his brethren remain.

“We need to kill her,” Ravi pants. He has been practicing with his bow every day, but his stamina has never been a priority. If this battle goes much longer, one of the creatures will catch him in spite of Rolleck’s heroic efforts to discourage them.

They spring apart as a burst of florescent pink comes crashing down between them. Ravi bounds to the roof of a stall as the creatures roll forward into the gap, mouths chattering silent laughter as darkness creeps out of them. They grab at the poles holding the stall up, and Ravi makes a wobbly jump to the next roof. In flight, he takes a shot at the Deis, but she shimmers aside with a hollow cry.

“I’ll lock her down,” Rolleck says, appearing by the side of the stall. “Keep the grey things distracted and be ready to make the shot when I yell.”

He charges forward before Ravi can respond. The three creatures chasing him clamber onto his stall, and he is forced to abandon it. He rolls when he hits the ground, lungs burning. He starts running for the centre of the common, sparing a quick glance behind him. The other three grey villagers are guarding the Deis, but Rolleck is running at them anyway. Ravi can only trust he knows what he’s doing and push himself to stay alive.

Rolleck tightens his grip on his sword. The grey things hover around their master, unwilling to leave her unprotected in case they need to throw themselves in front of another arrow. Rolleck moves out to one side, slashing through a lump of burning green before driving forward. The things must now split or leave the ghoul exposed to Ravi’s arrows. Only one comes to intercept Rolleck, and he grins.

He keeps it between himself and the ghoul so that it will block any colour the ghoul decides to throw his way. When it lunges for him, he dodges aside and sweeps his blade straight through it, cutting it in half. The ghoul growls at him as both halves of her minion flail on the ground. The top half screams at him, but he ignores it, glancing down at the wires that hold his sword to him. Three targets should be doable.

Run, the voice says. Keep running.

“Soon enough,” he says. He points his sword at the ghoul and screams his rage and pain at her.

Ravi leaps, his lithe muscles carrying his light frame just out of the grasping hands of his pursuers. His chest is ravaged with agony as he takes another breath. His talons scratch against the stone of the central plinth, and then he his airborne again. The air streams past him as though he is in flight, and as Rolleck begins to yell, his foot finds purchase on the Deis’ stone face. His talons dig in, scarring her false beauty. He pushes off, pivots, and lines up his shot.

Barbed wires burst from Rolleck’s arm, streaking into the Deis and her two remaining guards. Their screams join Rollecks, but in a heartbeat the wires pierce and entwine, digging into unreal flesh and burrowing into the earth around them. Ravi’s arrow swirls with power as it bursts from his bow, and it streaks forth like a lightning bolt.

It hits the Deis in her left eye, and her death rattle shatters the world like a broken mirror. With a crunch, all colour fades, and the light follows it away.

 

Ravi stands up. He does not feel dead, but then what else could this charmless black void represent? He looks around and finds Rolleck standing a short distance away. He tries to walk over to him, but the swordsman does not get any closer.

“What’s happening?” he shouts.

Rolleck turns and shrugs. “It’s the same as in the church.”

“What do we do?”

“We wait.” He sits down. “Shouldn’t need any dramatics to escape, this time.”

 

 

Riyo feels the change in pressure outside her reality as she sits staring at the colour wraith. Its head turns, and it opens its mouth, impossibly wide. Two pairs of fearsome fangs protrude before a bottomless pit, and the shift in pressure becomes a violent, uncontrolled force. The creature is lashing out with its reality.

Riyo stands with a grim smile. This is a test. Her master hates grotesque shows of pure strength, and so he has tried to teach her finesse. Riyo wants to push every facet of her crafting, however, so now she will see what she can withstand.

She feels a wave of pressure on her reality and it pushes her back to her knees. Her eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” she breathes. She can feel the wave all around her. The creature has pushed outwards in every direction, the epicentre of an imaginary earthquake strong enough to rend the mental space of the entire village. If it could direct all that power at her, she would be crushed. It doesn’t have the control, though. She is ready for the next wave and pushes back against it. It still makes her stagger, and she finds herself breathing heavily. How many can she take? What is her limit?

The third wave rolls over her, and she breaks through the other side with a gasp. It is as though they are waves in truth, and she must hold her breath as they pass lest she drown. She lets out an exhilarated yell as the fourth wave passes. Her grin breaks into laughter, and she throws herself into the fifth.

On the other side, she sees the windows. One that she remembers containing only colour now bears the silhouette of a bald man in billowing robes. She finds two other windows, one containing the familiar shape of a man with a sword and a surprisingly cultivated moustache and another containing a scrawny shape covered in feathers. She endures a sixth wave, but her joy in the challenge has faded, now. She no longer pits her own worth against someone else – she now holds lives in her hands.

“Sorry,” she pants at the creature. Her reality billows outwards in the trough between waves, swallowing the creature as it had the village of Fefille. Were it a true crafter, it could resist the expansion. It does not, and they both exist for a moment in two realities.

“Black Hole,” Riyo intones, and a point of gravity like that of a star appears inside the creature’s gaping maw.

Not even the sound of its bones becoming dust escapes. Silence meets its demise. Riyo sighs, and the sound echoes around the church.

“Not a fun festival at all,” she says, and lets her reality close. The glass in the windows crumbles away, leaving the church a soulless ruin.

 

 

The world comes back without fanfare. One moment, darkness, the next, Fefille. The colours are faded, as they have always been. The forest around her is dark and full of fear, as it has always been. Only the people have changed. Once, they were beholden to that fear. Then they were deceived into letting it go. Perhaps now that the deception is ended, they will learn that both the fear and the joy was never external; it came from within.

Or maybe they won’t.

Ravi finds he is indifferent to their plight. He sits on the roof of a stall, watching his former friends mill about and ask each other questions, cry and pray and wallow in grief. He realises he doesn’t actually know any of them. When last they were truly themselves, he was only ten years old.

“You could rally them,” Rolleck says.

“To what end?” Ravi’s eyes are still drawn to the statue. “I could… what? Become mayor? Of the village where everyone I’ve ever loved died?” He shakes his head.

“So you want to run, instead?”

“You think me a coward?”

Rolleck laughs. “We’re all cowards. I’ve been running for most of my life. The alternative is to fight the same war forever.” He stops leaning against the stall and stretches, rolling his neck so that it cracks grotesquely. Riyo is strolling across the common towards them. “Both are tiring,” Rolleck says, “but I’ve found that running gets you stabbed less often.”

“What are you running from?” Ravi asks.

“That,” Rolleck says with a distant look, “is a long and complicated story.”

Ravi senses it is a story he is not about to tell.

“What about her?” He nods at Riyo.

“She is the rarest of sorts. There are plenty of things chasing her, but she only sees what she’s running towards.”

“And what’s that?”

“The whole damn world.” He smiles faintly as he says it.

“I’m tired,” Riyo says, stopping in front of them.

“There’s an inn beside the main road on the eastern edge of the village,” Ravi says.

Riyo’s expression sours. “I’d rather not stay in Fefille, if I’m honest.” She glances at Ravi. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Ravi says. “I don’t think I could sleep soundly here either.”

“That makes three of us,” Rolleck says. “We still have an hour or so of daylight left. We could walk a ways before we set up camp.”

“Ugh,” Riyo says. “Camping.”

“You might as well get over it – you’ll be doing an awful lot more camping before your quest is done.”

They begin walking, putting the common and its maimed statue behind them.

“Where are you headed, anyway?” Ravi asks. He does not look back. What awaits him now that he is free of his curse is unknown, but he finds that each step he takes feels lighter. Wherever his life leads him from here, he might as well start out on that path walking alongside these two.

“We’re going to find the sunlight stone,” Riyo says.

Ravi almost stumbles on the second step of his new path. He glances at Riyo, but she does not wear the countenance of a prankster.

“She is going to find the sunlight stone,” Rolleck says. “I intend to find a nice little town in need of an experienced police officer.”

“We are going to find the sunlight stone,” Riyo says again. She turns to Ravi. “You should come too.”

“Um.” Ravi glances at Rolleck, who shrugs.

“Might as well tag along for now,” he says. “There’s a lot of interesting places between here and Tower’s End. You’ll find somewhere you belong eventually.”

Riyo does not argue, and Ravi shrugs, letting Fefille fall away behind him.

“What kind of tree is that?” Riyo asks.

Rolleck groans.

“It’s a Caperin,” Ravi says. “An evergreen. They get more numerous the closer you get to Yl Torat. Their sap smells like sulphur.”

