Unedited.
Chapter Eight - Music.
Nethore's ears swivelled as the noise of the crowd grew, whispers reverberating around us. I even caught the name 'Vidalin' uttered more than once. I couldn't care less about the burning whispers behind me. For the first time since he uttered my name and I was lost, I felt whole. I tipped my forehead against his snout, feeling the exhale of his breath and with it, an abundance of emotion from him that he had knotted as tightly as I had learned too.
"Nethore..."
Sensing that nearly broke my heart; he shouldn't have to learn to hide his emotions. He was young – a year old dragon was well beyond the bounds that a year- old child would be, but he was still mine to protect.
"Where were you, human?" He asked quietly, gently probing my mind and trying not to be intrusive. I knew he could sense my mind's delicate balance and see the scars that the others couldn't because they were embedded across my mind, but he didn't know why they were there yet. Even asking that question, instead of demanding, instead of delving deep into my mind showed, me how much he had grown.
How much I had missed.
"I missed your hatching. I missed eight months of your life. Milestones that should have been shared with me..." Tears collected along my lashes, guilty pain gnawing at my insides. I wouldn't cry for myself, but for the pain I was making him go through.
His mind was a similar knot of grief and anger, a hard knot, like mine, that would have to be unravelled over time. Flicking thoughts of fury when he just could not sense me. The deep ache in his soul when he couldn't find the bond that strengthened him. No one to turn to in his mind.
Just a gaping space and terrible loneliness.
His mind was merged with mine, but wary eyes tracked the on-lookers, his body coiled like a primed weapon. We were both ticking time-bombs in the middle of a crowded city.
I pulled back, meeting his eyes once more. "Let's get out of here, Ne."
There was a quick, bright spark of joy. "Human."
His massive body shifted as he lowered himself, turning his head to keep the crowd in check. A mixture of weaker muscles and a taller climb made it harder before, but settling on his back, even without a saddle made me feel like the old Neely. A girl who had the whole world before her – a dragon at her side and hope to make it through.
I would laugh at her now.
The derision flickered away when Nethore heaved himself up again and I relished in the familiar feel of his movement beneath me. I could sense the incredible power of his body and heard that age-old, recognisable rustle of great wings stirring behind him, the stalks of his wings banded with muscles that even there, contained more strength than any human.
He snarled once more, snapping viciously at the man who had dared to grab me once more. The crowd fell back, ducking down under his shadow as Nethore leapt, bounding over them and then again, wings snapping out and strong, downward sweeps, we were climbing into the air. The wind smacked at my face, snatching my yell from the tip of my tongue. I held on tight to the duller spikes along his shoulder, too caught up in the moment to even think about falling.
Nethore's mind cleared as he flew, worries seeping away as the ground disappeared beneath him. The sprawling expanse of Ithrall faded as he rose, barbs sliding back into his scales with the fins along his tail and back, almost translucent membrane tinged obsidian fluttering as the wind passed over it.
He wheeled through the sky, thoughts flittering across the expanse of his mind like the wind over his wings. He allowed me to just be there; to cling to his back and pretend this wasn't the first time in eight months. He had known me for less than any of my friends, but knew me better than they ever would.
It ended too soon. My body, as thin as it had become, couldn't handle the cold like it should. Once the bite of the autumn's wind grew just too much for me, he wordlessly titled towards the academy island. Even his landing was smooth on the crash-pad, great sweeps of massive swings carrying his heavy body to a light drop while serrated claws gripped tight to the ground as he lowered himself into the grass.
He turned to look at me, a slit of an eye regarding me closely while he wondered about the strength of chicken bone legs.
'Chicken bone?"
I moved to examine the old wound that had forced him to be put under during the Ashbourne fight. It was only a ghost of a wound now, skin knitted back together and freshly formed scales growing over the glimpse of puckered, dark skin. When I brushed my fingers against it, he twitched with a snorting growl. Narrowing his eyes down at me, he tried to swat me away with a soft push of his paw.
"You're ticklish."
He coiled around me, his head pressing into the grass as he heaved a great sigh. "Flown very far, very fast."
"Thank you." I eased myself onto the grass, my back against his side. Without thinking, without asking, he settled the tip of his tail over my lower legs and let out another great sigh.
"Human."
---
Dark dreams hunted me, the heavy consciousness of sleep broken by the distant memory of shrieking demons and sobbing pleas. I stirred on the hard floor of my bed-room, blinking around me in confusion as I sat up, the knot of blankets around my legs collecting at my hips. I had tried sleeping on the bed, but the comforting pull of the mattress had made me uncomfortable and in the sleepy haze of my mind, I had dragged myself down onto the ground, giving myself the comfort of only a blanket.
