The bloodcurdling screeches of brown bulbuls infiltrated Meya's dream realm. For half an hour, Meya hurtled around inside a maze like dice in a tube, racing to find the source, until she burst into reality.
Cursing Freda for bestowing morning birds with the cry of dying piglets, Meya flipped to the side and opened her eyes to find a pair of beautiful eyes gray as morning light. Coris' gentle smile was lined with crooked teeth yellow as his sallow skin.
"Good morning, my lady." He whispered. Meya crinkled her nose at his morning breath, then squinted at the pouches of gray skin under his eyes.
"Not so for you, milord." She caressed the tender skin with her thumb, "Didnae sleep well, did you?"
Coris' smile sagged. He confessed with a sigh,
"Seems my body needs time to adjust to less laudanum. As you've said." He covered her hand with his, resting it over his heart. Meya couldn't resist the surge of affection and gratitude within. She pressed her lips upon his, drawing apart ten drowsy heartbeats later.
"What's this?" Coris chuckled. Heat radiated from Meya's crimson cheeks. She coiled a lock of his hair around her finger.
"So you'll have something to look forward to." She breathed coyly, leaning in once more, murmuring against his lukewarm lips, "One for every drop you take less."
Coris slid his hand behind her neck as he sealed their lips in another long kiss. He pulled away with a sigh of sleepy contentment, combing his finger through her tousled hair.
"You spoil me, Aine, but I'm afraid I'll need more than kisses to entice me." His unfurled a mischievous grin as his hand silently traveled to her shoulder, "I'm headed for some rough nights, after all."
Before Meya could process his outrageous demand, Coris rolled her onto her back. He dragged his mouth across her face, his hands exploring the rest of her.
"Coris, you donghead. Stop it!" Meya gasped when his lips freed hers to trace her jawline. Even as she dissolved into fits of giggles, she arched her body so that it fitted snugly in his, untangling her legs from the sheets to tie them around him.
Coris took his time rousing her drowsy body. His hands slid down to her hips. He brushed against her. Even through the haze of chaotic sensations, she felt something was amiss.
Oh, no. Not again.
"Coris, stop."
Coris took no heed, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. Meya selected the kindest words to break the unpleasant news.
"Coris, slow down. You're still getting ready." She whispered into his ear as she held him.
"What?" Coris drew back, impatient. A beat, then his passion-addled brain registered what she'd said. He glanced down, then a curse exploded from his lips,
"Oh, Fyr!"
Meya peeled her sweaty back off the sheets as Coris scrambled to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.
"Meya, I'm so sorry. Sorry—"
"—One more sorry and I'll knuckle you, Corien Alexis!"
Meya snapped as she pulled the trembling lad into her arms. She warmed his shoulder with her sigh, then closed her eyes and rested her head upon it.
As she listened to their heartbeats slowing down each in its own pace, she told herself to be patient. Freda knew poor Coris was under enough strain, body and mind, even before she'd confiscated his laudanum. He needed time.
Stroking his lank hair, Meya hitched up a smile,
"How about we just get ready?" Coris shifted guiltily in her embrace, "There's a library of dragon eyes waiting. Education comes first, right?"
Coris chuckled. Meya drew away, finally reassured. She squeezed his shoulder then bounded off the bed, slipping on her bathrobe as she made her way to the solar.
Coris waited until he heard her bell summoning Agnes and Arinel to dress her for breakfast, then let out the long, labored breath holding him upright. His smile sagged as his shoulders dipped. He dragged his shaking hand through his thinning hair.
He dug his nails into his scalp, praying the pain would distract him from the urge to snatch the laudanum bottle and down a couple of soothing drops. A lone tear plummeted onto his lap.
⏳
"Behind this veil is the Library of Eyes. For over two centuries, we've collected and catalogued dragon eyes from times long forgotten and in living memory, from within and beyond Latakia. "
Lady Jaise had shed her resplendent dinner ensemble in favor of a simple off-white tunic and lace veil. The only dash of color came from the leather belt dangling at her waist, the same shade of olive as her skin. Her luscious dark hair hung in a thick braid which reminded Meya of church bell ropes.
