Chapter 8 The Protectors
In the morning, the mountain peaks are wreathed in fog above us and the forest is damp and gray with pre-dawn.
Our camp wakes slowly, all of us a little tense and mostly silent following the events of yesterday.
While I spoke to Cherry last night, Marton and Vakhrin loitered by the fire.
Their silence seemed stiff for a while, Vakhrin no doubt lost in thoughts about his grandfather.
But eventually Marton began speaking quietly to him, filling him in our current goals and plans.
Vakh listened calmly, only muttering an expletive every now and then at the incredibleness of the story.
For her part, Cherry spent half the night complaining to me about her father.
I'm glad to hear she's angry at him, no longer just accepting the moves he made to get her married off to a dragon.
And she's angry at him on my behalf as well, that his plan was to kill the only friend she's had for most of her life.
She's also annoyed with everyone else of the male species, including Marton for his entire personality and Vakhrin for his unaccountable and frequent nakedness.
And his entire personality, as well, it seems. But Vakhrin's most extreme offense, by far, was that he is not a dragon.
To hear Cherry tell it, you might think Vakhrin had intentionally misled us to chase him here, wasting our time in the most selfish way.
After she had gotten all of this off her chest, she gave me a misty-eyed hug and thanked me—I think—for not being born a man.
I'm worried what all of this might mean for her marriage prospects.
Does she even want to get married at all, or is that just a plan she's accepted so she can return home and be a princess again?
I mean obviously it's just so she can be a princess again—and keep me safe—but I vow to myself that I won't let her get married to just anyone, dragon or not.
When she gets married, it will be to someone who understands and appreciates her.
Cherry is not an easy person to get along with.
But underneath the snootiness and the disdain and the frequent self-absorption, she's fun and imaginative and one of the most loyal people I've ever met.
In the same way that she expects everyone to accept her personality—rough edges and all—once she decides to accept them in return, it's an unconditional state.
All the damage her father and I have done—to her, specifically—and she still cares about us both.
That's not for nothing.
So I'm feeling especially protective of her this morning as the boys wake and cast her wary looks where she's seated on a flat stone near the water, patching the dress I shredded yesterday.
Marton's eyes quickly skip over her and locate me.
I've retrieved the map from his pack and have been perusing it in the low light, trying to make sense of his messy pencil markings.
As far as I can tell, the next legendary destination close to us is back south in Ithyma, close to the Philostian border.
"What's this one?" I point to is as he approaches.
"Ah," Marton studies it, head tipping to one side.
He sits next to me, on the far side of the water from Cherry.
"That's not a very promising one." I wait, but he doesn't say anything else.
I glance up at him, and his brows are pinched as he stares across the campsite at Vakh.
I follow his eyeline and see that Vakh is, ostensibly, doing something with a pole and fishing line, but his eyes are fixed on Cherry, studying her as she bends her head over her sewing.
My defensive instinct rises, feeling the urge to protect her.
But I can't tell that Vakh is doing anything nefarious.
He just watches her. There's no sign he's thinking lascivious thoughts or internally making fun of her hair.
Or plotting to carry her home to the king to claim the reward.
And if he was planning to do that, I would think he'd be studying me.
I'd be the major obstacle in his way, and it's not like I'd give up easily.
He'd have to kill me, and our fight yesterday points to that being a rather difficult task to achieve.
Of course, maybe he wouldn't have to face me head on at all.
A few drops of the poison from his tail barbs in my waterskin, and I might go down for good.
The thought makes me frown, and I have to physically shake it off.
This is not what trust looks like, Tarah.
What happened to the plan for your wide open heart?
I blink out of my reverie, refocusing my attention on Marton.
He's still staring at Vakhrin too. I clear my throat.
"Why isn't it a promising one?" I rattle the map, and he startles, looking down at me.
"Oh, right, yeah," Marton studies the map.
"The story there is that there's been a large, winged beast spotted throughout the area here.
" He circles a wide swath of land near Ithyma's western border.
"A winged beast?" I repeat.
"That's what the stories say.
" Distracted again, Marton's eyes follow Vakhrin as he approaches the pool with his fishing pole in hand.
He fiddles with his fishhook, and Marton glances back at me, continuing as if his attention hasn't been wandering, "Accounts vary, as they always do.
Some say it's a hawk the size of a horse, capable of carrying off sheep and pigs from the surrounding farms. Others, of course, say it's a monstrous, winged man, who snatches up unsuspecting maidens.
" Marton shakes his head. "I think that version of the tale might be inspired by the story that's circulated about you, the dragon that carried off the princess.
"
"So it might just be a bird," I observe.
"It might be nothing at all," Marton agrees.
"That's the thing about legends. Half of them are nonsense and the other half are a corruption of the truth.
"
"This one ended up being true enough.
" I touch a fingertip to the ground beneath us, nodding my head towards Vakhrin.
Vakhrin glances up at us, mouth tight like he wants to say something.
After a moment, he goes back to his fishing pole, casting his line into the water.
But I'm interested. "You have an opinion on the matter?
"
Vakhrin face shows surprised at being addressed.
"Well." His brows go down. "I notice your plan for finding an eligible dragon man for the princess mostly involves chasing down tales of kidnappings and killings.