Nethore's mind itself was bogged down in sleep as he guarded the outside of my hut, the quick snort of his snore travelling in under the doorway. His dreams were strange – Nethore had limited vocabulary but his mind was quicker and more expansive than anything I had ever heard. Sometimes it seemed so vast; beyond the quick wit and derision was an ancient knowledge that seemed to seep down from dragon to dragon, make them more cunning than their predecessor.
Tonight, he dreamed of blood and stars; crimson droplets passing through the years. So strange.
Carefully, I inched out of the door but it was no use. The instant my foot touched the path, a single eye of blue cracked open. Peeling his muzzle back, he let out a single disapproving growl.
"I just want some water." I croaked.
He watched me with fathomless eyes for a long moment before they slipped shut again. He appeared to be sleeping, but I knew too well that he wouldn't sleep until I returned to the hut. He would be listening for threats until human was safe again. For a moment, he wondered how I could gotten punier. Human was tiny.
I smiled wryly at that. "I am not human anymore Nethore. Technically, Riders are another species."
He blinked long and slow. "Human."
That nearly did it for me. The simple stubbornness in his voice, tinged with amusement nearly crushed my fragile strength in my emotions, making tears burn in the back of my eyes. I bottled it back down quickly and screwed that damn lid tight. Instead, I wondered how a dragon – a creature of iron-hide scales and fire could unravel me so easily and drudge up emotions when sometimes I felt dead inside.
I hurried away, fingers curling tight around the cuffs of my jumper, because even the gentle breeze made me freeze. I climbed the short, but steep steps and too soon, my lungs caught tight with the urge to take more air. Instead, my footsteps reverberated off the walls of the school as I walked towards the kitchen.
When I reached the doorway of the kitchen, my whole body came to a sudden and stuttering stop. I hung by the doorframe, eyeing the short, but dim distance between the door and the sink. A hard knot of fear festered in the centre of my chest, my eyes sweeping towards the shadows as if expecting to see Acheron's amber eyes gleaming from the corner.
"Move." I snarled to myself.
My muscles locked, a cold feeling flushing through my system and I stood there for a long moment before my tightened jaw loosened just enough to let out a long, bitter sigh. "You coward."
I turned away, locked in a broiling pit of internal anger and that's when I heard. A soft sound breaking the silence of night, filling the air without effort. It was an aching sound that it seemed to be sighed on the very wind stirring outside.
I followed the sound, down the curved halls of smooth grey stone to a door-less room. The entrance was smoothed at the top, with two squares in the wall on either side of it. Potted plants were placed there, swelling with flowers who spilled out over the rim of pot. Someone has a green thumb.
I peeked inside the room and nearly let out a laugh. 'Of course'
A lone figure sat in the room, his side to the door as he played the violin. His eyes were shut but his body swayed as if the music was carrying him along with long draws of the bow that pulled emotion with every note.
I knew he had a pianist's fingers.
I had seen him fight in Ashbourne; had seen that sharp gleam in his eye when he ended a demon's life, but in the quiet serenity of this room, he looked like he truly belonged.
Then, the music stopped suddenly and his head turned in my direction. "Are you going to come in...?"
I had the good grace to flush at the low drawl of his voice, completely unbothered by the fact that I had been watching him.
"You're up late." I stepped into the room, drawn by curiosity at all the instruments lining the wall. Zephyr's chair squeaked as he turned, assessing me with a boldness the others had not yet mustered.
"I wouldn't expect them to let you out alone," The side of his mouth quirked. "Though I suspect that you are sick of being hounded."
I matched the dryness of his smile. "You could be right, Zephyr."
Motioning to the violin, I sat down opposite him. "What song was that? The tune is... familiar."
A single brow rose before he leaned over to set his bow and violin carefully in its stand. "It shouldn't be. It isn't well known among the common rabble."
"I don't consider myself rabble."
He met my eyes, the striking green of his eyes seeming to suck in all light to make them burn brighter. "No, but even so. It is called the Skies of Byrlahaen."
"I have never heard of the place."
"It was destroyed well before either of us were born." He looked away. "It's on its way to becoming merely a legend."
The words tumbled out of my mouth almost immediately, the thoughts of a story better than thinking about my own life. "Tell me, please."
Zephyr looked back at me. He took a moment to contemplate, nephrite green eyes sweeping over my battered form before he gave a short nod. "I always heard it told as a certain story."