Winterwen's dress seemed to glow before the backdrop of the oily black curtain. Its faint, golden vines-and-flowers pattern rippled to the soft breeze caused by their approaching footsteps. Next to it, a tall, thin cabinet of black wood stood against the wall of bare stone.
"Please change into the gum slippers. And take off your cloaks."
Meya turned to Coris and Zier with a raised eyebrow, before she remembered she was wearing a mask. Zier hung back, waiting for his brother's lead. Coris, however, marched forth without hesitation.
He opened the cabinet doors, revealing a line of metal pegs drilled into the back-pane. Five pairs of simple slippers, clear as glass with a peach tinge, sat in a row at the bottom.
Coris levered a pair each out to Meya and Zier, then took one for himself. He clung onto his hulking brother for balance as he slipped his veiny feet out of his boots.
Meya sniffed the slippers. They smelled of wood and tar. She plopped them on the carpeted floor then slotted her feet in. The surface was cold against the soles of her feet. Its supple, jellylike push unwittingly reminded her of The Substitute.
The three teenagers regrouped before Winterwen, but she still wouldn't let them enter so simply.
"Until I give permission, please refrain from talking, reserve your questions and exclamations, and proceed after me as quietly as possible." A heavy, austere air rolled off her shoulders, yet her voice sounded melancholic, "The work of our curators requires complete concentration. It is extremely draining for the mind."
Meya nodded vigorously, more curious than intimidated. Sensing her jittery impatience, Coris squeezed her hand. Winterwen held up the veil.
After a second squeeze from Coris, Meya took the lead. The cool hem of the veil slithered down her hair as she bent and stepped into the gloom.
Winterwen was wise to warn them. Meya bit hard on her lips to smother her gasp of awe and surprise at the sight. In the dark, rows upon rows of hundreds of glowing green fireflies hang suspended in mid-air. Her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, then. The brown of the wooden shelves underneath the eyes distilled out from the gray-black of the room.
Settled on cushioned chairs behind long tables between the aisles, were barefaced men and women of all ages. They sat still as sleep, eyes closed and expression blank, hands clasped loosely on their laps, a glowing green eyeball of metal floating in a glass of clear liquid before them.
Winterwen led them down the center aisle. Meya counted two dozens of rows of meditating curators, before she glimpsed another door set into the wall. Winterwen turned the brass knob. The door fell back without so much as a whimper.
This room was pleasantly lit with late morning sunshine streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The low hum of chatter swarmed the space like clouds of dust caught in the light. Masked Jaisians sat in pairs on tables, one doing the talking while the other furiously jotted down their tales.
"Name's Olfred Marsant of Noxx." Meya slowed at the sound of that familiar name. The masked man pushed a glowing dragon eye in a casket towards his partner, shaking his head, "Died of stone liver five summers ago. Fyr, I can still taste the ale—"
"Lady Hadrian?"
Meya jolted to attention at Winterwen's call. Coris and Zier were standing level with her, faces turned to her questioningly. Winterwen was far ahead, a few steps away from a heavy wooden study desk coupled with a highbacked chair. The masked curator grumbled on about how he still felt Marsant's three-tiered ale belly. Huffing in annoyance, Meya hurried along.
Winterwen stepped around the table and rifled through the main drawer. She flourished a careless hand at the long couch in front for her guests to settle down.
"We're allowed to talk only within this room." She lifted the vow of silence. But before Meya could let loose the towering stack of questions in her brain, she looked up and pointed at Meya and Coris,
"I have a certain eye I believe the two of you will be interested in." A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled a small ledger from her drawer. She straightened, flourishing her hand at the three of them once more as she swept past,
"Please make yourselves comfortable."
Meya strained in her seat, keeping Winterwen in the corner of her eye as she scanned the room for the pair talking about Marsant. Just as the Lady disappeared behind the door to the Library, Coris blurted out,
"Zier, what's the matter?"