“Cool,” Riyo says. “What kind of flower is that?”

Book One

Falling Backwards

 

If the legends said that there was a gemstone that could grant you near-infinite power hidden deep within the mana caves below the surface of another world, connected to your own by a bridge of molten metal and inhabited by creatures born of the nightmares of those driven insane by the creatures that were already there before they arrived, would you set out to retrieve it?

Riyo Falsemoon would.

Though for now she sits on the dry stone floor of a cell in the local jail, tomorrow she could be out beyond the rigid walls of her small town in the rocky foothills of the greatest adventure story anybody has ever told.

“You don’t have much respect for authority, do you miss?” the sheriff says. He’s a broad man with a thick, greying moustache, wearing the golden wolf pelt that marks his station over his head and shoulders like a cowl. His grey shirt and silver waistcoat are crossed with a pair of leather belts dangling with throwing knives, and there are two swords and a cudgel through his actual belt.

“I don’t see why the apothacarium is out of bounds in the first place,” Riyo says. She surreptitiously rubs her arms against the cold. The officers have divested her of her jacket and her fur-lined boots for fear that she has concealed weapons in them. This is sensible of them, because she has, but she is still allowed to feel indignant about being left to freeze her arse off in this cell.

“Because it’s damned dangerous, girl,” the sheriff says, shaking his head, “as you well know from experience. What was it, half a week ago when we pulled you out of the south tower minutes before it was hit by an ice satellite?”

“It barely even fell down,” Riyo complains. “And besides, you pulled me out of the foyer. I was already on my way out. I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

The sheriff just sighs. “Your master is on the way here now. Perhaps he can beat some sense into you.”

Riyo shivers, knowing it has nothing to do with the cold. “When did the dragonfly arrive?”

“About twenty minutes before you were apprehended. It’s how we knew you were in there.”

“So I wouldn’t even have been caught if it wasn’t for his stupid prescience. That hardly seems fair.”

“Laws are laws, missy. The crime is breaking them, not getting caught.”

Riyo pouts at him and rubs her arms again. Riyo’s master, Elvolar, is an Archcrafter – a man whose reality-crafting abilities have been recognised by the crafters’ council and the Grand Commander of the worldforce.

“We’ll see about getting you something warm to wear for your little stay here. The Archcrafter’s earliest convenience is three days from now, and he insisted that you not be allowed to leave.” The sheriff turns to go.

Riyo throws herself at the bars of her cell. “You can’t leave me here for three days if you aren’t charging me with anything,” she says. “I’ll sue you.”

The sheriff pauses by the door. “Girl, on the word of an Archcrafter I can keep you locked up forever and no lawyer this side of the Reach could make a case against me.”

“Damnit,” Riyo says, smashing the heel of her hand against the bars and making them ring as the sheriff leaves. “He’s not even that cool. He mostly just sits in his library all day.”

Riyo turns to face the wall of the cell. Chunky grey stones look back at her, illuminated by the light that slides between the bars of the high window. She doesn’t know what her master will do to her, but it worries her. She has been living on her own in this town for almost a year now, refining her own crafting, and she believes she is ready to begin reaching out towards her own destiny. If her master takes her back, though, she might be trapped in his estate for another decade.

So she decides she must escape. Her master will know where she goes thanks to his prescience, but the reality he crafts for himself is called Intellectrum. He reaches beyond the physical world with his powers and touches thoughts and ideas, moulding them to his will. He may know far more than any human being has ever known, but he must still travel like any other human does.

Riyo has no high ideals about crafting, despite her master’s constant coaxing for her to consider everything. In the end, she crafted a physical reality – one that she could rule, and one that would make her uncontainable. One that would make her, above all, strong.

“Gravity Mould,” she utters quietly, and feels her reality take hold over the jail. She draws back her arm and punches the unyielding stone wall. Gravity shifts ahead of her fist, becomes hundreds of times greater, and angled away from her. For the wall where her knuckles impact, down is suddenly away from Riyo, and it falls as though being pulled into a black hole.

The effect ripples outwards, shredding the stone and mortar and dragging it away from the jail until it reaches the edge of the effect. Then it stops, and, like putty in Riyo’s mind, it goes where she wishes it to, directed by changes in her reality’s gravity. It scatters into a little starscape of static rock chunks, and when Riyo hops onto the lowest of them it doesn’t move. She jumps from rock to rock until she can skip onto the roof of the jail, where the sheriff is standing with a pair of other officers, smoking a pipe.

“I’ve decided I’m leaving,” she says. She leaves her reality open, holding the remains of the wall behind her and watching the officers’ reactions.

The sheriff’s pipe falls from his slack mouth, and Riyo adjusts how gravity affects it, slowing its fall to the roof.

“A crafter’s apprentice is a crafter, sheriff. Your jail won’t hold me, and I don’t want to be here when my master gets here.”

“Your master will-” the sheriff begins.

“My master will suck it up. If he really wants to find me then he will. Your walls can’t hold me, but Elvolar Lightseer’s sight is inescapable.”

“What should we do?” one of the other officers whispers, a little too loud.

The sheriff, having recovered somewhat, reaches down and retrieves his pipe. “As far as I’m concerned,” he says, “this is now above my pay grade. Would you like to get between two crafters who disagree with one another?”

“No,” the officer says pragmatically.

“Well then,” the sheriff says.

Riyo nods to him. “I would like my jacket and boots back, please.”

“Go fetch them, Will,” the sheriff says, and the other officer heads towards the trapdoor. He keeps watching Riyo and her field of shrapnel as he does. There is an awkward silence that nobody wants to break until Will returns with Riyo’s crimson jacket and fur boots.

“For what it’s worth,” Riyo says as she pulls on her boots, “thanks for looking out for me while I was here. You didn’t know what I could do, so I suppose you really were concerned for my safety all those times you came into the apothacarium after me.”

“Unfortunately that isn’t quite true,” the sheriff says. He knocks the fragrant ashes from his pipe and stares at it for a moment while Riyo puts on her jacket. “The apothacarium is dangerous, and local laws forbid people from entering it, but it’s been a long time since that law was so strictly enforced. Your master instructed us to keep you out of it on purpose.”

Riyo gets a crawling feeling in her stomach. The apothacarium is the reason she chose to undertake her study in Galsbreath, and now it’s clear why her master kept recommending other locations. He knows what is hidden deep within the ruins – what Riyo now knows – and he didn’t want her to know it.

“Well,” Riyo says. “I suppose that means there is more to the legend of the sunlight stone.”

The officers all blink at the same time.

“Most people call it a fantasy,” Riyo continues, “but after what I found in the apothacarium and knowing my master didn’t want me to find it, perhaps it’s real after all.” Riyo smiles. “Which means I really can find it.”

“Most people call it fantasy because it is,” the sheriff says.

Riyo frowns at him and makes to argue, but he shakes his head.

“Oh there might be a sunlight stone,” he concedes, “but as to what it is? It’s all fantasy. They say it’ll grant wishes or eternal life, or bring back the dead, or any of a thousand other mortal desires. Anything that spawns those kinds of tales is either going to be a grand disappointment, or so dangerous that it should stay exactly as lost as it is now.” The sheriff shrugs his shoulders, but his steely gaze doesn’t waver. “You’ve obviously learned well from your master. I’m sure you can achieve anything you want to without the stone.”

Riyo smiles. “And what if the thing I want to achieve is retrieving the stone?”

The sheriff frowns.

“It’s time for me to spread my wings,” Riyo says, allowing her reality to begin closing. The remains of the wall begin to sink back to the earth, and Riyo steps up to the edge of the roof and hops onto one as it falls past, turning back to the sheriff. “I’ve outgrown this town. I’m going to try on the world instead. See if it fits.” She passes below the lip of the roof and touches down, her reality crumbling away.

The sheriff steps up to the edge of the roof and watches as the young crafter strides through the remnants of his jail’s wall towards the eastern gate of the town.

“Well that was something,” Will says. “I suppose I should get in touch with the stonemason’s guild.”

The sheriff nods. “Let the mayor know we’re in for a visit from an Archcrafter as well. Tell him the man might be a little angry.”

Riyo knows three things about the sunlight stone. First, it is powerful. The nature of its power, she must admit, the sheriff was right about. Even the archives in the apothacarium had been mute on that, but that is the least important fact on the list.