"I won't judge...I promise."
He nodded, then cleared his throat and began.
"The day was fair. The sky unbroken as the lazy spring sun brought the town into bloom. Children played along the streets, their shrieks a joy to hear in Byrlahaen. Coloured flags waved the people as they passed, minstrels dancing along the streets, alongside vendors selling silks and spices.
In the hundreds of houses throughout the city, families lived. Old couples shared stories of their lives with their family – parents worried about money but looked to those who brought them joy and the young ones just played, care free. Alive and free. It was as ancient as the mountain range that towered miles behind it. Its castle was inlayed with gold – but its doors were always open.
None had any clue of the idea that had festered into a plan – a plan whose wheels were in motion. So as the first saw dragons wheeling across the sky, they cheered; the Riders had come to visit. Children ran under them, hands outstretched to wave to the heroes on dragon-back. Wings stretched out over the sky, a hurricane of wind stirred by the membrane.
And then the fire-storm started.
Great maws opened, nearly a hundred Riders sweeping down over the city with flames and lightening spewing from the depths of their chests. Anyone in the streets turned to ash, even the children. In their homes, innocents suffocated from the smoke or became trapped by the fires that caught onto their rooves.
Hopelessly and utterly destroyed, the city of Byrlahaen lay in ruin as the Riders landed to view their destruction. The wind had already begun to take away the ash of the bodies who had died screaming in the streets. A single building, somehow had survived the carnage. An orphanage that lay forgotten amongst everything, even when it town was once beautiful.
When small faces peeked out of the window, the swords were drawn callously. Only a single Rider stood tall, planting himself between the orphans and his peers. He had come too late – his heart sick with disgust.
'If you try and touch them, my brothers and sisters, then you will have to cut me down first."
They chose to sheathe their weapons and so, eight young children survived that day; eight who had watched the fire rain down on them, had heard the screams of the hundreds dying as the wings of dragons stirred in the sky. What happened to those children, or that Rider was never known. Some say what happened at Byrlahaen was only a story to stir sympathy – that the city never existed. Others are adamant that the skeletal remains of that city still stand – a desolate and cold place."
"They all died..." I remembered the tune now. Hale had sung it softly to himself, but I always did remember the words:
"Watch the day break and fall,
Hear the fire, it's raging call,
From skies above, oh so blue
Down it pours, over you."
Zephyr started at the soft hum of the words before drawling out in a tired voice, as if he had repeated it a hundred times before. "It is what they get, I suppose. Their greatest crime was that they were demons."
My brow knotted. "Demons? A whole town of them just living there?"
"A city." Zephyr corrected. "Rumoured to be bigger than Ithrall at the time."
I mulled over that, unsure of how I felt. The image of people turning to ash under a torrent of fire made me feel vaguely sick; a year ago it would have disgusted but after witnessing others suffer so much, it almost felt like I was going numb.
And that terrified me.
Zephyr watched the expressions flicker across my face before I settled for cool indifference, thin arms crossed over my bruised chest and the movement pulled my bandages on my back uncomfortably taunt.
"I would think that you would be the first to condemn demons." He said softly, tracking my face.
Annoyance bit down hard. "And why is that?"
"Because of what they did to you." He said it so coolly, so casually as if it was something that could be spoken about like that. I didn't want it spoken about; I wanted it brushed under the carpet and for all this awkwardness that seemed to surround me now, to be gone. I could and would suffer it alone – if only everyone forgot or stopped thinking about it.
"It was a terrible. Very scarring and all that jazz." I waved a hand. "But who am I to tar them all with the same brush. Didn't Valaxia do the same with every Lynch after Mazus? I'm not some crazy war loving maniac – there could be good demons."
The butcher.
He was good. My mind flickered to the memories I had of him. Of the demon visible behind him, thatching a roof. He had been doing something so normal to them. Of course, the butcher had been carving up the bodies of dead people but there had been something in that sad smile of his when he told me to go that struck a chord.
What did they need saving from?
"Good night Zephyr," I stood quickly, pasting a smile on my face.
The corners of his mouth rose into a smile; as if he knew something and I didn't. The way he watched me, with no shame and so intently made me feel strange – like my bones were liquid but I didn't want to feel like that. I had enough of feeling out of control.
"Good night, Lynch."
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Sorry about the late update. Last weekend, i was away and didn't have the time to write and the weekend is now my writing time.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter - to be honest, it wasn't very action packed but important things happened.
Anyway, tell me your ideas, or what you think of Book 2 so far = any predictions?
Until next time - Saoigreen.