Concern for her friends won over. Meya grudgingly turned around. Zier sat ramrod straight and stiff as aged oak, staring ahead into nowhere. At his big brother's call, he shuddered to life, his trembling hands gripping his wobbling knees.
"The Axel." He whispered, "Those eyes. They're all The Axel."
⏳
"You're saying—The Axel—is a dragon eye?"
Meya eked out. Zier dipped his head and clutched it in his hands. Impatient, Meya turned to his brother instead,
"How come you didnae recognize them, Coris?"
Coris shook his head numbly, his face still turned towards his brother.
"The Axel was kept inside a puzzle box at all times. Even I have never seen it."
Meya sighed, disappointed.
"Gillian's a dragon. Why would he want another dragon eye?" She muttered.
Soft approaching footsteps alerted them of Lady Jaise's return. The trio whipped around. Winterwen swept past their couch, circled the table and reclaimed her seat. She laid the pile of items she was carrying on the tabletop, extracting the ledger from the bottommost to slide it back into the drawer. Of the remaining items, one was a leather-bound codex which made up for its handheld size with a wealth of pages, the other was a casket wrapped in black velvet.
Winterwen slid the box across the table towards the youngsters, who had scooted to the edge of their couch, then flipped the lid open. Sitting snugly on a bed of stuffed velvet was a metallic eyeball with a glowing green iris, and a minuscule black nametag labeled in silver ink:
Axel Hild
"Axel?" Coris breathed. Zier chose the opposite.
"Hild?" Meya cried, her voice an octave higher than usual. Winterwen nodded.
"This is the first eye in our Library. Or rather, the origin of our Library."
The Lady paused as if to give her audience time to react and digest, then continued,
"After Prince Philip slayed his father, King Edward II Wynn, and usurped the throne, and the Mining Ban was enforced, your ancestor, Maxus Hadrian," Her lace veil fluttered as she turned abruptly to the Hadrian brothers, "—brought this eye of your ancestor, Axel Hild," Her whipped around to Meya, who jolted, "—to my ancestor, Lord Ralon Jaise."
The three children mouthed half-formed words as they exchanged bug-eyed looks. Winterwen continued,
"Ralon was also eyeless." The eyeless lady dipped her head, acknowledging their unspoken questions, "In exchange for sight, Maxus asked Ralon to record Axel's memories, and keep his eye safe."
Church bells clanged in Meya's head.
"Memories?" She blurted out. Winterwen nodded with a faint smile, encouraging her. Meya collected her thoughts and started over,
"I remember, milady. You said me eye conveyed me memories to you. So 'twas how you learned me true identity?"
"Exactly." Winterwen's tight smile twitched at the corners as she nudged the box towards Meya.
Meya reached out a ginger hand to retrieve her forebear's eye. She rolled it between her fingers, transfixed by its iridescent shimmer.
"As you can see, dragon eyes contain Lattis. In fact, the eyes are the only parts of the dragon body that are comprised of Lattis, in its elemental form, in substantial amounts."
In her hand, Axel's eye revolved back to the front. Meya pored through the deceptive, lifelike glow into the empty depths of his pupil, doubting the odds.
For seven generations, the branch of Hilds she was in was comprised entirely of humble, faceless farmers in Crosset. What had old Axel done to land himself a role in all this? How did his eye end up with Coris' ancestor, then Lady Jaise's ancestor?
"It has been known that Lattis generates pulses of unseen energy that heal and maintain balance in the human body. Some would call it magic." Winterwen tilted her head. Meya tore her eyes away from Axel's and back to the Lady, waiting with bated breath. She had nary a clue where Winterwen was heading.
"Through decades of study, we discovered that these pulses are not just plain healing power. Rather, they are messages—signals to the brain that help regulate functions of the body. You see, eyes are where dragons house their memories. Instead of physical connections—nerves, like humans—the Lattis in their eyes convey these memories through energy pulses directly to their brains, forming their selves, as philosophers would call it."