Second, she knows it lies deep within an immeasurable series of caverns and caves beneath the surface of Calis, Valos twin planet. The two are connected by the Reach – an oozing column of molten metal that ebbs and flows from one planet to the other. People have crossed it before, but it is difficult, and only a handful of them came back. To a person, they refuse to share their tales, and only a handful of accounts of Calis like the one Riyo found in the apothacarium exist.

The third thing Riyo knows is that to retrieve the sunlight stone is considered impossible. People use the task as a euphemism for something that will never happen. Alice will agree to go on a date with me if I retrieve the sunlight stone. I’ll finish that book I’m writing the day after I retrieve the sunlight stone. I’ll do that for you if you show me the sunlight stone.

Riyo wants it because of that. She wants to touch the impossible and then cast it behind her, to show the world, and her master, that she can. To her, it is an adventure that she cannot help but undertake.

Riyo knows several things that are unrelated to the sunlight stone as well, and one of them is that a human being requires food and water to live. She wishes ardently that she had considered this piece of knowledge before she left Galsbreath with neither. Of course, it was too late to go back and correct her mistake. She can imagine the sheriff’s face if he found her in the market buying provisions after everything she’d said. She can’t face the embarrassment of that, and so she continues.

Besides, she expects this journey to test every facet of her – not just her crafting, but everything she knows and everything she doesn’t, everything she can and cannot do. Out towards the borders of civilisation, where The Reach births monsters that most people prefer to avoid, there will be precious few places where food will be easy to obtain. She will have to hunt and forage.

Her stomach grumbles, and she considers everything she knows about the procurement of food out in the wilderness. She knows animals are often made of meat, and that some plants are edible, while some are so poisonous they could kill the most powerful of archcrafers in a matter of minutes. She does not, however, know how to differentiate between such plants. Animals it would have to be, then.

The area she is walking through is mostly woodland, so she figures there are animals around. Deer, rabbits, woodland caravaks, bears, ligmists… She wonders which would be the tastiest. Perhaps she should start simple by catching the first animal she finds. There is nothing in immediate view of the path – which will eventually take her to Folvin, the capital of the Everstall Song – so she decides to leave it.

The foliage quickly becomes thicker, and as time passes the shadows grow deeper and her stomach louder. Despite a lot of walking and searching she sees not a hint of anything edible. She is not one to grow worried, but she realises that she has no idea where the path is and that soon night will fall. On the other hand, perhaps some of the larger night predators will see her as a meal themselves, and bring their meat directly to her.

Between one step and another she smells smoke on the twilight breeze. She stops, and, for the first time since leaving Galsbreath, uses her brain for a second. The wind is unreliable, but as it swirls around her and rustles branches and leaves she begins to track its path, and the direction it is bringing the smell from. She follows it through darkening underbrush, feeling quietly relieved as it grows stronger, until she sees the flickering light of a fire against the bark of a tree off to her left. This close, amid the smell of smoke, she picks up the scent of cooking meat as well, and her mouth begins to water. Perhaps the owners of the fire will be willing to share?

She steps around the tree blocking her view of the camp and stops dead. A guttural growl breaks through the night time forest sounds and plucks at the hairs on the back of her neck, dropping the temperature around her to freezing point. The green bear is hunched in the shadows beyond the fire, and its rat-goblin masters are clustered around the blaze, watching her with hateful red eyes. Perhaps half her height, their green-brown skin is leathery and painted with mud and berry juice, their gnarled little fingers clutching crude stone weapons.

“Oh,” Riyo says.

One of the rat-goblins hisses and yells something in its harsh, growling language, exposing pointed, greying teeth. The green bear lumbers forward, at least twice as tall as Riyo on all fours and bigger in every other dimension than a reasonably sized wagon, the rat-goblins shift aside to allow it to pass. Its thorn-filled green fur brushes a tree and rips the bark from it.

Riyo swallows, her instincts telling her to run. But this is the part of the adventure she expected to be good at. A beast like the bear should be no contest for a crafter, especially one with a reality like hers.

“Gravity Mould,” she says, and the bear’s next ground-shaking step pushes it away from the forest floor.

Riyo has spent days at a time living in her reality, learning to cope with different gravitational effects. The bear does not even know what gravity is. Was, until now, unaware that gravity could be anything but constant. So as it floats into the air it panics, begins to flail, smashing branches to the ground with its enormous paws. One of the rat-goblins yelps and dives for cover as the entire tree cracks about half way up and comes crashing down into the fire, sending embers and hot air rushing out.

Riyo leaps to the new top of the tree, gravity’s effects on her as minimal as on the bear, then pushes off, giving herself a little extra weight so that she comes to a slow stop just above the gently spinning bear. As its back comes round to her, she slams her heel down on it, creating a pillar of space from the point of impact where gravity is a thousand times its natural state.

The bear rockets towards the ground, almost too fast to see, and hits with a gruesome crunch that sends blood, bone and innards splashing outwards against trees and rat-goblins. Riyo sinks back to the epicentre of the bear-comet’s impact and looks to the rat-goblins. They scatter, disappearing into the forest in a matter of seconds, leaving the calming sounds of the wind in the brush and blood dripping from the leaves.

Riyo nods to herself. Perhaps she will not be so lucky next time she gets hungry, but for now she has a meal. Whatever the rat-goblins had been cooking has fallen into the fire during the commotion, but there are sizeable chunks of bear flesh dotted around the little clearing, so it is a simple matter for her to spit one and set it to cooking. She sits down on the dried leaves and drying blood to watch the flames gently brown the bear meat.

Just as she is about to dig in, somebody says “who are you?” from behind her.

She jumps to her feet and spins around, dropping her chunk of bear on the floor, ready to open her reality. There is a lone man behind her, and he is wearing a uniform similar to the officers of Galsbreath. His wolf pelt is shimmering aquamarine, draped over his left shoulder and hanging past his hand. His right arm is bare, wrapped in silvery wire that pierces his skin in several places and has barbs sticking into his hand, which grips the handle of a strange sword. Its dull grey blade runs along his forearm and sticks out a foot or so beyond his clenched fist, only its very edge showing a hint of a shine. He is glowering at her from above an exquisitely shaped black moustache that makes him look older than his soil-brown eyes suggest.

“My name is Riyo,” Riyo says. “I just left Galsbreath.”

The man’s eyes roam the clearing and his expression remains wary. “I’ve been pursuing a group of rat-goblins that’s been ransacking local farms and destroyed a Fort Favial watch tower.”

“Oh,” Riyo says, relaxing a little and nodding. “This is their camp.” She reaches down and picks up her dinner. “This was their bear.” She takes a bite and then immediately spits it out. The taste is worse than anything she has ever experienced, like swallowing a thousand rotting worms.

“Fuck me,” she says, trying to find more saliva to spit out. The next breath she takes makes her retch, and she is forced to her knees. “Help.”

The man thrusts a canteen into her face, and she grabs it, taking a mouthful of water and spitting it onto the ground before gulping down several mouthfuls. She still tastes green bear.

“The green bear was dead?”

“No,” Riyo says, spitting again. “But it is now. How can something taste so revolting?”

“Green bears are regular bears made wretched by a toxic parasite,” the man says. “The bear itself is essentially long dead, animated and enhanced by the parasite.”

Riyo sighs, grimaces and spits again. Her stomach rumbles. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat?” she asks the man.

He shakes his head. “I had expected to catch up with the rat-goblins a while ago. They travelled a lot further before making camp than they usually would.”

“Well maybe you can help me find an animal that doesn’t taste like poison swamp.”

The man shakes his head again. “I don’t make a habit of sharing meals with complete strangers I meet in the woods in the middle of the night.” He begins to walk away.

Riyo glances back at the fire once before following him. “In that case I’ll just follow you back to the road. I’m embarrassed to admit I was a little lost.”

“I’m not going back to the road,” the man says, casting a displeased look over his shoulder. “The rat-goblins are still out there, and they need to be punished.”

“Well then I’ll help,” Riyo says. “We’ll make quick work of them and then you can lead me back to the road.”

The man stops and rounds on her, pulling her to an abrupt stop as he points his sword at her. “Just back off,” he says. “I work alone, and it’s your own stupid fault you’re lost.”

“Well you’re the only person I’ve found so far, and I’d be stupid to just let you go and leave me lost, so screw you. You don’t need to talk to me, just let me follow.”

“Fine,” the man says. “But if you lose track of me, that’s your problem too. I’m not waiting around.”

Riyo falls a little behind the man and watches him. She wonders why his sword is bound to his arm like that, and why a small-town police officer is out hunting a pack of rat-goblins with a green bear all on his own. She also wonders why he is such a grumpy bastard, but then perhaps that has something to do with all that barbed wire wrapped tight around his arm.

