41. Harper
41
That evening, Harper sat beside the campfire with the rest of them, just outside the village. Her body ached from a day of labour and activity, and she longed to cleanse the smell of smoke and sickness from her, but there was nothing to wash with. She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, grimacing at how clogged with dirt and sweat it felt.
“You all right there, Aedon?” Brand’s deep voice broke the silence. Harper watched her companions. Aedon was uncharacteristically quiet that night.
“No—how could I be? Look at what’s happened here.” He shook his head. “We were gone weeks.”
“We couldn’t have done it any faster,” Brand replied. “You know that.”
“I… there could have been a way. Somehow. We should have got horses. Something.” He dragged a hand through his hair, and in the flickering firelight, shadows yawned under his eyes. The anguish in his voice was clear, and Harper softened, longing to comfort him, but she did not know how. She did not see a thief or a criminal anymore. Now she saw someone who just wanted to help, who punished himself for failing.
“You know as well as I that that was not an option. Nowhere we passed had horses, for one,” Brand replied.
Erika added firmly, “There’s nothing we could have done. Don’t beat yourself up—use your energy to help them now. That’s all we can do.”
“Hhmph.” Aedon did not reply. He drew his knees up and rested his crossed arms upon them, and his chin on top, staring into the flames. He did not invite further conversation. Their persuasion would not help change his mind, Harper surmised. The guilt he wore was heavier than that.
“You did a good job today, Harper,” Ragnar said as he offered her slightly stale bread from the village, pressed upon them by a grateful patient. A luxury.
“Thank you,” Harper murmured, ducking her head and hiding behind a curtain of tangled hair. Praise was not something she knew how to receive. She’d just done her best helping Ragnar tend to the villagers, that was all. Anyone would have done the same in her position.
“She has a knack for putting people at ease.” Brand took his share of the loaf, and gave her a tired smile.
“That she does,” Ragnar replied. “Mighty glad was I for her help today.”
Harper coloured. “I just did what felt right.”
“The world needs more of that,” Ragnar said around a mouthful of crumbs and smoked meat.
They ate as night fell around them, but the forest was still and silent. Brand broke the silence first. “I don’t like it here. Too quiet.”
“It’s like the forest knows. The creatures give this place a wide berth,” Erika said, glancing warily around her. Harper noticed how neither of them had settled down, each alert.
“It does,” said Aedon softly. “The very magic of the plants and animals is tainted here. It makes me feel nauseous, this disease on the air.”
“Is that what happened when Saradon cursed Pelenor?” Harper asked. The tale he had spun to her in a similarly dark night preyed on her mind when the sun set now. In her story book, such tales had seemed impossible to be true, but now? Now, she wasn’t sure what was fact or fiction.
“Yes. The earth, the plants, the creatures were left untainted, but even so, such darkness resonates. Magic is as much a part of this land as the people are.”
“What could cause it?” Erika asked. There was a bite of another unsaid question to her tone that Harper could not fathom.
Aedon gave Erika a long, slow look. “I do not believe it to be Saradon or dark magic, if that is your meaning. He’s long dead, as you said. Nothing more than a tale to scare children at night. This is but a pale imitation of the blight he left upon the land, and no doubt natural in cause.”
He shrugged and spread his arms wide. “We have no idea what brings this sickness, but we will do our best to contain it.” He glanced at the tiny vial. Harper knew what he was thinking. That it could not be done with such a limited quantity of the cure.
“What can be done?” Ragnar asked, stroking his beard. The beads holding together his plaited braids clinked together gently.
“Can we not get more of the cure? Or even make more?” Harper asked, desperately wishing she had a solution.
Aedon shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. Perhaps the elves of Tir-na-Alathea have a way, but if they do, they have not shared it, and are not likely to. Everything comes at a price with them. If this has spread so fast already…” He trailed off.
She waited for him to continue.
“We can still help plenty,” he said quietly.
“Perhaps not enough, though. What else can be done?” Ragnar turned back to his cooking, because he knew the answer. Nothing. Erika did not reply at all.
When Aedon stilled, the others turned to him.
“Are you all right?” Brand raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for Aedon to be quiet or motionless. Both meant he was entirely out of sorts.
“We need to make more—or rather, make this spread further,” Aedon said.
“I beg your pardon?” Ragnar leaned forward.
Aedon shook the tiny vial at them. Erika hissed and dove to catch it, lest he drop it into the fire, but he snatched it back and clutched it to his chest. “I believe there’s a way we can make more.”
“I don’t follow,” said Erika. “I thought the whole point of taking this from the wood elves was because we couldn’t make any?”
“How? How is it done?” Brand asked.
Supper was forgotten as their attention fixed upon Aedon. “No, you’re correct. We couldn’t make it—but we can make more. There’s a difference, I promise. There are certain substances which can be used to make potions more potent, so you can use smaller doses or even dilute them. They’re rare, of course, and pricey, but they exist. There’s no reason it wouldn’t work.”
“Are you certain?” Brand pressed him.
The light faded from Ragnar’s eyes. “If you’re wrong and the potion is spoiled, they’ll all die.”
