Chapter 13
No creature is coming to save me.
When the man leapt, the dragon instantly parted from its pack. I hear nothing as I fall, nothing but the howling wind.
It stings my eyes, burns my nostrils, whips against my cheeks, as if in punishment for my being so very stupid.
I got lucky with the sword. No creature wants to claim me. Why would they? My intentions are not pure. They are not honorable.
My heart is a pile of ash in my chest, made of pure vengeance and regret. I mean to destroy this land. I mean to claw my way into the sky, pull the gods down from their clouds, and paint the world with their blood.
So close, I think. I got so close.
But close isn’t ever enough.
Roaring fills my ears as the ground rushes up to meet me. It’s stone on this side of the tree. Pure stone with sparkling veins. It would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t about to be my grave.
I close my eyes and hear the rock shatter just before darkness swallows everything.
Death feels like flying.
I’m carried by a wind, and it’s almost peaceful. Almost beautiful. Until the pain hits me like a battering ram.
“I’m not supposed to hurt anymore,” I croak, surprised by my own voice. My eyes open, and I realize I am—somehow—very much alive. The stars blink back at me, diamonds threaded through a dark quilt. The moon is just a fingernail crescent.
I’m in the sky.
I’m flying.
I try to move my hand. It takes a few moments for the sensation to reach my fingers again, and then—
Scales. Beneath me. I turn, only to see a shredded silver wing.
A dragon. I’m on a dragon.
It saved me.
It takes several tries to get up, and then I’m promptly blown back down by a gust of wind. My spine hits the scales, tearing the breath from my lungs. Choking, I turn carefully, clutching ridges, until I’m on my stomach.
I sort through my memories, trying to make sense of this. None of the dragons above claimed me, I know that for certain. I remember the ground fracturing …
It couldn’t have been me who did that. I would be in pieces. The dragon must have been below. It must have risen, just like the sword, to meet me.
Not that I want to complain about someone saving my life … but why?
As if feeling that I’m awake, the dragon begins to fly lower, and my sweaty hands fight for purchase again. Shit. I grit my teeth as it soars down, right toward a field. The dragon lands smoothly, but my body slams against its back, then slides. I barely manage to stay on.
The moon is still out. It’s dark.
My chest clenches with panic, just before I spot the sun, just beginning to crest the horizon. The dragon flew all through the night. For hours. For me.
It sighs loudly beneath me, as if the journey cost it something. I finally stand, wincing at the pain in my bones, grateful I somehow didn’t break any. Then, I slide down its leg and promptly fall on my ass.
The dragon is staring at me.
It has large silver eyes, and scales like a mosaic of moonlight. A crown of spikes adorns its head, continuing down its neck, between a set of glimmering spiral horns.
“You—you saved me,” I say from the ground, like an idiot.
It just breathes heavily through its nostrils, like it was an awful imposition.
I stand slowly, studying the dragon up close, aware that it could kill me a thousand ways before I even reached for the sword I can barely carry. But it wouldn’t have saved me and flown all this way if it planned to kill me … right?
Its head is larger than my body, and its body is larger than a house, but it’s not the largest dragon. There were bigger ones in the sky above the Beast Tree. Still, despite its relatively small size, it has an energy around it, just like my sword.
Its color is the most special part of all.
“You’re silver, like me,” I say, pulling down my collar. Showing it what I’ve never shown anyone but Stellan and my family before.
The dragon dips its head to my level. I should stumble back—but I take a step closer. I extend my hand, aware the creature could eat it, or incinerate it, in a moment.
Instead—it bows into my touch.
All at once, a spark jolts through my arm, down to my feet. A connection, just like the one I formed with my sword. A light erupts from its forehead in the shape of a star, which fades into a glimmering scar.
I don’t know what it means. All I know is that this creature is the reason I’m not splattered across rock right now.
“Thank you for not letting me die,” I say. The dragon huffs through its nostrils. It flares out its wings.
The beautiful silk-like silver webbing is shredded.
I gently touch one of them, and the dragon makes a warning sound.
“What happened to you?” I ask. The dragon just looks at me. The star on its forehead glimmers again and somehow … somehow, I know it’s a girl.
“Do you have a name?”
I don’t know what I’m expecting. Nothing, really. Which is exactly what I get. That doesn’t stop me from talking, though. Apparently, this is how lonely I am.