The man swipes away looming foliage with his sword as he walks. He follows the obvious tracks the stealthless rat-goblins have left in their wake and wonders about the girl behind him. She is young – too young to be out in the forest alone – and yet the camp site they leave behind them is a disgusting mess of dead green bear. The girl is an enigma, and he has little time for such things. Once the rat-goblins are dealt with, he will return her to Malvis and be back on the beat.

He glances back, finding the girl still there. Her crimson coat and pale blonde hair contrast harshly with the dark brush around her. Her leather knee-high boots are fur lined and at least practical, though their buckles are the same crimson as her coat. He has no idea how a girl such as her finds herself this far out from the civilised centres of the world.

Riyo is growing tired, and her hunger gnaws at her like she wished she could gnaw at just about anything at this point. Even the green bear meat is beginning to seem appealing again. Ahead of her, the man holds up his sword hand. She takes this to mean the rat-goblins are close, and glances around at the near-silent forest. There is no hint of a fire burning like last time. It seems they are camping cold now that their great green protector has exploded.

“Wait here,” the man whispers, before pressing ahead on quiet feet. Riyo tries to imitate him, but immediately step on something dry and brittle that snaps.

He scowls back at her. “Quiet,” he says. And then he is gone. Riyo blinks and looks around, but he is nowhere to be seen.

Then she hears a high-pitch scream coming from ahead. She figures that the moratorium on noise is at an end, so she scurries forward to see what is happening. By the time she gets there, it is over. A large rock creates an overhang, beneath which lie the corpses of seven rat-goblins. All of them have been decapitated. In the dark it is difficult to see the man, but she can make out the shape of his sword and see the blood dripping from it. He pulls a cloth from his waistcoat pocket and runs it down both sides of the sword, then drops it on the corpse of the closest rat-goblin.

“That was fast,” Riyo says.

“Cowardly creatures who prey on the weak die easily,” he says. “Now come. The road is this way. We are still several hours from Malvis.”

“Hours?” Riyo complains, looking around at the rat-goblins’ hasty camp. “When I found them earlier they were cooking something. Can’t I at least see if they have any food on them?”

“No,” the man says. “They made quite a mess at the Carham farm, but their two children were not there, and nor are they here. It is most likely that…”

“Oh,” Riyo says. Then, “oh fuck. I think I’m going to be sick again.”

“I won’t wait for you.”

“Fine,” Riyo says, fighting her revulsion by running down the list of rocks and minerals that apparently exist on Calis according to a book she had found in the apothacarium. She resumes following the man, sparing one last glance for the executed rat-goblins. They are quickly swallowed by shadows, and will no doubt soon be swallowed by other things, too.

“You move quickly,” she says, trying a new method of keeping her mind off her stomach.

“I said be quiet,” the man says without turning around.

“You said that because the rat-goblins were behind the next tree. They’re dead now.”

“I told you – I work alone.”

“You’re not working now. You finished your job, right?”

“Fine. I just don’t want to talk. Will that do?”

“I suppose.” Riyo sighs. “But I’d like to at least know your name.”

The man is silent for almost a minute. “Rolleck. Rolleck the Lost.”

“I’m Riyo Falsemoon,” Riyo says. “Also lost. Thank you for helping me.”

Rolleck grunts, and they continue on in silence. Riyo sees things and immediately forgets them. She is tired and hungry. Her feet hurt, and the darkness of the forest is oppressive and endless. She barely notices when they emerge from the trees and brush onto the road, and by the time they reach the gates of Malvis she is practically asleep on her feet.

“Travellers,” Rolleck shouts.

Riyo looks up and realises that there is a tinge of light in the blue-black of the sky. It provides enough contrast for her to see the silhouette of someone’s head appear above the gate.

“Identify yourselves,” a female voice says.

“Private Rolleck of the Malvis police force,” Rolleck says. He sounds irritated at having to say it.

“And?”

Riyo blinks up, then realises that must be directed at her. “Oh. Riyo Falsemoon.”

“Don’t recognise it. Who is she, Rolleck?”

Rolleck scowls. “A traveller, like I said. Unless the town has suddenly come under martial law while I was out we have no reason not to let her in.”

“I’m on guard duty, Rolleck. If I think she might be a danger to the town then I can keep the gates closed.”

“What possible reason might you have to think she’s dangerous, Kallie?” Rolleck says through gritted teeth.

“She arrived here with you, for a start,” Kallie says. There is venom in her voice, and Riyo decides she is too hungry and tired to let whatever animosity exists between these two keep her outside the gates.

“Excuse me,” she says, “but I’ve been on the road since yesterday morning and haven’t eaten. If you don’t let me in soon I will either die or destroy these gates.”

“You see,” Kallie says. “She’s already threatening to damage the town. I’m afraid you’re both going to have to wait outside until the sheriff’s shift begins.” She sounds smug, and even though Riyo cannot see her face she already hates her.

“I don’t believe in making empty threats,” she tells Rolleck. She takes a step towards the gate.

“Wait,” Rolleck says, grabbing her by the arm.

Riyo looks back at him. “I don’t know if you dumped her or kissed her boyfriend or what, but I am hungry enough that if someone else stands between me and food I will tear this whole town apart.”

“As an officer of the law, I would have to stop you, no matter your reasons,” Rolleck says. His eyes have gone hard, molten steel behind his amber irises.

Riyo feels like she could literally flatten him quite easily, but that’s no way to treat someone who has helped her. She sighs.

“Fine. Do you have any issue with my entering the town peacefully in spite of your jilted ex’s orders?”

Rolleck holds her eyes for a moment, then lets go of her arm and takes a step back. “I am a little interested to know how you killed that bear,” he says. “If you can get in without harming anyone or damaging anything, there’s not much Kallie can do about it until morning anyway.”

“Grand,” Riyo says, then turns back to the gate. It is impressive; thick wood bound in more steel than could ever be required. To open it without damaging it will be tricky, but it is thick enough that they have had to leave a small gap between the doors themselves so that they will open properly. Through it, she can see the large bar holding them closed, and if she can see it, then she can manipulate it with her reality. “Gravity Mould.”

Reversing the gravity on the bar produces no results, so it must be completely surrounded by braces and slotted in from one side rather than from above. She shifts its gravity sideways, and sees it begin to slide. A moment later there is a startled cry from above, and the bar slides out of view to the right. Riyo completely negates the gravity affecting the left door and then pulls it open with her hand. Weightless, she can only feel the minor resistance of the air the door is displacing as it opens, and it makes barely a sound.

She nods to Rolleck, who has one eyebrow raised, and walks inside. There is a clattering of boots on stone and Kallie appears from an open archway on the inside of the wall. She is dressed in the attire of a police officer in shirt and waistcoat, her silver wolf pelt wrapped around her waist like a skirt. Her hair is ginger, cut short and held back with a headband. She draws a pair of short swords as she approaches and points one at Riyo, who still has not closed her reality in case something like this happened.

“I told you to wait until morning,” she spits. Riyo notices another officer lingering in the archway with a loaded crossbow.

“I can’t,” Riyo says, “so I’d like to raise a complaint about your conduct with the sheriff.”

“You don’t get to speak to the sheriff, you get to speak to me, and as officer in charge of the gate you listen to what I fucking say. So now you’re under arrest.”

“And if I resist?” Riyo says. She likes to think of herself as a polite and well-meaning citizen, most of the time. She will blame this on her stomach speaking. If this lady doesn’t shut up soon then Riyo may eat her.

“Then I will have to use force,” Kallie says, and without warning she swings at Riyo. Half a split second before Riyo multiplies her gravity a thousand fold and turns her into a puddle, Rolleck catches her sword on his own.

“This is excessive, Kallie,” he says quietly. “Your issue is with me-”

He is interrupted by the other officer firing his crossbow. This time Riyo does use her reality, and the bolt comes to a relaxed halt in front of her hand. She plucks it out of the air and then drops it on the ground, its gravity back to normal.

“Where’s the inn?” she asks.

“I’d recommend the Ploughman’s Neck, on the east side of the town square,” Rolleck says, still holding Kallie’s sword with his own. The pressure Kallie was putting on it has waned somewhat as she stares at Riyo, dumbfounded.

Riyo nods. “Thank you for your help today, private Rolleck. You are a credit to your profession.” She glares at Kallie to ensure she knows she believes the opposite of her, and begins walking towards the centre of town. When Kallie turns around and begins to say something her swords suddenly weigh fifty times more, and she stumbles to the ground with a yelp.