Meya's impatience ebbed, then flowed. As blurry puzzle pieces snapped into place, they birthed new questions as the incomplete picture expanded into shadows. As if she could read Meya's mind through her mask, Winterwen cocked her head,
"Humans are receptive to these pulses as well. And, after a few years of practice, would be able to comprehend them just as a dragon would. As is the case with the eyeless."
Winterwen's smile widened. Meya was sure she was winking with her borrowed eye behind her mask. She hummed as she pondered, her eyes distant,
"So, when Greeneyes go near lumps of Lattis ore that send out signals of their own, they interfere with our brains? That's why I feel ill when I'm wearing too much Lattis on me?"
"Yes." Winterwen nodded, "The first telltale signs are, of course, dimmed eyes and reduced body heat. Prolonged proximity with excessive amounts of Lattis, however, will result in headaches, unconsciousness, lapses in memory, and, in extreme cases, death."
Coris squeezed Meya's hand as she seized up in fear.
"Lattis causes memory loss in dragons, that explains you," Zier cocked his head at Meya, then looked past her to Coris, "But it doesn't explain you, does it?"
Oh. Zier was referring to the Crosset Famine? Winterwen, however, looked understandably flummoxed. The flow of new developments trickled away to a draught, as Coris segued into retelling his kidnapping. Lucky for them, he was a skilled storyteller. Hardly surprising, considering the dozens of rehearsals he'd had throughout the years. Winterwen was herself an excellent listener. She listened raptly, still save for the occasional nod.
Once Coris had wrapped up, Winterwen drummed her fingers on the tabletop for a moment. Finally, she nodded.
"I believe that could be a different case altogether. For the both of you. Trace amounts of Lattis in the bloodstream." She suggested, tilting her head,
"Our resident alchemist, Sameri, is also studying the properties of dragon blood. I've instructed her to bring your alchemist up to speed."
Indeeed, Bishop Riddell and Arinel were visiting the alchemist to discuss the drought. Meya turned to Coris. He cocked his head at the glowing eye still pinched in her fingers. Meya nodded with a sigh, contenting herself with the matter at hand. Winterwen slid the small leather-bound book towards her.
"This is a copy of Ralon's records on Axel Hild." Meya spared the memoir a glance as Coris picked it up, "As the first and only Hild descendant to have visited us so far, I deem it is yours to keep, as well as his eye. Should you wish so."
Axel's eye rattled in Meya's trembling hand. Winterwen gave a little bow, acknowledging her smile of gratitude,
"You'd want to peruse it thoroughly, but as we're pressed for time, allow me to summarize the gist for you." The Lady straightened in her seat, her hands clasped on the table,
"Axel Hild was a poor young peasant farmer in Noxx, lured by lucrative prospects to the iron mines of Rutgarth, not long after the accidental discovery that dragon blood could aid in refining Lattis."
Meya tensed in fearful anticipation, and Coris' hand reclaimed his place over hers.
"Axel was kept prisoner there, along with hundreds of fellow Greeneyes. Milked for blood to extract the otherwise indestructible metal. Until the Nostran dragons burnt Rutgarth to the ground."
"The dragons attacked at night, hailing fireballs from the night sky over the Zarel Pass." Winterwen poured herself tea and took a sip,
"They came without their riders, meaning this ambush was kept secret even from the Nostrans. One would suspect it was an act of rebellion against all humans, not just Latakia. And one would be correct."
The dragons were without riders!
The crucial detail that for two centuries had been omitted from official history. Meya couldn't help thinking of Gillian and his cohorts—another instance of dragons invading Latakia without human riders.
"After destroying Rutgarth and sealing the mine, the dragons took the surviving miners and Greeneyes to a secret fortress on their side of the mountain. They kept them prisoner there, and treated them no differently from the Latakians. The humans were made to mine. The Greeneyes were little more than blood mares."