“I’m Aris. From Silverside. It’s on Stormside, past the gates. I’m here on a quest to reach the gods.”
She just blinks at me.
Then, she shifts onto her side, as if she’s resting.
Right. Of course she’s tired. As she sleeps, I take out the crumpled map from my pocket. Only when it’s unfurled do I remember Zane.
Zane. Was he able to find his weapon? Did he reach the Helmhawks?
He doesn’t have the map now.
I close my eyes as another thought clenches my heart and mind.
Kira. Floating away in a boat. She’ll also be okay. I say it confidently to myself, as if I can will it to be true.
Circumstances change in moments. This map is one of my greatest assets. My dragon is asleep, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere without her. Carefully, I sit, lean against one of her legs, and decide to memorize the map, just in case I lose it.
The way to the gods is treacherous. There are several mountain ranges.
Forests with various names and shading. Wide fields.
Bogs. Countless villages. Stretches of land that seem uninhabited.
And there it is again, the City on Fire.
I frown. Could it possibly be on fire? Or has it been burned away, just like my own home?
I draw the entire thing in the dirt with my sword, arm straining with each stroke. I memorize every name. Every peak and valley. Then, I erase it. I make it again from memory. Check my work. Try again. Again, until it grows tedious.
Then, I finally allow myself to study my glorious blade.
Every moment since I claimed it has been full of danger. Or I’ve been too tired to do anything but sleep. Now … I have a few seconds to simply admire it.
The hilt is storm-silver, with intricate etchings that are so small, so precise, I need to squint to see the details. Its pommel is sharpened into a point. Its cross-guard juts out like two wings. A diamond is buried between them. The entire piece almost looks like the front of a crown.
“Masterful,” I whisper. I make weapons. I pride myself on my focus, and the meticulous way I carve metal. It’s the only task that can truly quiet my mind and sorrow.
Still, even if I had years—even if I had lifetimes—I could never make anything like this.
The blade itself is sparkling, otherworldly Starside steel. It glimmers as if a million diamonds and stars were melted down to make it.
“Why me?” I ask it, and I must be out of my mind, asking questions of beings and things that will never answer.
The blade—it glints. And I really must be losing it, because it almost feels like a response.
“Maybe you should have chosen someone who could actually get you off the ground,” I say, through my teeth, as I stand and use both arms to lift it. Every single inch up feels like its own battle. Without panic running through my blood, it feels impossible to even get it to my waist.
I need to learn. This sword will help me reach the end of this … but only if I can use it.
The dragon watches as I fall into my stance, the one Stellan taught me. I lift my sword again, using my core and legs to ground me. It helps, a little. But this sword is heavier than anything I’m used to.
I clench my jaw. Pretend that there is an enemy. I slice up through the air, and the weight sends me forward, until I end up skewering the ground.
The noise the dragon makes sounds almost like a laugh.
I glare up at her. “I’m trying,” I say.
Then I tug and tug at the ground, trying to get my sword out of the dirt. I’m sure I look like an utter fool. I pull so hard that I end up stumbling backward and falling on my ass.
This time, the dragon does laugh, a huff that feels like steam upon my skin.
I take a deep breath. Settle myself.
And try again.
The dragon watches as I cut invisible enemies to ribbons, both arms fighting to hold the metal. As I stumble more times than I don’t. As I fall more times than I can count. As I get up. Again. Again.
I’m practicing advancing, feigning blocking hits, when, in a flash, silver is hitting my own. I gasp, stumbling—only to see that the dragon has launched her tail at me.
For a moment, fear grips my heart. I think this dragon has grown tired of my inferiority and is about to skewer me with her spikes.
But no—with an impatient growl, I see that the dragon … she’s helping me train.
Her tail battles with my sword, lightly striking. It’s thicker than my entire body, but it clashes just like a weapon. It moves as fast as one.
And having an opponent, having someone to practice against … it helps. It helps me find my energy. Find my strength.
My arms tremble. I can’t get the sword up high enough, but the dragon doesn’t give me a break. She doesn’t go easy on me. She strikes again and again, and I’m forced to haul the metal up as high as I can to escape the wrath of her tail.
I steel myself and fight. I’m strong. I can master this sword, just like I’ve mastered plenty of impossible things. Step by step. Hour by hour.
We duel until finally my sword slips from my hands. The dragon’s tail stops just short of me. She looks me over and huffs with something like approval.