Rolleck watches the girl go with a frown. Crafters aren’t so common that you’d expect to find one so young lost in the forest. He wonders what it is she is doing out here.

“You just wait until the sheriff hears about this, Rolleck,” Kallie says, abandoning her swords on the floor and barging into him as she walks past. “You’re finished, this time.”

Rolleck squeezes the handle of his sword, feeling her barbs dig into his hand. Her turns his eyes to the lightening sky and sighs. Perhaps it is time to move on anyway. There is still almost a year before It comes again, but the more he moves, the more time he will have to escape.

He throws one last look at the gate, still open, before heading home.

Riyo stops around the next corner and closes her reality. A wave of nausea and dizziness hits her and knocks her to the ground. She rests her head against the wall of a house and closes her eyes, riding out the pain and discomfort. She has a habit of keeping her reality open longer and longer when she knows she isn’t really in a fit state to open it in the first place to put off the after-effects. Of course, the longer she keeps it open, the worse it feels when she closes it.

Crafting can seem like an infinite and unstoppable power to those who don’t know much of it, but Riyo’s master has drilled into her the consequences of over-using a reality. If she uses it sparingly then there is no real effect on her. If she opens it when, for example, she hasn’t eaten or slept in a long time then it will crush her once she closes it. She feels like she weighs five times her real weight, and her muscles and thoughts are so slow to respond that she has no idea how long she is slumped against the house before it fades.

Fade it does, though, and though the sun is now peeking over the walls of the town there are only a few people around, casting concerned or disgusted looks at her. Most of them think she is a drunkard sleeping off an awful hangover, and to be fair that is exactly how she feels. Her head hurts like it has been squeezed in a vice all night, but at least she has the strength to stand again, for now.

The Ploughman’s Neck is a sprawling hodgepodge of old buildings and newer extensions in varying sizes and colours of stone, all topped with the same brand of ratty thatch. Her sign is a gruesome picture of a man lying in the mud with a plough in the process of decapitating him. Riyo pushes against the door and finds it unlocked despite the early hour. There is nobody behind the bar, but the warmth and smells of baking bread emerge like a siren’s song from the kitchen, drawing Riyo towards it.

“Inn ain’t open yet, sweetheart,” a voice says from behind her.

Riyo turns around and finds a huge man sat at one of the tables in the corner of the common room. He has a flagon of ale before him and an empty plate wiped almost clean of grease and sauce. His thick moustache and beard bear some of the crumbs and stains of his breakfast. He holds a massive fork in one hand, and it is clear that his other arm is missing, though that side is covered by a golden wolf pelt.

“Oh,” Riyo says. “When will it open?”

“Later,” the man grumbles. “Get out.”

A short woman in her middle years appears at the door to the kitchen. She smiles at Riyo. “Looking for some breakfast?”

“I was,” Riyo says, “But-”

“She was just leaving,” the sheriff says, standing up. He is nearly as large as the green bear, and his muscles bulge down his bare arm. He grips the fork hard and the metal bends. “Because you’re closed, Thistle.”

The woman swallows, closes her eyes for a moment and then turns them on Riyo. “I’m sorry, we’re still closed.”

Riyo grinds her teeth. She cannot be free of this stupid town and its ridiculous police force fast enough. “Perhaps you can recommend somewhere else I can find breakfast?” It is possible some of her disgruntlement comes through in her tone.

“The lady said leave,” the sheriff says. His eyes and stance warn of imminent violence, and though Riyo would like to meet it in kind and send him flying through a wall, she does not appreciate the idea of opening her reality again before she can eat and rest. She does not think it will kill her, but it will certainly hurt a lot, and her master has warned her that death from over-crafting will definitely be on the table eventually.

Riyo turns and leaves, her fists clenched and her teeth grating together like millstones. She finds another tavern, this one delightfully free of police officers, and pays for a meal and a bed. The portly matron serves her a generous portion of bacon, sausages and bread with butter, and Riyo retires pleasantly full, just as the town begins to shudder to life.

 

Riyo awakens to a knock on her door. She glances at the window and finds that it is dark outside, which means she has slept through the whole day. This isn’t surprising to her, as she has overused her crafting before, and paid dearly for it then, too. Her stomach growls, having already forgotten her breakfast. She blinks the sleep from her eyes as the heavy fist strikes her door again.

“Open up,” a deep, familiar voice says. “Police.”

Riyo squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces. She rolls from the bed and pulls on her undershirt and stockings, then someone rams their foot against the lock. It gives immediately, the wood around it splintering into a thousand shards.

Riyo mutters under her breath to activate her reality and whirls to face the sheriff, noticing Kallie peering in at her from behind him, her face split by a broad grin.

“This is harassment, sheriff,” Riyo says, reaching for her skirt. “I’m changing.”

“You’re under arrest for illegal entry, bitch,” the sheriff says, striding forward and grabbing her by the upper arm with his massive fingers. His grip is tight enough to cut off her circulation, and perhaps, if he squeezed, enough to cut off her entire arm.

Riyo scowls at him. Messing with his gravity now will probably make things worse for her, but she keeps her reality open anyway. He might give her an opportunity.

“You are both dreadful police officers,” she says, pinning both the sheriff and Kallie with a glare.

“I’m adding resisting arrest to your charges,” the sheriff says, before shoving her out of the door and down the corridor.

Riyo trudges out of the pub in her underwear, grimacing as the stones on the street outside dig into her feet. No doubt this will ruin her stockings on top of everything else. She receives a collection of scandalised and lecherous looks from the townsfolk as they pass through the central plaza, then she is pushed into the cool shade of an ugly, black iron building.

The corridor is lined with barred cells that blend smoothly into the grim façade of the building. Riyo is led halfway down this corridor before being rudely manhandled into a cell. The sheriff slams the door in her face and turns a big black key in the lock.

“You’ll be tried this evening,” he says with a smirk. “But don’t count on it being fair,” he jerks his thumb at Kallie, “she’s the judge in this town.”

Kallie is smirking too, and Riyo considers altering the gravity of her face so that it is drawn towards her fist. Instead she just narrows her eyes at the sheriff. “Will I get clothes for this trial?”

“No,” the sheriff says, before plodding deeper into the building.

“I look forward to seeing you hang,” Kallie says, before following her boss.

Riyo sighs. “That’s twice in as many days I’ve been thrown in jail.”

“I’m not surprised,” a familiar voice says. Riyo looks up to find Rolleck the Lost in the cell opposite. He is sat with his back to the far wall, his chest crossed tight with chains and several manacles holding his sword arm flush to the iron.

“Oh,” Riyo says. His wolf pelt is gone, and his waistcoat and shirt are ripped and bloodied. This is probably her fault. “Well to be fair,” she says, in part to console her own conscience, “this was probably going to happen to you sooner or later anyway.”

Rolleck glances at his sword arm and shakes his head. “Perhaps, but I’ve been keeping ahead of it well. Until I met you.”

Riyo blanches. “Shit, that reminds me, my master can’t be far away by now.” She has already lost almost an entire day, and her master will be traveling by horse, meaning even if she actually manages to travel at top speed without getting arrested in every town along the way, he will still catch her eventually. “I don’t have time to be in jail.”

“So escape,” Rolleck says. “I don’t doubt you can.”

Riyo whispers her reality open and taps two of the bars in front of her, shifting their gravity in either direction and magnifying it. As if gripped in the hands of a giant, they begin to bend outwards, until there is enough of a gap for Riyo to slip through. She frowns down at her inadequate dress and makes to leave, then hesitates, glancing back at Rolleck. She does the same thing to two of his bars.

He raises an eyebrow at her.

“It gives you a fighting chance,” she says. Then she heads for the exit.

Rolleck is still chained to the wall, his weapon bound, but these things, like the bars of the cell, are not what keep him there. He is tired. He feels as though he has reached the bottom of his endurance. And yet, despite this, he knows he will keep running. He is too much of a coward to face backward toward that which follows. He is too yellow to face his origin, the eternal pursuer within himself.

He stares at the gap between the bars. Still almost a year until it comes again. Would he waste away in this cell until then? He thinks about the farms around the town, about the Carhams, ripped apart, their children dragged away and slaughtered like pigs before being roasted in the same manner. He resolved, while he was running, to do some good along the way. That is why he wears the pelt of a policeman. A sad state of affairs, then, to find himself surrounded by corruption and doing the bidding of a dreadful man who besmirches the title of sheriff. Just existing. Until he has to run again.

