Chapter 18 #3
‘Think, Vivien, about what you know about echolocation. What can it do?’
I hesitate. She doesn’t deserve an answer from me, but I want to know. I want to know everything.
‘It can heal,’ I say angrily. I remember how Aodahn and Aberdine pressed their snouts to their eggs to talk to their wyvernlings. ‘It can hatch. And—’
I think about what Chumana told me back at Bletchley Park.
Of course you didn’t know that the Koinamens can kill, just as it can heal and grow.
‘It can kill.’
Hollingsworth nods.
‘Please don’t say that’s what you spent this whole time trying to tell me?
’ I spit. ‘That’s what you needed Atlas for?
To lead me to the conclusion that the Koinamens can be used to kill?
You think that helps us? It can kill dragonlings inside their eggs,’ I say.
‘Vulnerable, unborn dragons. The wyverns can’t kill the Bulgarian dragons with their minds, you fool!
If they could, dragons wouldn’t need teeth or claws. ’
‘It is not dragonlings’ physical weakness that allows them to be killed,’ Hollingsworth interrupts.
‘It is the unbreakable bond between dragon and dragonling that allows the kill call – so against a parent’s natural instinct – to function.
A dragon cannot kill an egg it hasn’t bonded with, Vivien.
But the Hebridean Wyverns, with their unique, multi-wyvern bond, can overcome any need for relationship, penetrate any mind, as long as they emit a call together.
Together, their echolocation can heal a human.
Together, it can kill a full-grown dragon. ’
Multi-wyvern bond?
I feel like I’m falling, plunging headlong into a cold, obvious truth. I suddenly yearn for the web of confusion I felt in the wyvern tunnels, the one I thought Atlas and I were caught in together. Everything Hollingsworth has just told me makes sense, and I despise myself for not seeing it before.
‘Then to exploit the Koinamens would be even more dangerous than we previously thought,’ I say.
‘If the wyverns can do what you say they can do – kill Bulgarian dragons with nothing but their bonded minds – then they are a danger to the whole world. And if they were to agree to help us, they would be hunted, murdered by humans and dragons alike.’
‘Dr Hollingsworth can protect them,’ Atlas interrupts, looking up for the first time. ‘Otherwise I would never have agreed—’
‘Even my six-year-old sister wouldn’t have fallen for that lie,’ I spit.
His face falls.
‘At what stage of our relationship did you decide you were going to betray me?’
‘I . . . Viv, I didn’t want to,’ he says. ‘I only agreed because Dr Hollingsworth insisted, because the rebels have to win the war, because I knew that, once you understood that the wyverns would be protected, you’d want to do whatever it took to save Britannia from—’
‘Not this,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘The Koinamens is a secret for a reason and now we know what the wyverns can do, there’s all the more reason to hide it from the world. This is what we fought for at Bletchley Park, Atlas.’ My voice breaks. ‘Why have you done this?’
He takes a step towards me and I flinch. He stops. ‘You have to listen to her, Viv. You have to convince the wyverns. Otherwise, you’ll lose everything. I will lose everything.’
I turn from him to Hollingsworth. ‘So you didn’t have me learn Cannair so I could find out how the wyverns could help us.
You already knew how. You simply wanted me to gain their trust, so that I could make this unhinged demand of yours.
’ I shake my head. ‘You know, for a moment I thought it might be possible. To translate Cannair into English and in exchange solicit an alliance that might reveal what you wanted to know. But what I didn’t know was what Clawtail himself had discovered: that the wyvern tongue is untranslatable. ’
Hollingsworth frowns. ‘How so?’
‘We don’t have the words in English to accurately translate its meaning.
And more importantly, no translation would preserve it, which is what the wyverns wanted all along.
’ I take a breath. ‘A written transcript of a language can’t capture an accent or a tone of voice or an idiom.
It can’t keep tradition like the waulking of the tweed or cloud-spinning alive, not if there are no words to explain how they work.
I made a deal with one of the wyvern leaders, Cindra, to do that but I failed, because her language and mine are incompatible.
Allowing others to learn Cannair through immersion, through first-hand experience of the wyvern culture and not from the dry pages of a book, is the only way to preserve it.
The wyverns will need to come out of concealment, Dr Hollingsworth.
Do you think they’ll be able to do that, once the whole world knows about their echolocation? ’
‘The wyverns have an opportunity to play a crucial role in history and we will celebrate them for it, without revealing how it came about,’ she replies.
‘The Coalition is fine-tuning a wyvern protection plan and still advocates for the destruction of every single loquisonus machine in existence.’ Hollingsworth stands up.
‘Yes, we are asking the wyverns to use their echolocation, but we do not intend to touch it ourselves. The Koinamens should and will always be out of bounds to human interference. It is this promise that keeps the rebel dragons on our side.’
‘They know, then?’ I say. ‘The rebel dragons know of this plan?’