"What do they want Lattis for? What are they building?" Coris demanded. Winterwen nodded with a smile of satisfaction,
"They call it The Rota. A contraption designed to neutralize the energy pulses of Lattis. Should it be deployed on Latakia, dragons could cross over Neverend Heights and seize our land for their own. It would mean annihilation for us."
"But, even without The Rota, I can still live here fine." Meya pointed out. She glanced at the two brothers, then back to Winterwen, "They've had hundreds of years, why haven't they invaded us once?"
"Pure dragons are much more affected by Lattis than Greeneyes, who are half human and acclimatized from birth. It hinders their daily performance, and substantially shortens their lifespan."
Meya didn't know if she should be relieved for her homeland or concerned for her fellow dragons. Caught in the middle was not a comfortable place to be.
"That would explain why dragons crossed over Latakia in favor of Nostra when they first migrated from Everglen. Nostra has no Lattis, whereas we have aplenty." Winterwen added after another sip of refreshing tea, "And also why Nostra surrendered the War of Independence. It'd be a waste to lose more dragons prolonging a futile war with Latakia, when they could wield those dragons to expand west, and maintain order in their empire instead."
Meya nodded slowly, unwittingly fingering Axel's eye as she digested it,
"So, the dragons built The Rota—No, they didnae." She corrected herself—her life would have been vastly different had the dragons succeeded, "What happened?"
Winterwen spun her handle-less teacup slowly, choosing her words,
"While they designed and perfected The Rota, the dragons needed a means to record their experiments without the knowledge ever being discovered by humans."
Meya's eyes widened as the truth dawned on her.
"Dragon eyes." She breathed. Winterwen nodded heavily, her lips a tense line of sorrow,
"To prevent their victim resisting, the dragons had planned to erase his memories with Lattis, rendering him an empty receptacle, a vessel with no soul."
"On the day the dragons came to choose their vessel, Axel plucked out one of his eyes and swallowed it, telling the dragons that he had sold it off long ago. It might have been a wise decision, self-preservation wise, but having one eye was precisely why he was chosen."
"He had no back up?" Zier guessed. Winterwen raised her teacup, then heaved a sigh as she turned back to the eye in Meya's hand.
"Throughout the experiments, Axel's memories in this eye remain intact, while his other eye contains the only copy of instructions on creating The Rota."
It was as if lightning had struck the room. The three teenagers turned to each other, mouths agape.
"The Axel." Coris concluded in a whisper. Winterwen nodded.
"When the first Rota neared completion, Maxus Hadrian led the prisoners into rebellion against the dragons, and escaped back to Latakia with twelve survivors, and twelve pieces of The Rota."
"So, Axel didnae make it?" Meya's heart writhe. After all he'd suffered, she couldn't help praying for a peaceful end of the tale for Axel, although it was obvious he wouldn't escape Nostra alive. Why else would Maxus be the one to divide his eyes between Hadrian and Jaise?
Winterwen dipped her head solemnly,
"He transformed and used his fire to collapse a tunnel over the pursuing dragons, but was crushed under the debris himself."
"—And Maxus gouged out his eyes from his lifeless body?" Coris interrupted, his voice harsh with disgust, his trembling knuckles shining white against Axel's memoir. Winterwen shook her head,
"In his auxiliary notes, Ralon's impression of Axel was as an embittered, cynical man who had lost all faith and hope. Be it in gods, humans or dragons." She heaved a melancholic sigh,
"But Axel's last act was the ultimate sacrifice for a cause greater than himself, one he knew he would not live to see. And his last memory was of him entrusting his eyes—and with them, the future of all three races—to Maxus Hadrian."
Meya, Coris and Zier turned to each other once more, their eyes pooling on the younger Hadrian's midriff.
The future of humans, Greeneyes and dragons had been passed on from her ill-fated ancestor to their ancestor. And, judging from Axel's point of view, somewhere in Zier's bowels, the future was solid darkness. Literally.
🐉🐉🐉