"
"Do you know of a better way of finding mythical creatures?
"
Vakh rolls his eyes, jerking on his line.
"We're not mythical."
I think about that, the tone with which it was said.
He's irritated, as if I've said something equal parts ridiculous and offensive.
I frown. "You're the only other shifter I've ever met.
To me...to me, others like us do seem mythical.
And it's the same way for most of the humans in the realm.
They don't believe that we exist, or they want to hunt us down and kill us.
"
Vakhrin props the butt of his pole in the dirt, fishing forgotten.
"You've really never met another dragon?
"
I shake my head.
He opens his mouth.
Closes it. I see the question about my parentage rise on the tip of his tongue and dissolve.
He shrugs. "No one else either? No other dragomira? No chimera?"
Marton face lights with recognition and excitement.
He leans forward. "It's all true? The old legends of protectorkin and the five kingdoms?
"
Vakhrin stares back at Marton with wariness.
Then his eyes go to me. Like Marton, I'm riveted with interest, though I'm mostly confused.
Vakh glances at Cherry, and her sewing has halted, her head tilted slightly as she listens.
Vakhrin sighs as if resigning himself for a long lesson.
He squares his shoulders, and when he speaks, his voice has taken on the deep cadence of an important tale-telling, of a story long known and oft repeated.
"Long ago, as you've heard, your kingdom, Ithyma, was protected by a line of dragon shifters.
The tales I was told as a boy were the same, only my people spoke of how all the surrounding kingdoms had their own protectors, and those beasts can still be seen on most of the royal crests.
In my homeland, Umrahs, our royal crest is a roaring lion.
In Rohus, our neighboring land, their crest is a squid.
In Olio, a rearing horse. And in Philostia, a wolf.
These beasts represent a fraction of what those kingdoms' magic once truly was.
For Umrahs was not guarded by lions, but by the entire race of Chimera: the griffins, the sphinxes, and the manticores.
In Rohus, they were guarded by the Kraken: the sirens, the cthulhu, the naiads, and the leviathan.
In Olio were the Equira: the pegasi, the kelpies, the unicorns and hippogriffs.
In Philostia, the Lycan: jackals, wargs, wendigos, and others.
"And in Ithyma," he levels his stare at me, "were the Dragomira: the wyverns, the basilisks, the gorgons.
..and the dragons. Thousands of years ago, our separate races ruled and protected these kingdoms in peace and harmony.
Our people were the protectorkin, defending our borders from enemies from far off lands who wanted to steal our prosperity.
But as time wore on, I was told, the threats decreased, and the need for protectorkin diminished.
Our bloodlines wore thin. The children born were often unable to shift forms. And without a noble purpose to fulfill, many of the protectors turned their eyes towards unsavory entertainments.
They stole women and children, terrorized whole villages, burned and stole and pillaged.
They made sport with their great power, instead of making peace with it.
And the humans turned on us as monsters. "
Silence falls in the clearing, no sound but the wind in the trees and the trickling of water in the pool.
Vakhrin continues, "With our species weakened over time, and because many of the protectorkin still treasured their sacred duty of protecting human life, the humans were able to drive us from our homes in many places.
My people were pushed out of the capital city of Umrahs, into the burning desert sands beyond, where it was hoped that we would die out.
Instead we scattered to the corners of the land, making secret homes and hiding what we were from humankind.
Our culture and our people continue, but we have new rules now, and new traditions.
And our most sacred duty is secrecy, keeping our people from being exposed to the humans' notice.
" Again, Vakhrin looks to me. "I had thought it must be the same everywhere, that the Dragomira hid out in Ithyma as my people, the Chimera, do back home. But you say this is not the case?"
I am almost too overwhelmed with information to speak, but I manage to shake my head.
"No," my voice comes out a rasp. "No, not that I have ever known.
I suppose it is...possible. But my mother, who raised me, was human, and no one ever taught me to hide what I was.
I never knew any others of my kind." My voice breaks on the last, and I fall silent.
"I do not know that there are many left," Vakhrin admits.
"Even in Umrahs, I do not know how many Chimera remain.
It is— It is tradition for our people to live apart from one another, for there is danger in large groupings, the threat of exposure too great.
When I reached the age of majority, my parents turned me out to make my own way in the world, as is our custom.
It was my grandfather, who I met not long after, who taught me most of what I know about surviving on my own.
" A stiff shrug, though his eyes are shiny.
"There could be twenty of my people left in Umrahs, or a hundred.
Five hundred. I do not know. You could be one of only a handful of dragons left, or one of thousands.
Our plight is that we have been driven to live as the solitary, monstrous creature the humans feared we would be. "
I nod, agreeing, but my eyes go to Marton. He, who is the exception to the rule. The bright-eyed believer. A human who longs to embrace the old magic. His eyes are wide as he looks at Vakh. He shakes his head, breathing shaky. "It's true. All true. All the old stories..."
I squeeze his shoulder fondly. "You had heard all of this before?"
"Not like—not quite like that—that's—it's—all true—so many—"
I have to laugh at his incoherency. Only he could look so happy to hear that the world is full of countless species of monsters. Even I can't quite get my head around it, and I'm unfamiliar with most of the beasts Vakhrin named.