What’s the point in that?

Rolleck grips his sword. He feels her barbs, her fury. He has been ignoring her, and like any woman she is angry about it. She craves release.

His muscles tense, strain, and, gradually, the bolts holding his shackles begin to creak. Blood and oil begin to seep from the wounds that bind him to his sword, until, with a yell, he tears his arm from the wall. The shackles crack apart and fall from his wrist and forearm, and with a grin he slashes through the chains that cross his chest.

Rolleck the Lost stands and shakes blood and oil from his sword arm. Then he slips through the gap in the bars and follows the girl.

He finds Andrew unconscious at his post in the guard room, and the rest of the prison is deserted. No doubt sheriff McRife is off extorting someone or generally causing problems for the citizens he is sworn to protect. Rolleck retrieves his pelt and throws it across his shoulders. He takes a deep breath. What is a life on the run if there’s no meaning in escape? It is time for him to remind himself of his reasons for running.

 

The police did not bring Riyo’s things to the police station. She reasons, then, that they must have just left them at the inn. She retraces her steps and earns a similar variety of reactions to her lacklustre state of dress. She doesn’t really mind. She will not be coming back to Malvis once she has retrieved the sunlight stone, so its inhabitants can stare all they want.

There is a police officer outside the inn, and her eyes go wide as Riyo approaches.

“You,” she says. “You should be in jail.”

“I was,” Riyo says, walking towards her, “but it wasn’t good for my constitution. And besides, all my stuff is here.”

The woman is clearly confused, but as Riyo gets closer she decides she would feel better if she was armed. She raises her buckler and draws a cudgel from her belt. She has leather armour, studded with iron, which is a great deal more than Riyo has.

Even so, Riyo is in a bad mood and the woman is standing between her and her things. She doesn’t stop walking. The police woman shouts “halt,” at her, then yelps and swings her cudgel. Riyo easily dodges it, and grabs the back of her elbow, using her momentum to turn her around, then slamming her forehead against the door frame. She collapses like a boneless lump of skin and Riyo steps over her and into the inn.

The woman behind the counter looks up at her in shock.

“I never got the chance to check out,” Riyo says. “Let me just grab my things and we can settle up.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman all but whispers. “If the sheriff finds out…” Riyo can see her shaking. Her eyes dart to the corners of the room, as though the sheriff’s massive bulk might be squeezed into one of the shadows there.

Riyo wonders how much time she has already lost on her master. Her grand adventure may well end tomorrow at this rate.

“What will he do?” she asks anyway.

The woman swallows. Her eyes continue to move sporadically, chasing nothing. “I can’t…”

Riyo sighs. “I’m taking my things anyway. If it makes you feel any better, I can knock you unconscious like I did the guy outside. That way I overpowered you and you couldn’t stop me.”

“I… I can’t… You’ve already doomed my inn.”

“Oh. Okay,” Riyo says. “I wasn’t looking forward to punching you anyway. I’ll just go and get my stuff and then we’ll see what the sheriff will do.”

 

Rolleck strolls down the main street of Malvis, following the silence and emptiness of worried people. A jailbreak is likely to draw out the sheriff’s true wrath, and knowing the destruction his idle corruption has wrought on the town, they do not want to be around to see the full extent of his power. He occasionally sees a wandering soul to whom the information has not yet passed, but upon seeing him they slink away, comprehension dawning. It isn’t a secret that Rolleck’s position is tenuous, that conflict lives just beneath the surface of the Malvis police force.

He reaches the inn where Riyo was staying, and finds a small but respectable pile of his colleagues outside. Riyo herself stands in the doorway, her golden hair floating softly in the breeze.

“Freedom suits you,” she says.

“But apparently not you,” he replies, glancing towards the eastern gate. “You’re determined to wait until you get arrested again.”

Riyo shakes her head. “Not going to happen. I’m done with jail for a while. It’s bad for my complexion. I hope you realise your police force is not very effective.”

“I’m the only member of the Malvis police force,” Rolleck says. “Like I said, I work alone. All these others work for some other organisation.”

Riyo smirks. “And this other organisation would be a criminal one? That you have failed to shut down and arrest a single member of? And you want me to retract what I said about the effectiveness of the force?”

“You make a reasonable point,” Rolleck says, glancing down at his sword. “But police incompetence in this town ends today.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Riyo says.

“Perhaps it should start with the woman causing a ruckus in the centre of town and endangering its citizens?” Rolleck says, looking back at Riyo and relishing the sudden tension in her stance, in the way she looks at him.

A loud crash fills the street with noise, airborne debris lancing through the weight of the moment and thumping into hard-packed dirt and thatch.

“Or maybe it should start with whatever that was,” Riyo suggests, and Rolleck smiles.

“That seems reasonable,” he says. “What will you do?”

“I’m expecting company.” She looks down the street in the opposite direction of the sound, to where another group of officers are gathering, armed variously with crossbows, swords and spears. Kallie is at their head, and she has murder in her eyes. “I don’t suppose they’re likely to rush past me to the aid of the citizens of Malvis?”

“No,” Rolleck says.

“Then they’re just in the way,” Riyo says, and begins idling towards the police host, pulling a pair of short, needle-like daggers from somewhere inside her coat.

Rolleck turns his back on them all and walks towards the east gate. His former boss is probably behind this, and that means the people of Malvis are in danger. A good policeman would protect them all and arrest the perpetrator, but Rolleck is not sure he is that good of a policeman. It is likely he won’t be able to save everyone.

He turns past the library and onto the main thoroughfare that bisects the town from east to west. There are still only a few people around, but there are some faces he recognises and they are distorted with fear. They cower in doorways and side streets, unable to make it home in time and now too afraid that running will draw attention. The ruin of the eastern gate leaves a shattered maw of brick and stone that smiles grimly towards Rolleck, vomiting rat-goblins into his town. The green bear that broke the gate is larger than any he has ever seen, towering over the walls and oozing rot through the mould and moss that cover its reanimated hide. Smaller green bears – though to think of them like that isn’t really fair to them, since they are all at least the size of a four-horse cart – follow their rat-goblin handlers through the wound in the wall.

In their midst strides McRife. He has removed his waistcoat and wolf pelt, and now sports a loose chainmail jerkin and a substantial golden crown. His enormous mace rests on his shoulder, its four blades glinting with menace. The rat-goblins quibble excitedly around him, but despite their overwhelming numbers they restrain themselves. Even those citizens caught outside their homes remain unharmed. Instead, they move with purpose – an army at the command of a general. Several of them wander close to Rolleck and he feels the muscles in his sword arm twitch, feels his grip tighten. But they wait, then part as the former sheriff of Malvis comes to a halt not far from Rolleck. His expression is no different from any other day – he looks as though somebody gave him some bad news just before breakfast. Rolleck has never seen the man smile, and he has never met anybody else who has either. They say that he just turned up in Malvis one day, one-armed and wearing the same sour expression he wears now. He joined the force as a constable and was sheriff within a year.

“I should have known those bars wouldn’t hold you.” His voice is thunder on the other side of the mountains. Not enough to shake the ground, but enough to send a shiver through a person’s soul.

“They gave me some time to think,” Rolleck says, meeting the man’s fierce golden eyes squarely. “And I’ve got a few ideas that I think could help reduce the crime rate.”

“Funny,” McRife says, though the mirth in his face would turn rivers to glaciers, “I’ve been thinking too. I’m tired, Rolleck. Tired of this backwater and its silence. Tired of the shape of this world. Once upon a time, I thought it was a grand place. A place where adventure grew on every tree and a wealth of treasure was right beneath my boots if I’d just dig for it.” He holds his mace out between them. Its taller than Rolleck, but McRife wields it with ease despite his missing arm. “I fought for that, with this mace and the arm I can still feel sometimes. I learned some hard lessons out there. I learned it takes more than just a strong will and a strong arm to make your little notch on the sword of history. And I learned that a heart is just there to be torn right out of you. Which is why I came to this town without one, and why it will be easy to take what I need from it in blood before expanding eastward.”

“So,” Rolleck says. “You mess up. You trip on a log and lose your arm. You get mopey and roll into this town, telling yourself that you’ve come from this dark place that makes you better than the people around you. Over time you convince yourself that you’re wise to the ways of the world, and that only the cruel survive. So now you’re going to rip Malvis apart to feed and arm your rat-goblins and go try to be a heartless conqueror. Carve out a little part of the world like it carved away part of you.” Rolleck shakes his head and laughs. “You have no idea what this world is. Thousands of men and women like you have been broken by it but still lived a fulfilled life. The fact that you couldn’t makes you weak, not strong. All your tantrum will achieve is the murder of innocents. Innocents you swore to protect. I can’t allow that, and if you think my heart is here just to be torn out then you are welcome to try, but you’ll find it’s wrapped in the same steel as my arm.”