Aedon faltered, but only for a moment. “Course I’m sure. That’s what we need to do.”
“What can be used, and where do we find it?” Erika’s dagger and whetstone sat forgotten in her lap.
“Wait,” Ragnar said before he could reply. “Dragonhearts,” he said slowly. “Yes?” He looked to Aedon.
“Precisely.” Aedon’s grin widened. Harper stilled. That lump nestled in her clothing dug into her. A Dragonheart?
“Hmm?” said Erika. Brand rustled his wings and cocked his head, but stayed silent, dark eyes evaluating Aedon.
Aedon gestured to Ragnar. “You know the lore then?”
Ragnar inclined his head. His voice took on a grave cadence as he recited an obscure passage. “The Heart of Dragons is a substance most potent. A crystalline structure, hued and jagged as the dragon it comes from, contains such magics as are yet misunderstood. The Heart of Dragons may affect potions or incantations in many different ways, most notably lending the strength of the dragon to the magics performed.”
“Thank you, oh wise one,” Aedon said, a hint of fond mockery in his tone. “Ragnar is quite right. Dragonhearts are incredibly potent. Part blood and flesh, but part magic and spell, too. The very essence of a dragon is captured. They’re beautiful. They shine with iridescence and their own inner fire. Almost as if the dragon isn’t truly gone.” Aedon stared into the flames.
“Do you mean their literal heart?” interjected Brand, narrowing his eyes.
Aedon winced. “I do mean the literal heart. You won’t be able to obtain one from a living dragon, of course.” He swallowed. “But they can be harvested from a dead one.”
Brand’s face softened and he nodded to the elf, a sympathetic grimace on his face that Harper didn’t understand.
Aedon smiled half-heartedly in return. “They’re very rare. I’m sad to say the King of Pelenor stockpiles dragons, alive and dead.”
Erika scoffed. “What man thinks he can own a dragon?”
“The king believes he can own every dragon, as you well know.” Aedon pursed his lips. “So he also considers Dragonhearts to belong to him. He never allows them to have final rest, as befits them. They are impossible to get ahold of. Except,” said Aedon delicately, “we have one right in our midst.” As one, Aedon, Brand, Erika and Ragnar turned to Harper and affixed her under their scrutiny.
“You want my Dragonheart,” said Harper, and now her hand did wind into her garments to touch the rough, hard surface of the Dragonheart.
“Yes,” said Aedon quietly.
Harper’s hand trembled, and she swallowed audibly. How did she feel about that? The Dragonheart was her pass to freedom—her only opportunity to return home to Caledan.
“There’s just one problem.”
Harper’s attention snapped to Aedon, and her breath stalled.
Ragnar groaned. “You don’t know how it’s done.”
“No.” Aedon admitted, biting his lip. “Not a clue. That knowledge is beyond anything I learned in Tournai. The answers we seek, however, are there. I have no doubt. The royal archives are famed for their comprehensiveness. To understand how to use a Dragonheart to create more of this life-saving potion, that is where we must go.”
Harper felt nauseous. Everything she had set her sights on—a trip to the royal court, where she could use the Dragonheart to leverage her return home—was in jeopardy, because now, her companions wanted, needed, that prize for their own ends. And it could not fulfil both.
There were four of them. One of her. They were highly trained—and magical. She was… she pushed that thought away, because the answer that floated to her was viciously unkind. Useless. Would they try to take it by force if she did not want to give it? Her hand grasped the Dragonheart so tightly under the folds of her cloak that pain bit into her palm. She couldn’t breathe.
“Well, there’s no chance of getting it overnight,” said Brand, his voice calm, unaware of her spiralling thoughts. “What’s to be done about this village? We must stop the sickness spreading amongst the people.”
“Nothing that I know,” said Aedon, dragging his hands through his already messy hair. “We don’t have enough cure to make everyone immune. We’re going to have to choose, or let the villagers choose, who to save immediately and who must wait for our return.”
“I agree,” said Brand. “If there’s a chance of some kind of cure, even if it’ll be nigh on impossible to get, we have to try. If we don’t, there’ll be a lot more in the same position. We promised these people we would help.”
“Let it be done then,” Aedon said with a heavy sigh. “At first light, we’ll wake everyone and the decision shall be made, then we’ll leave for the capital. We need the knowledge of the archives to have any hope of making this potion spread further.”
Erika groaned. “I think dealing with the Tir-na-Alathean elves would be easier than this.”
Aedon answered, his voice muffled as he placed his head in his hands. “What other choice do we have?”
“We’re going to the royal city?” Harper asked, taking a shuddering breath.
Aedon looked up at her. “It looks like you got your wish after all. We’re going to Tournai.” He made no mention of the Dragonheart, but Harper was certain the same thoughts were already running through their heads. Surely they had to have already conceived of taking it from her too?
A frisson flickered through Harper at the potential—she was closer, perhaps, than she had yet been at finding a way back to Caledan. Yet, the threat lingered. Her new companions needed her Dragonheart—for a purpose far more noble than her own. Guilt and worry tangled within her.