‘A select few.’
‘Does Chumana?’
Hollingsworth sighs and shakes her head.
‘You haven’t told her,’ I say in disbelief, ‘because you know she will be against it.’
‘Yes,’ Hollingsworth admits. ‘I was counting on you to explain to her why it must be done. Because I believe she will be able to see the truth, Vivien, like I believe you are able to. I believe you will be able to move her, just like you will be able to move the Hebridean Wyverns.’
‘Because I’m a Draconic translator,’ I say quickly.
‘Except I’ve failed at translation, Dr Hollingsworth.
I’ve built my whole life around a pursuit that is not the noble, infallible thing I thought it was.
Translation doesn’t always preserve. Sometimes, it only gives the illusion of preservation.
So what’s the point of it?’ My eyes are treacherously wet.
‘I don’t think I want to be a translator any more. ’
‘You’re worth more than just your languages, Viv,’ Atlas says softly. ‘It’s just a job, it’s not who you are.’
‘Vivien, I didn’t choose you for this mission simply because of your linguistic capabilities,’ Hollingsworth snaps. ‘Do you remember when we first met?’
I nod, remembering the meal at home in Fitzrovia before my parents were arrested and my life changed forever.
‘That night, I saw a young girl who was unsure of everything she said, who was desperate to please, who, despite her impressive academic achievements, showed a lack of confidence in herself. But just a few hours later you released a criminal dragon from the University of London, convinced her to set fire to Downing Street and negotiated a job for both you and your cousin that would save your entire family. That was when I knew what you were.’
A hot feeling comes over me.
‘And then I saw what you did at Bletchley Park.’
‘Studying the Koinamens for Wyvernmire,’ I whisper, my skin prickling with shame.
‘Not that,’ Hollingsworth replies. ‘Refusing to turn Dr Seymour in when you found out she was a rebel spy. Destroying the loquisonus machine. Trying to save Atlas despite knowing it would surely end with you getting caught. I believe in you, Vivien, not because you are a translator but because you are willing to move heaven and earth to make sure the right side wins this war, to make sure the dragons and the Third Class are free. That is why I made you the Swallow – because I believe in your capacity to succeed.’
‘Sorry to disappoint,’ I mutter.
‘You haven’t disappointed me. I know you still have it in you to convince the wyverns to help us. You possess more of an understanding of languages, of the expectations and emotions they carry, than most, because of the way bilingualism has been part of you since you were born.’
I think of how I speak English with Dad and Bulgarian with Mama and a mix of the two with Ursa. How both languages hold different halves of me, how I’m not the same in each one. How, in a way, parts of me are untranslatable, too.
‘You’re the leader of the Human-Dragon Coalition,’ I say quietly. ‘Surely you have another plan, another weapon?’
‘The Koinamens is a language and language is a weapon,’ Hollingsworth says. ‘I’ve told you that before.’ She sighs. ‘Will you ask the wyverns to help us, Vivien? Will you fight for the rebels, this one last time?’
I want to say yes. Yes, if you keep the wyverns safe. Yes, if I never have to see Atlas look at me this way again.
‘No.’
Hollingsworth’s mouth sets into a thin line.
‘The wyverns have suffered enough,’ I say.
‘And even if they agree, you’ll never be able to protect them, to hide what their echolocation can do.
They’ve taught me more about translation than the Academy ever has and I’m not about to exploit their most precious, intrinsic language for our gain, Dr Hollingsworth. Not even to win this war.’
Slowly, Atlas sinks down into Hollingsworth’s seat.
My feet carry me down the stairs and it’s as if my soul has left my body, preceding it out into the cold morning air as the realisation of everything – my failure, Hollingsworth’s corruption, Atlas’s betrayal – sinks deep into the sinew of my very being.
It creates a dark cloud of anxiety that sits on my chest, restricting my breathing, as I remember how Hollingsworth let me talk about Atlas as if he was dead, how Atlas kissed me and told me he didn’t see a future without me.
Both have used me.
I let out great, desperate sobs, howling in the dawn the way I did in those months after I thought Atlas had died, how I wanted to howl when I saw him upright and alive.
I lost him and found him only to lose him a second time. And this time, I know there’s no going back.
Atlas King will never kiss me again.
Rain begins to fall. I stare up into the clouds and let it drench me, droplets coursing through my hair, breathing in the petrichor smell of Canna’s water until it seeps into my clothes and chills my bones. And I sob some more for everything I’ve lost. Translation, Atlas and the war.
A shadow swoops across the sky.
I don’t move as the dragon lands. I let her walk towards me, let her tail encircle me, let her giant head touch mine as her hot breath blows down my neck.
All I can do is reach up like a child, my fingers finding the grooves of hot scales, my soul finding my body again as both collapse with grief and exhaustion.
Then Chumana wraps her wings around me and flies me into the sunrise.