McRife’s eyes have narrowed. He closes them and shakes his head, making his chainmail tinkle. “You would die protecting this nothing town?”

“I would live protecting it, and I should have done a better job until now. I let you get away with so much because I rolled into this town as mopey as you did. But that isn’t going to be my legacy. My time isn’t going to leave a notch on the world, it’s going to clean up a few of the blemishes.”

“Empty words. You will see, one day.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a better perspective on anything I find than the one you brought to it. Now hurry up and give whatever order it is you need to. My blade is thirsty.”

McRife points his mace at Rolleck. The command is a simple one. “Kill.”

Riyo Falsemoon knows her abilities as a crafter make her strong. The crafters and archcrafters are often talked about in such terms, and perhaps crafting is unique in that it is a strength that is taught rather than inherent, but they are hardly the only strong beings on the planet. From her reading, Riyo has come to learn of people and creatures with abilities that would make most crafters wet themselves. Even those who don’t appear to possess any strange or exciting abilities are still capable of surprising her.

Kallie and her guards were not those sort of people, but Riyo thinks that Rolleck the Lost might be. She sits atop the tallest structure in the town – a clock tower of wood and stone that gives her a good view of the chaos unfolding below. Several fires have already started near the east gate, and panic and fury are slowly spreading out along the walls and towards the town centre.

“Did you know this would happen?” Riyo asks.

Kallie swallows, and the action draws a little more blood from the pin-prick wound in her neck where the point of Riyo’s dagger still rests. “He said we would move on. That we could leave this little town behind and bring the whole of Everstall Song to its knees. I knew he could control the rat-goblins, but this…”

“Rat-goblins eat people. How did you think he was going to feed them?”

“Well I knew… but I didn’t think there were so many of them. There’s an army.”

Riyo sighs. “I suppose this would be something that an actual police force would be useful for.”

“We had the whole town under our control,” Kallie says. She is staring down at the madness, and it is reflected in her eyes. “I thought…”

“Well clearly you didn’t think, and now all you have is him.” She gestures to a spot on the main thoroughfare where the bodies or rat-goblins are beginning to pile two or three corpses high.

 

 

Rolleck is enjoying himself. There is a sense of clarity and purpose in what he does. Every rat-goblin he kills is one that will not harm a citizen of Malvis. Grey-green blood slicks his clothes and blade, but the chilling sharpness hidden within that metal refuses to dull. If anything, with every spine she severs she grows sharper. The rat-goblins are poor fighters. They have a vicious cunning and a wiry strength to their over-long limbs, but faced with a determined opponent they cannot hope to touch them. Their movements are feral and instinctual, while Rolleck’s are intelligent and graceful. He winds between and around them, dodging, parrying and slicing, moving faster with every kill.

Even when a green bear lumbers forward and attempts to plant its greasy undead claws in his flesh he turns its flails aside and removes its paws before burying his blade deep within its skull, neatly piercing the parasite controlling the shambling creature. It barely takes him longer than it does to kill a rat-goblin, and he exults in it, flowing seamlessly into the next kill, and the next. He feels unstoppable, but there is a nagging feeling hidden beneath the rush of the fight.

Because he knows that every rat-goblin he kills will not harm a citizen of Malvis. Which means that all those he doesn’t kill, will. And there are far too many for him to kill them all. He is just one man.

 

“He could have killed me in a whisper,” Kallie says. “All those times I provoked him. Acted superior. Treated him like dirt for not agreeing with the sheriff.”

“People carry things with them,” Riyo says. “The things they do reflect what’s in their heart, but hearts can change. He let you and your sheriff live and keep doing what you were doing because of something in his heart, but it looks like that facet of him has shattered. What do you think the new Rolleck will look like?”

“Like a corpse,” Kallie says. She sounds bitter. “He really is so much stronger than I ever knew, but he is all we have, and he’s fighting against the rising tide.”

Riyo shakes her head. “He may be all you have, but you aren’t all he has.” She stands and rolls her neck until it cracks. “He has me.” She drops from the clock tower.

 

Rolleck can feel his breath biting in his chest. The flux of power that crackles through his muscles hides the strain on his body, but he knows it is there, and that it will eventually bite so hard that he can no longer breathe. He cleaves a green bear’s head from its motionless corpse and bowls it into a rat-goblin, then quickly slashes through another two before darting backwards, hoping to grab a few full breaths before the fight is on him again.

“You still haven’t touched the big guy,” a voice says behind him. He turns to find Riyo standing in the middle of the road. Some of the rat-goblins that had been circling around behind him now sport neat little holes in their foreheads, and her slim daggers are wet with their blood.

“I’ll get there eventually,” Rolleck says, trying to hide the grip of fatigue around his throat and his relief at the extra few seconds she has bought him.

“No you won’t,” Riyo says, “and even if you did you’d be in no state to fight him.”

Rolleck grits his teeth. She’s right. “That won’t stop me from going as far as I can. And further, and further, until there’s nothing left.”

“It’s like you’re a completely different man from the one I met in the forest yesterday.”

“This was a mostly peaceful town, yesterday. Now it’s full of rat-goblins. A lot changes in a day.”

“So it seems. So, supposing this new you could face your former employer right now, do you think he could win?”

Rolleck looks towards the rat-goblins, who are massing for another rush, that monstrous green bear looming behind them. He sees past them, to the empty man in the golden crown, and meets his eyes.

“Yes.”

Riyo steps up next to him, the top of her head coming only a little higher than his shoulder. “Then don’t screw this up, because if you lose then we’ll get worse than prison this time.”

“What are you going to do with those knitting needles?”

“Well I’m obviously not going to… Oh, just watch. Gravity Mould.”

 

Riyo closes her eyes. She has never extended her reality so far, never done so much with it. The come-down from this will be unforgiving. Should she survive.

“Grand cosmos,” she says, pushing her senses out around her and shifting the gravity of the street, then the block. She reaches as far as she is able, nudging every rat-goblin and green bear she can find into the air by turning their world upside down. Malvis is suddenly filled with screeches and roars; confusion, disorientation and fear. The sound gently retreats into the sky, until Riyo can feel tendrils of clawing pain inside her eyes.

“Starfall,” she whispers, and lets everything go.

 

Riyo collapses, and Rolleck manages to grab her before she slumps to the ground. Moments later, there is a rush of screams and a ground-shaking crash as the entirety of McRife’s inhuman army slams back to earth. Rolleck feels his teeth rattle, and blood bursts from every direction at once, painting the town in grey-green sludge. Even the building-sized green bear has been reduced to an enormous, oozing puddle. And in the middle of it all stands McRife. For the first time in years, his face is a mirror of his emotions.

He is terrified.

Rolleck smiles. He lays Riyo down amid the grisly carpet she has created and levels his sword towards the former sheriff. Then he charges through the shattered bodies of the king’s army, blade keen for the man’s throat.

At the last moment McRife recovers and his mace deflects Rolleck’s blade, but he spins past it and thrusts for McRife’s midriff. The larger man roars and turns the thrust away with the handle of his mace, then uses the movement to swing it in a wide arc, forcing Rolleck back.

“Do you know how many weak-minded abominations there are out there, just waiting for me to control? These rat-goblins and their pets are just the beginning. I was made to be a king, to go down in history as a leader, a conqueror. Don’t you see? I had this power from the start, but I was too weak to use it, too weak to nourish it and take my throne. You, and that girl, you have thrones waiting for you too.”

“Your throne is made of corpses, McRife. I don’t want any part of that,” Rolleck says. “Besides, this bony arse wasn’t made for a throne. You can’t lead others if you can’t even choose a path for yourself.”

McRife brings his mace down over-arm, making Rolleck dodge back again and leaving a respectable crater in the bloody mud of the main street. Rolleck lunges in, but the large man has no trouble bringing the mace back up to parry. They throw their anger back and forth, Rolleck struggling against his own lungs and the long reach of the mace, McRife never quite quick enough to hit Rolleck. The clash of metal rings around Malvis, trying desperately to fill a silence left by dead rat-goblins and terrified citizens.

Their exchange lasts anywhere between half a moment and half a day, Rolleck cannot tell. He is focusing everything he has on keeping himself upright, searching for the one sliver of space he needs.

