Chapter 13 #2
I can hear my pulse beating, like a rushing in my ears, as my mind swims with panic.
If that’s true, then I have not only failed to translate Cindra’s writing and therefore failed to solicit the wyverns’ help.
It means my whole career is a lie. What do I have, if not languages? Who am I, if not a translator?
I set down my glass with a trembling hand.
‘Courage, dear one,’ Aodahn tells me. ‘You should perhaps—’
‘Viv?’ Atlas strides back into the Amber Court. ‘When did you last see the loquisonus machine?’
I frown. ‘This morning. Why?’
‘It’s broken,’ Atlas says.
I tense, my heart pounding.
Broken?
‘The tunnel-detecting machine?’ Aodahn says.
Across the court, I see Abelio watching us.
Cindra approaches. ‘Show me,’ she tells Atlas.
The five of us follow Cindra and Aodahn to our sleeping cave. We find the loquisonus machine still in its case, but when Atlas pulls it out, broken parts rattle inside.
‘You found it like this?’ I ask Atlas.
He nods. I glance at Cindra.
‘Do you think one of the wyverns was curious, and accidentally . . .’
Abelio slinks into the cave. When he sees the loquisonus machine hanging from Atlas’s hand, his turquoise eyes flash. ‘You have vandalised it,’ he hisses.
‘It wasn’t Atlas,’ I say sharply.
‘You want to ensure we cannot use your tunnel-detecting machine!’ Abelio continues. ‘This is sabotage.’
I feel my eyes narrow. ‘Sabotage? Or perhaps,’ I say slowly, ‘you wish to dissuade the wyverns from escaping the concealment you have forced on them.’
Cindra gives me a sharp look as Abelio recoils. ‘Without this machine, you cannot keep your side of our agreement,’ he snarls at me. ‘You must leave immediately.’
‘Fasgadh is freely given, Abelio,’ Aodahn stutters.
‘Five dawns of fasgadh is generosity enough,’ Abelio snarls.
‘He did it,’ Marquis says quietly.
My cousin glares in the wyvern’s direction and I know he’s right.
‘Did you break the machine, Abelio?’ I ask.
He lets out a bird-like screech that sends a chill through me. I sense the others tense.
‘Abelio,’ Cindra says sharply. ‘If we banish the humans after nightfall, they will be hunted.’
‘So be it!’ Abelio shrieks, his eyes wide. ‘The wyverns owe them nothing.’
‘What’s he saying?’ Gideon whispers.
Abelio bares his teeth and I see the flicker of flame in his throat. A threatening clicking comes from his chest. The sound of fire.
‘Cindra, please!’ Serena shouts.
‘Tell him the Bulgarian dragons will kill us, then sniff out the wyvern tunnels looking for more food,’ Atlas tells me.
I translate and Abelio’s snarl growls louder. ‘We are a match for any dragon, we are Hebridean—’
‘Tell him the machine isn’t a tunnel detector.’
I freeze. ‘What? No.’
‘Tell him we lied,’ Atlas says.
I shake my head, then glance at Aodahn and Cindra, who are staring at him in stunned silence.
‘We need your help, Aodahn,’ Atlas says gently. ‘That’s why we came here. The machine doesn’t detect tunnels, but echolocation.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Marquis mutters.
‘Dragons call it the Koinamens, in English,’ Atlas says quietly. ‘The language you speak – not Cannair, the other one. The one you keep inside your heads.’
Cindra is translating for Abelio and growls erupt from the wyverns, even Aodahn. My gaze lands on his gentle face as his eyes cloud with confusion.
‘An Smuainswel?’ he whispers.
Smuainswel.
The word for the Koinamens in the wyvern tongue. I recognise the Scottish Gaelic word for thought, Smuain, and the Cannair word for a sea wave, Swel.
It’s beautiful.
I see Gideon shrink against the wall as Abelio seems to grow, his wings unfolding behind him as a high-pitched howl erupts from his throat.
‘We can listen to it, but we can’t understand it!’ I say. ‘We found your tunnels by following the sound of it with the machine, but that’s all. I’ve heard your Koinamens and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. I would never do anything to—’
Cindra lets out a warning screech and I fall silent.
‘How many humans can listen to the Smuainswel?’
‘We have the only machine,’ I say quickly. ‘But I can’t use it, can’t translate—’
‘Translate?’ Cindra chokes, taking a step towards me. ‘You speak of translation?’
