Chapter 20
I FORGET TO brEATHE.
‘My father wore the other,’ Hollingsworth says, ‘but as his body was never found, I do not have it. It was I who set up the empty grave on Canna, with the memory tweed, as per wyvern tradition.’ She smiles.
My head spins. Rita Hollingsworth is the little girl Clawtail writes about in his journal? She’s his daughter?
‘You are Marguerite?’ Aodahn says.
‘Yes,’ she replies softly. ‘My parents and I lived with you before you disappeared.’
‘I remember!’ Aodahn says delightedly. He glances at Cindra as she comes forward, sniffing the air as if searching for a lie. She turns to him, communicating silently.
‘You’ve met these wyverns before?’ I say to Hollingsworth, my voice shaking. ‘You’ve lived on this island, you speak Cannair? And yet you sent me here blind?’
‘You have lied to us all,’ Chumana spits.
‘You could have found the wyverns yourself!’ I shout at her.
‘Found the wyverns myself?’ Hollingsworth says calmly.
‘Vivien, I am sixty-five years old. I no longer have the strength to go traipsing across an uncharted island, no matter how much I wanted to return to the place of my earliest, sweetest memories. I cannot remember more than a few words of Cannair. And you forget who I am. If I had simply run off to Canna, our cover would have been blown.’
‘So that’s why you had Clawtail’s diary,’ I say. ‘It didn’t belong to the Academy. You got it from your family.’
‘From my mother,’ Hollingsworth says with a nod.
‘After the government killed my father, we were relocated to England, forgiven for our family’s treason as long as we assumed new identities.
Of course, I never forgot our lives with the wyverns, even as their language began to fade from my young mind.
There was barely a trace of our past left until I founded the Academy, secretly in honour of my father. ’
Out of the corner of my eye I see Aodahn move. He reaches inside the pouch where his egg should be and pulls out a tiny, gold ring.
‘Patrick’s wedding band,’ he says, holding it out in his large, clumsy talons.
Hollingsworth’s eyebrows knit together in surprise as she takes the ring. It sits next to its partner in the palm of her hand.
‘Then you were a friend of my father’s?’
‘Indeed, dear one,’ Aodahn says. ‘He taught me English and I taught him Cannair.’ His eyes grow wide. ‘It was with me that you learned to read.’
The apples of Hollingsworth’s cheeks turn a rosy pink and her lipsticked mouth trembles. I glance up at the sky as more dragons land around us, rebels I’ve never met jumping off their backs. But where are Goranov and Krasimir? Where are the Bolgoriths?
‘Aodahn,’ Hollingsworth says. ‘My recruits have spoken to you of the war our country is fighting, of the invasion of the Bulgarian dragons, which you have now witnessed for yourselves.’ She looks at the other wyverns and her eyes land on Cindra.
‘I have come to ask you to use your Koinamens to help rid Britannia of these invaders. I know it is sacred to you, a secret best kept among dragons. We rebel humans have fought to protect it, but I come begging you to share it, once now in return for our eternal gratitude and respect, and then never again. Without it, our country is doomed to become the stomping ground of Bulgarian Bolgoriths, and our own humans and dragons mere food and slaves.’
‘But how can our Smuainswel help you?’ Aodahn asks.
‘Together,’ Hollingsworth says softly, ‘the Hebridean Wyverns can echolocate a call strong enough to kill one of the Bulgarian leaders. He, in turn, is so intimately bonded to his two siblings, that I believe they will suffer the effects of the call through him, and perish also.’
Daria’s tail curls like a snake.
‘Patrick would never have asked this of us,’ Cindra snaps in Cannair.
‘You’re right,’ I reply in the same tongue. ‘You must refuse, Cindra. If you use your Smuainswel, every human and dragon in the world will know who you are and what you can do.’
Hollingsworth opens her mouth to speak, but changes her mind when Chumana takes a step forward.
‘Humans will try to turn you into a weapon,’ I continue, switching back to English. ‘Dragons will try to kill you. You won’t be respected, only feared. Fear breeds hatred, Cindra, and you will be the most hated dragons in Europe.’
‘The Bulgarian Bolgoriths are the most hated dragons in Europe,’ Hollingsworth cries.
‘Is their power not respected? Our country will fall to them, just like their own country fell. We must fight them with a weapon they are not expecting us to use. And not only do you have such a weapon, but you have an optimised version. A version that will save us all. Cindra, I implore you.’
Chumana snaps at Hollingsworth and she jumps backwards, the colour draining from her face.
‘The wyverns will fight alongside you, girl with the golden machine,’ Cindra says. ‘But with our teeth.’ She glares at Hollingsworth. ‘Not our minds.’