And then he sees it.

A quick feint brings McRife’s mace up to parry and Rolleck kicks out at the man’s knee. He lets out a roar that’s part scream and overbalances, his mace dragging him forward. His mace swings around one last time, but Rolleck darts beneath it, his sword cleaving through rough chainmail as though it’s a twist of silk. He feels the cold shiver of life course up his arm as blood washes his blade. It almost feels as though he tastes it, coppery on his tongue.

Then he is past McRife, staring down an empty road towards a broken gate over a charnel carpet of meat and inhuman blood. His arm pulses. He feels joy and desire race through him, emanating from his sword. She is eager to finish the job, to drink her fill. Her blade is wet with red blood, some of it his, and pitch black oil. Rolleck turns to where McRife lays in a gently growing pool of his own blood and raises the blade high. Then he looks past him, and sees Riyo. Sees Kallie watching him from further back.

Suddenly his bloodlust is gone. The blade is silent again, and he lowers her to his side. Fatigue burst from his elongated shadow and drags him to the ground, his breath rough and heavy. He digs his fingers into the dirt and blood beneath him and just breathes. The air itself tastes of death and rot, but beneath that there is something like a fresh beginning. A breeze from the west that smells a little more like pine trees and salvation. He squeezes the handle of his sword and feels it squeeze back.

Kallie walks forward as though in a daze. She stops by McRife and, with some effort, turns him over onto his back. His eyes stare at the sky, not able to meet hers.

“Just a setback,” he says through gritted teeth. “The world is mine for the taking.” With some difficulty he raises his arm, reaching out to grasp the sky. “You’ll help me take it, won’t you Kallie?”

Kallie shakes her head slowly. “Not if taking it means burning it down completely.”

“Weak,” McRife says. “Like the rest.”

“Maybe,” Kallie says, drawing her sword so slowly that it barely rasps against its scabbard. “But maybe we’re all weak, in the end.” She puts the point of her blade at McRife’s throat. “And I don’t think weaklings like us have the right to tell anybody else they’re weak.”

A little pressure, and McRife’s face twists into agony for a moment, before falling slack.

Kallie pulls the blade free and then lifts it to her own throat. Closes her eyes. And pulls.

The sword resists, and she opens her eyes again to find Rolleck gripping it by the blade. He had been sitting more than ten metres away when she closed them. She sees a flash of fury in Rolleck’s pupils before they both sag and stumble against each other, letting go of the sword as it seems to gain a thousand kilograms and slams to the ground, splattering their legs with bloody mud.

They both turn to look at Riyo, who sits panting in the middle of the road, one eye closed and her clothes caked in the same mud.

“It’s not that easy, Kallie,” she says between laboured breaths. “You make a mistake; you fix the mistake. Your life isn’t worth shit, not nearly enough to pay the debt you owe this town. You and everyone who blindly followed the sheriff into the abyss.”

“What do I do then?” Kallie asks, feeling tears brushing down her cheeks.

“You start by begging on your knees for forgiveness,” Rolleck says. “And then you do everything you can to show them you deserve it. The town is short a sheriff, after all.”

Kallie looks up through her haze of tears. “What? But you…”

Rolleck shrugs uncomfortably. “I can’t stay here.”

“He’s coming with me,” Riyo says, limping over. Beneath the mud her face is pale, but she is grinning like she has just told the best joke in her repertoire.

“What?” Rolleck and Kallie say at the same moment. “No I’m not,” he says.

“Sure you are,” Riyo says. “Like I said, freedom suits you.”

“Maybe it does, but that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere with you.”

“Uh huh,” Riyo says, then turns to Kallie as if the conversation has ended. “You want to repay the people of Malvis, right? Here.” She yanks the blood-and-mud-stained wolf pelt from beneath McRife and offers it to Kallie. “Do right by them, this time. Kick the rest of your team into shape and they’ll forgive you. Not easily, but then, would you expect it to be easy?”

Kallie stares at the barely-golden pelt for a moment. Over the top of it she can see a street littered with dead monsters and the smoke and haze of distant fires.

“There’s a lot of work to do,” Rolleck says, “and I’m in no condition to do it.”

“Nor am I,” Riyo adds.

“It’s a good place to start,” Rolleck says.

Kallie reaches out and takes the pelt. She throws it over her shoulder and picks up her sword, running it neatly into its sheath. “I suppose, even if they won’t accept me, I can at least fix the mess I’ve made.”

“That’s where the road to forgiveness always starts,” Rolleck says, and pats Kallie on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says. “Both of you. For stopping him. For saving me.” She sets her shoulders and heads towards the inn where Riyo left the rest of the police force. Riyo nods after her and then turns to Rolleck.

“You look just about strong enough to carry me to an inn,” she says.

“What?” Rolleck says, but Riyo has already collapsed into unconsciousness.

Rolleck sighs. He should just leave the girl on the ground, disappear into the fading light, one more step ahead of his demon.

Instead, he hauls Riyo up over his shoulder and heads towards his house, stepping carefully to avoid slipping in blood.

 

Riyo awakes in a bed. It is not a comfortable bed, but the room it is in is warmed by the soft crackling of a fire. Rolleck the Lost is asleep in a chair that looks altogether more snug, and she surmises that Rolleck does not often sleep in his bed. She is reassured of this assumption by the realisation that she is still in her muddy clothes. Her body aches, but it feels good. She still hasn’t reached the absolute limit of her power. Destroying the ex-sheriff’s army yesterday had taken everything she had, but it hadn’t killed her, and that meant next time she could push further.

That is for the future though. For now, she is hungry. She slides out of bed and takes in a little more of Rolleck’s home. It isn’t much. Everything feels temporary, perfunctory. Rolleck the Lost is not a man of physical possessions or attachments. What furniture and utensils lie about the place are not well cared for, showing rust and rot, stains and scrapes. Riyo finds a few scraps of food in disparate cupboards, but they leave her unsatisfied, so she goes over to Rolleck and kicks him in the shin.

His sword stops a hair’s breadth from her face, but she just frowns at him. “I’m hungry.”

Rolleck grunts, standing up and running his hand through his now-dishevelled hair. “Just go get something then,” he says. “This isn’t an inn.”

Riyo blinks. “Right. Come on then, let’s go.”

Rolleck narrows his eyes. “You still think I’m going with you to wherever it is you’re going, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Riyo says, “because you are. Let’s get some breakfast and get going.”

“I’m not just going to follow you to… Where are you even headed, anyway?”

“Calis.”

“I’m not just going to follow you to Calis because you think I should,” Rolleck says grumpily. Then he blinks. “Calis. As in the planet.”

“Yes,” Riyo says. “It’s a long way, right? So we should get a move on. Besides, my master is looking for me and I don’t want to be here when he gets here.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not. But fine. Even if you’re not going to come with me we can travel to the next town together. You’re leaving Malvis, right?”

Rolleck is beginning to get a headache. “Fine. Whatever.” He picks up his wolf pelt and brushes off some of the dried blood. It has seen better days, but it is the fur of a rare soulless icecap wolf, and it is the only thing he owns that he is not willing to part with.

“So you’re genuinely chasing the sunlight stone?” he asks.

“Yep,” Riyo says, as though it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

Rolleck grunts. “I’ve met a few others like you, over the years.”

“Aw, so someone else might already have the stone?” Riyo says.

Rolleck looks at her, then rolls his eyes. It had been a genuine question. “No. They’re all dead, so far as I know.”

“Oh good,” Riyo says. “I mean, not that they’re dead, but that the stone is still there.”

“You’re a strange woman,” Rolleck says.

“People have told me that,” Riyo says with a nod. “Do you not need to pack anything?”

“No,” Rolleck says. “I just need this.” He lifts his sword arm and Riyo smiles.

“You’re not one to be calling people strange, Rolleck the Lost.”

“Yeah, well,” Rolleck says. “Let’s just get going.”

Riyo nods and they head out into Malvis, and onward, towards the bleak crimson silhouette of Calis.

 

 

The Plan

Hello.

 

My name is Sam, and here I intend to post a serial novel I’m writing called The Bridge Over Heaven. The plan is to post a new episode/chapter every month. This is primarily to try and encourage myself to keep writing by creating a deadline I need to keep to. Perforce, the writing herein will not be heavily edited or made pristine. Even so, perhaps somebody out there will find some enjoyment in it.

And if not, then it will still perform the primary objective of giving me a reason to write.

Onward, then.