Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
T he first glimpse of Somnia Ignis is as terrible as Ayc imagined. A layer of fog covers the mountains so thickly that only the shadows of the craggy peaks are visible, even from where Ayc stands aboard the fisherman’s ship that is anchored half a mile away. The white mist crawls from the island and reaches across the top of the brackish water, like clawing fingertips. Eerie silence hangs over the island, over the ship itself, and then it shatters. A distant roar rips through the air, so loud Ayc's bones tremble.
“Hey, Lora,” Ayc says, his voice thin, almost a whisper. “What do you call six people who dare to venture onto an island full of dragons?”
Beside him, she crosses her arms and says nothing.
“Lunch,” Ayc answers, leaning closer to her so Tavish, who stands on his other side, can’t hear. “Served extra crispy.”
Lora heaves out a breath. “Your leather armor is fire resistant. ”
“My face is not .”
She finally looks at him and fixes him with a glare so fierce that a less foolish person might have stumbled away to safety. Ayc bites his bottom lip to keep from smiling.
“Maybe it’ll be an improvement,” she says.
“That’s ridiculous, Lora. You cannot improve upon perfection.”
She rolls her amber brown eyes. “You’re welcome to stay on this ship if you’re so scared. Otherwise, get your ass in the rowboat.”
She doesn’t wait for his response. Ignoring the rope ladder hanging from the ship’s railing, she vaults over the side and lands lightly on the boat below, where Bronwen, Peregrin, and Xylie already await. In exchange for a very substantial bribe, the captain of the fishing vessel agreed to take Lora to the island, but refused to pilot his ship any closer than necessary. The Noxumbra are hearty people, used to the dragons who fly into their fields to snatch up the occasional cow or flock of sheep. But sailing into the dragon’s nesting ground is an entirely different matter.
Fear clings like spiderweb to every nerve in Ayc’s body, but he won’t stay on this ship. The fear of watching them all sail off without him would be even greater.
Ayc assists Tavish to lower Saga to the boat below, using a cradle of ropes wrapped around the dog’s belly. Saga whines at first but settles with a few soft words from Tavish, who then descends the rope ladder with an ease Ayc certainly won’t manage.
From behind him, Ayc hears one fisherman cackle to another, “How much you want to bet they don’t come back alive?”
“I give the two Adamant warriors a fifty percent chance. None of the others will come back, for sure.”
“I certainly won’t bet against you.”
Ayc flips them off over his shoulder and swings over the railing, clumsily climbing down the ladder.
Another roar shakes his bone.
I just want to bake pretty cakes. Is that too much to ask? He laments internally but says nothing as he sits down in the boat and grabs an oar.
Ayc helps Lora heave the rowboat onto the shore, the loose shale that litters the water’s edge cracking beneath his boots. He narrowly avoids stepping on a pile of bones half-buried in the rock, some remnants of an unfortunate animal. In the thick fog, he can barely see the others; they have become mere silhouettes as they make their way up from the water’s edge. Tempest is not among them. She looked furious, her silver eyes narrowed at Peregrin, when they explained she could not come to the island before they climbed aboard the fisherman ship. Gryphon and dragons are natural enemies, and her presence would be a beacon that would make the journey even more treacherous. Tempest flew off in an angry huff, but not before leaving Peregrin with two feathers. One that Peregrin slipped into their own tea, and one Peregrin put into Ayc’s.
“Everyone, come close to me,” Bronwen beckons.
Ayc follows the sound of her voice until he finds her in the haze. When everyone has approached, she mumbles a few words beneath her breath, her hands entwined together. She spreads her palms, and light spreads from them. Ayc’s skin vibrates as it passes through him. A perimeter forms around all six of them—transparent except for a few thin, blue lines that ebb and flow around it.
“Stay within the shield,” Bronwen says. “It will protect us from outside forces and should hide our scents.”
“You won’t be able to hold it forever,” Lora states. “We should move as quickly as we can. Tavish, which way?”
Tavish turns a full circle slowly, stops, and then reverses the opposite direction so not to be tangled in Saga’s leash. Saga doesn't move, so whatever Tavish is sensing, it's not with his eyes. He pauses, facing the north, deeper into the island.
He points. “That way.”
Lora doesn’t hesitate, only squares her shoulders and heads in that direction.
The way Tavish instructs them to go is steep and covered in rocks that slip beneath Ayc’s feet. Lora and Bronwen, who are in the lead, make it look like a leisurely hike. Lora offers her elbow to assist Xylie in scrambling up the slickest of the shale. Tavish holds onto the guide handle of Saga’s harness to heave him up the slope, his cane sweeping on the ground before him, scattering rock. And Ayc pretends not to notice when Peregrin catches his forearm to steady themself. Sweat streaks down Ayc’s back, his muscles twisting with every step. He grits his teeth and focuses on putting one foot in front of the other.
The rocky edge they traverse grows thinner as it leads up the side of one mountain. A steep slide veers down to the left, barely visible in the fog. One misstep would be all it would take for a nasty tumble. Rock juts out from their other side, rising into a sharp wall of stone.