I nod, relief flooding me, and I see the tremble in Hollingsworth’s hands as she turns away. She stalks across the grass, stopping only when she reaches the edge of the hill to stare at the horizon.
‘Bolgoriths,’ Serena says sharply.
A whole horde of them is flying towards us from inland and opposite, and soaring in from across the sea are yet more rebel dragons. Small black figures drop from their hulking backs into the shallows, carrying their weapons as bullets begin to spray.
‘There are more of us than I expected,’ I say quietly, hope brimming.
‘I thought the rebels didn’t have the numbers?’ Marquis breathes.
On the beach, Guardians are loading a line of Speerspitzes under Bulgarian supervision, pointing them at the influx of British dragons. And from somewhere far off comes the distant hum of planes. A Sand Dragon lands next to me.
‘Greetings, recruit,’ Soresten says, bowing his head. ‘We were told we would find the Swallow here.’
‘It’s good to see you, Soresten,’ I say breathlessly.
Someone slides off Soresten’s back. I recognise him only vaguely.
He’s the man I saw with Dr Seymour when we landed on Eigg after the Battle of Bletchley, the father of her child.
As someone bellows orders and the rebels around us begin to organise themselves, I catch glimpses of other human faces behind folding wings.
Arthur Burke from the Academy. Hollingsworth’s driver, Johnstone.
A greengrocer from Pimlico. My stomach lurches.
George Beecham, who hosted the Pimlico party and .
. . Edward? When did he join the Coalition?
Is Hyacinth here too? My head snaps back towards the crowd, searching for her face, but someone grabs me by the arm. I spin around.
A skinny figure, long blonde hair and the flash of a red friendship bracelet.
Sophie.
I burst into tears.
‘Viv!’ she says, grinning. ‘What’s the plan?’
She looks different. Her face is rounder and there’s an athletic curve to her body. I stare, slightly stunned, into her bright eyes.
‘Why do you look happy to be here?’ I say through tears.
She laughs as a Speerspitze explodes. ‘Isn’t this what we’ve been training for? Last year we were prisoners, Viv, but now, we’re rebels!’
Her last words are muffled as Marquis pulls her into a hug. Serena turns to say something to me and a flicker of orange is reflected in her eyes.
‘Get down!’ Atlas screams.
Dragonfire rains down on us, so hot that the grass at my feet wilts. A pink veil descends on me as I fling myself to the ground. When I open my eyes I see the paper-thin leather of Chumana’s wing and then Atlas’s face next to mine, his eyes scrunched shut, his arm flung across my back.
‘Serena?’ I scream, and my voice is muffled behind the protective tent of Chumana’s wing.
‘Here,’ Serena says weakly.
The wing lifts and I see her lying in the grass next to Hollingsworth, Sophie and Marquis. Fire rages across the grass, licking up the legs of the dragons and sending the humans running for cover.
‘Where’s Gideon?’ Marquis says.
‘With Aodahn,’ I say as I get to my feet, spotting the wyvern towering over Gideon, his tailed curled protectively around him as a Bolgorith circles.
A hand slips into mine.
Atlas.
There’s a boom as Guardians fire the Speerspitzes below. I look at him. He stares back.
He might as well be a stranger.
Chumana lets out a scream and she and Daria rise to meet the Bolgoriths as they attack. The sky is crammed with dragons and I stay low as I spot a massive black dragon flying over the hills in an erratic manner, rising high before swooping low, the left half of its body dragging on the wind.
‘Is that Goranov?’ Serena says.
‘And Ralph,’ Atlas says grimly.
As Goranov gets closer, I see Ralph on his back, nestled like a parasite between the dragon’s wings.
Guttural screams echo from the beach as Bolgoriths swoop down on the rebels.
Metallic clangs ring out as scale meets scale.
There’s a flash of pink. Chumana and Daria crash back across the hillside, entangled with a third dragon.
We duck again, pressing ourselves to the ground as the dragons tumble over the edge and into the air.
I see Western Drakes, Sand Dragons, Ddraig Gochs and even several Silver Drakes battling the Bolgoriths.
‘I can’t see Krasimir,’ I shout to the others. ‘We need to draw him out here!’
Hollingsworth’s eyes meet mine and she nods in silent agreement.
I take a deep breath.
So she hasn’t given up, either.
‘Krasimir?’ Sophie says as we group together again. ‘He’s my mission. Cormac and I –’ she points to a man in a kilt who is charging down towards the beach – ‘have been tracking him with Daria’s help.’
Sophie has been working with Daria?
She smirks at my surprise. ‘They’re bonded, so Daria can sense where he is.’
‘Chumana said Daria hates her brothers,’ I say.
‘She does. But they raised her.’