Atlas steps in front of me, his arms outstretched. ‘We know that the Koinamens is sacred, used to heal and grow. Viv respects that. But we resorted to using the machine to listen to it because we were desperate to find you. Because we need your help.’
‘Do you see, now, the entitlement of these humans?’ Abelio snarls to Cindra. ‘They bring nothing but danger.’
‘What sort of help, dear one?’ says Aodahn.
‘Dr Hollingsworth, leader of the Human-Dragon Coalition, believes that you could be instrumental to us winning the war,’ Atlas says calmly.
‘But we are so small in number compared to Queen Ignacia’s dragons, to these Bulgarian Bolgoriths joining our skies,’ Aodahn says. ‘How can we help you?’
I shake my head. ‘We don’t know.’
The admission is mortifying.
‘Cindra,’ Aodahn says, gesturing to Marquis. ‘He saved the life of our wyvernling. You cannot sentence him to death.’
Cindra growls, then looks at me. I know what she’s thinking.
I’ve only just started translating her writing and if she banishes me now, her hope of sharing Cannair with the world will be lost. Her eyes flick from side to side and her lower jaw shudders menacingly.
‘You will keep your fasgadh, temporarily.’
‘They will leave us now!’ Abelio roars.
Cindra snaps at him, catching the side of his snout in her teeth, and the two dragons spit and scream in a stand-off than makes my blood run cold.
Abelio glares at her, his eyes rabid, but she doesn’t back down.
He turns, his head swinging side to side, a performance meant to ward off a threat.
Then he lets out a low hiss and lurches from the room.
Cindra’s eyes flash at me again before she follows.
‘What did you do that for?’ Marquis spits at Atlas.
‘He was going to kill one of us!’ Atlas retorts. ‘And we can’t leave here with nothing.’ He looks at me and the hardness in his eyes is unsettling. ‘We need the wyverns.’
I crouch down on the tweed blankets as the water from the stream trickles into the silence.
In front of me are the broken loquisonus, Cindra’s writings and Clawtail’s journal.
Each are an attempt to understand the Hebridean Wyverns and yet I’m no closer to achieving the mission Hollingsworth set me than when I arrived on the island.
All this time, I’ve been trying to learn Cannair to find out how the wyverns can help the rebels win the war, only for it to be untranslatable.
It’s the glasshouse and the Koinamens all over again.
‘Hollingsworth was counting on the success of this mission,’ I whisper. ‘But Cindra will hardly agree to fight with us now. What if we’ve just lost the war?’
‘She can’t have based her entire victory plan on the off chance we find a lost group of wyverns,’ Serena says.
‘But what if she did?’ I reply. ‘Wyvernmire has Bulgarian dragons on her side. Hollingsworth must have realised she needed more than just the average teeth and claws.’ I look to Atlas. ‘I think you’re right. The wyvern echolocation must be the answer.’
He nods, his eyes shining.
‘It is truly the Smuainswel that interests you?’ Aodahn says. ‘Well, then. Your dishonesty is poor repayment for our fasgadh indeed.’
His eyes flick from me to Gideon, shining with sorrow, before he scurries from the room.
‘Great,’ Gideon seethes. ‘The only dragon I ever actually liked hates us.’
We undress for bed in silence. I lie back on the blankets beneath the muted moonlight that shines in through the ceiling. Atlas’s hand finds mine and he turns towards me.
‘We haven’t failed yet, Viv,’ he whispers.
He’s still full of hope, despite everything. But he and the others have achieved their mission, to find the wyverns.
Only mine remains unfulfilled. I’m supposed to be Vivien Featherswallow, Draconic Translator. Except I still haven’t succeeded in translating Cannair. If Cindra makes us leave tomorrow, our deal will be off. What use will I be to the rebels then? Who am I, if I’m just Viv?
My eyes fly open in the shadows.
I don’t even know who Viv is.
A newspaper sketch of my own face dances before my eyes, turning into Hollingsworth’s before transforming into Abelio’s. He breathes out a foul-smelling flame that chokes the air I breathe.
An acidic scent burns the rims of my nostrils, pulling me from sleep.
I sense Atlas stir next to me and as I gaze across the murky room, I see Marquis sitting up.
He starts to cough and at the same time, something seizes my throat.
Atlas jumps to his feet. He lights a lantern and it fizzes to life, bathing the cave in light.
Smoke coats everything around us in a green haze that clings to the walls.
‘Poisonous gas,’ Marquis croaks, his arm over his face. ‘Humans.’