Bronwen halts suddenly, causing everyone behind her to pause as well. She searches around her. “Did someone say my name?”
“No,” Ayc says, frowning, and it’s echoed by a few others. In fact, Ayc heard nothing until she spoke. Nothing but the distant roars and the whistle of wind between the mountains and otherwise the eerie quiet which clings over the gray world.
Xylie’s hands move. Lora translates for her. “She heard something. But to her, it sounds like someone screaming.”
A shiver traces ever-so-lightly down Ayc’s spine.
“We can’t trust anything on this island,” Peregrin says sharply from behind Ayc, the last in their line.
“They’re right,” Bronwen agrees. “This place is full of old, dark magic. Don’t trust what you hear or?—”
She stops, and this Ayc hears. The sound of the sky being disrupted, a sound he’s heard when Tempest takes into flight, but louder, harsher. Distant at first but growing louder with each rhythmic pulse.
“Dragon!” Lora hisses. “Get down!”
Ayc flings himself beneath the overhanging rock that juts above their heads, yanking Tavish with him. Lora pushes Xylie behind her into a nearby crevice, and Bronwen and Peregrin flatten themselves against the side of the mountain. Saga growls low and pins his ears back. Tavish stoops and hugs his arms around the dog, hushing him softly.
The wings thunder louder, drawing closer. Ayc makes out an outline of mighty wings, a horned head, and a spiked tail as it passes overhead, so massive it momentarily blocks out the sun and plummets them into darkness.
The dragon tucks its wings and begins its descent—far, far too close. Ayc’s heart pounds against his ribs. The heat from the dragon’s body dissipates the surrounding fog, creating rings as it darts toward the earth. The dragon’s scales are a green so dark it’s almost black, and its wings are darker still. Two horns curve back from its head, and spikes ripple down its spine until it forms a five-pointed club at the end of its tail. It looks utterly lethal, and yet, every movement the dragon makes is graceful, and when the little light that cuts through the fog brushes the wings, they shimmer iridescently.
Dangerous things shouldn’t be so beautiful.
With one last flutter of those wings, it lands on the next mountain, only two hundred yards away. The cliff shudders, rocks sliding down the mountainside. The dragon shakes itself off, like a cat, and then prowls forward through the dark mouth of a massive cave. The fog slowly drifts to seal the hole the dragon created, concealing the cave and the mountain from sight once more.
Only then does Ayc let out a breath.
“Holy shit buckets,” Tavish whispers hoarsely, pressing his hands into his knees as he crouches beside Saga. “I about pissed myself.”
A small laugh escapes Ayc’s lips. “That makes two of us, friend.”
Bronwen and Peregrin straighten. Lora steps out from the crevice, Xylie following close behind.
Xylie catches Ayc’s eye, grins at him, and signs rapidly. “Did you see it? It was magnificent!” She flaps her hands not in words, but how she does when she is very, very happy.
Ayc can’t help but smile. Tavish, too, smiles as Saga fixes his attention on Xylie’s little happy motions, Tavish’s hand wrapped around the leash. “It was pretty amazing,” he says, though he’s only guessing at what she says.
The corner of Lora’s mouth rises but falls just as quickly. Ayc stares at her lips, at that ghost of a smile, for a heartbeat too long. He forces himself to look away.
“That cave, uh—” Tavish begins, his smile tumbling as he pushes himself to a standing position. He clutches Saga’s leash and stares across the space between the two mountains. He pulls at the leather armor around his neck, like it’s suddenly too tight.
“What about the cave?” Lora demands.
“That cave is where we need to go. That’s where the treasure is. I can feel it.”
Ayc winces. Fuck.
Bronwen sighs. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
They find a path that connects between the two mountains, and far sooner than Ayc would like, they stand before the cave entrance. The massive, yawning mouth allows Ayc to fully grasp how large the dragon is. It had filled the entire entrance, and the five of them standing in a line can’t even match its width.
The darkness within feels… Ayc can’t quite find the word. But as he stares into it, it feels as though it stares back. It’s unnaturally dark, turning to complete blackness far sooner than the light outside should allow. Every nerve in Ayc’s body rattles. Every instinct tells him, Do not go in there.
But he will .
Perhaps they all feel the same as him, because they have not approached the entrance, keeping instead to the cliff’s edge.
“What’s the plan?” Bronwen asks, looking at Lora. She’s a little breathless. They all are from the strenuous hike and change in altitude, but sweat beads along her hairline. She’s exerting herself to maintain the shield. “We need to have a plan before we go in there.”
Lora’s hands clench and unclench at her sides as she stares into the darkness. She turns to Ayc. Her eyes are black as midnight, as inky dark as the cave itself. “Ayc, can you go invisible?”
Xylie’s head snaps around to him. “ Yes, Ayc,” her hands say, capturing her sassy tone with their sharp movements, “ can you go invisible?”
If they’d been anywhere else, he would have flipped her off, but Lora is watching him intently.
“Yes,” he says. “But it won’t do much good. Just because the dragon can’t see me doesn’t mean the dragon can’t smell me.”
“ They do have a remarkable sense of smell,” Xylie agrees.
Lora looks back to Bronwen. “Will your shield repel fire?”
Bronwen hesitates. “Yes, but it’ll take more effort, and I might only be able to do it for a few minutes.”
“A few minutes is all we need for Peregrin or I to get a knife into the dragon’s heart. Or Xylie to shoot an arrow.”
Xylie’s face contorts in horror, but she swallows and nods.
Peregrin says, “Aim low on its chest, between the scales. It’s where it is weakest.”
Lora turns back to the darkness of the cave, squaring up on it like facing an army. “That’s the plan then. We stick together, and if the dragon finds us, we kill it.”
Bronwen shoves sweat-damp hair out of her face and gulps a breath. “Why do I get the sense that a dragon is the least frightening thing we might find in there?”
“Whatever we face, we face together,” Lora promises, pressing a hand over her heart the way Ayc has seen Bronwen do in the past.
“Lora,” Peregrin hisses, their voice low but urgent. They have turned their back to the group, staring off the cliff’s edge.
Lora marches to Peregrin’s side, and Ayc follows, curious to see what Peregrin has noticed. In between thin tendrils of fog, the ground far below is visible. On the path they all have just traversed, people are climbing. It’s too far down to make out much, but Ayc can tell there are six people. And they're all dressed in the sky blue of Lux Aester.
“Marcellus.” Lora says the name like it’s a curse. “Do you think he’s seeking the treasure, too?”
Peregrin shrugs. “Or he’s coming after you.”
“How would he know where we're headed?” Ayc asks.
“I don’t know.” Lora stares hard at the ground below. A line forms between her brows. She almost looks worried. Ayc’s fingers itch to sooth that line from her skin, but he’s certain she’d run a knife through his palm.
“Perhaps, he’s tracking us somehow,” Bronwen offers. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, then adds, “Or someone gave him information. Someone in the fisherman’s village who saw us leave, perhaps. Marcellus has connections everywhere.”
“We can figure that out later.” Lora turns on her heel and marches toward the cave, drawing one of her swords from its scabbard. “Let’s go. We need to get the treasure and get off this island before he finds us. Or I’m going to kill him.”
They enter the cave in a cluster, Lora and Bronwen leading the way. Tavish and Saga on the left, Peregrin at the right, Xylie in the center, and Ayc at the back. Tension clings to all of them in a thrum that matches the frantic pulse in Ayc's neck.
Stalactites hang from the ceiling, and stalagmites as wide as tree trunks twist upward from the cave floor. The spikes all gleam in the light Bronwen has summoned, giving the illusion that they're walking through the mouth of some beast. The cave is utterly quiet, except for the soft drip, drip, drip echoing from some distant part of the cave.
Ayc tries to imagine they're on a leisurely stroll. Maybe if he pretends they aren’t about to be eaten by a dragon, he’ll forget it's true.
Lora and Bronwen suddenly veer to the right.
“Be careful,” Lora warns, pointing to a spot on the floor.
The spot almost looks exactly like the rest of the cave floor. But when Ayc stares hard enough, he notices the difference in texture. It’s looks softer, lighter, than the surrounding stone, and it ripples when their feet hit the stone near it, like mud mixed with water.
“A bog pit,” Peregrin says.
“Aren’t bogs normally outside?” Ayc asks.
“I don’t think this place is normal,” Bronwen says again. “Watch your feet.”
Ayc carefully steps around it. Bronwen is right. Nothing about this place feels natural. His skin has not stopped prickling since he entered, and the air grows colder and colder. Bog pits, and dragons, and?—
“Ayciah.”
Ayc freezes in place; every muscle in his body growing tense. Surely, he didn’t hear that. Surely?—
“Ayciah.”
He spins around toward the sound. A bubble pops in the bog pit, but everything else is still in the darkness. That name. He hasn’t heard that name for twelve years. Even his own mother rarely called him by the full name she gave him. After she died, there was no one left who knew his name. Peregrin knows most things about him, but even they don’t know that.
A light shock passes through his body as Ayc’s group keeps walking, and Bronwen gets farther away, taking the shield with her. Ayc takes a few steps backward into the shield but keeps his eyes fixed into the darkness they have left behind.
“Ayciah.”
Something moves from the shadow, and he stills again. Even the air in his lungs stops moving.
Mother?
It isn’t possible, and yet that's who steps from the shadow. The same soft, wide form, same slightly upturned nose, same brunette hair she always wore piled in a messy ball on top of her head. Same smile that grows wider when she sees Ayc.
He cannot move, and the shield passes through him again. Goosebumps rise on the skin of his arms. He finally releases a breath, and it turns to smoke in the icy air.
The face of his mother transforms—the skin peeling back until rotten flesh and bone is left behind. The smile becomes sharpened teeth; the body fades to a skeleton dressed in tattered dark fabric.
Ayc’s head chimes a single word of warning. Wraith. He doesn’t even have time to scream the word, before the creature bellows a shriek and lunges at his throat.