Dragonoak (8 page)

If Yin
Zhou made port, proving herself to be more than a pirates' legend,
I wouldn't be afraid of my own powers. I'd earn my way
back.

“Besides,” Kouris continues. “What are you thinking of doing
once you're back, yrval?”

Saving
Kastelir, I wanted to say, but how did I expect to do that, when my
powers were fast-fading within me? I couldn't hope to bring down
another dragon, let alone the dozens – hundreds – that had swarmed
the country. And who was to say that anything worth saving
remained?

“Atthis
has plans,” I grumbled. “Dozens of them. He keeps reading them out
to me, like I can find the faults in them. I could probably put
them all into action myself.”

Kouris
laughed, but the sound didn't last long. The truth was, none of us
knew what we'd find in Kastelir, or what we'd do with it, once we
were back. Perhaps being exiled to Canth was its own blessing. We'd
been saved, we'd been allowed to escape with our lives and little
more. I told myself it couldn't be a bad thing, but my stomach
clenched at the thought of giving up and resigning myself to the
life I wanted, but couldn't accept.

“I just
wonder what would've happened if we'd got out of Kastelir when we'd
planned to. If we'd made it to the Bloodless Lands,” I heard myself
blurt out. “The dragons still would've reached Isin, but maybe we
could've done something to fight back.”

“Yrval...” Kouris said under her breath. “Are you wanting to
talk about—”

“No,” I
said, and I said it so firmly that no more questions
followed.

My
thoughts roamed where I didn't want them to, and as the tide drew
in, I raked what I could recall of the song, of that single moment
of peace I'd felt, and clung to it like an anchor.

Even
that wasn't enough to keep me still. I sat up, stared out at
nothing on the horizon and laid back down, feeling each and every
wooden plank dig into my spine. Kouris watched, said nothing, and
waited me work the restlessness out of my system as I paced up and
down the pier, eventually splaying a hand against the end and
lowering myself into the sea. I ducked my head beneath the
waist-high water, salt on my lips, everything blocked out but the
pressure of the ocean.

The
third time I surfaced, Kouris was stood over me. Crouching on the
edge of the pier, she held out a hand and I took it, letting her
hoist me up. I shook like a dog and she clicked her tongue, putting
an arm around me and ruffling my wet hair more than the wind could
hope to.

“Looks
like it's just you and me tonight. I suppose you're going to have
to be putting up with my cooking,” she said, leading me inside and
keeping me close.

I awoke
early enough the next morning to still have time to decide whether
or not I wanted to join Akela for a handful of days, but Katja made
the decision for me.

“Good
morning Rowan, Kouris,” she called out as she swept into the hut.
Reis was still out, doing whatever it was they did when they
weren't managing finances or mutilation, and I poked my head out of
my bedroom door, supposing I couldn't hide away forever. “I do hope
I'm not troubling you, but I do so dislike it when Akela and Uncle
are both out of town. It's awfully quiet in the apartment. I
thought I'd come here and make us all breakfast.”

I smiled
at the basket of food she'd brought with her, and Kouris stumbled
out of her own room, yawning and stretching and catching Katja in a
one-armed hug. With her distracted, I slipped quietly into the
living area and claimed a sofa for myself.

“No work
today?” Kouris asked, gracious enough to pour us all
drinks.

Katja
shook her head, washing handfuls of fruit in the sink.

“Oh, you
know how it is around Mahon, Kouris. The people here treat getting
injured as though it's an obligation, not a mere risk. For this
past month, I've dealt with nothing more interesting than the
remnants of broken bottles that have met stomachs and arms, severed
fingers, bite marks. I am quite beyond it all, today. The fine
women of Port Mahon shall have to rely on bitterwillow for the next
few hours.”

A few
minutes later, I woke up properly and found it within myself to
head over and help Katja. She greeted me with a smile and said
nothing more. I relaxed as we stood side-by-side, slicing fruit and
tearing up bread fresh from the bakery.

Once we
were sat at the table, Katja and Kouris set about talking as easily
as they always did, and I distracted myself with food, until I
realised Katja was looking right at me.

“Hm?”

“The
temple, dear. How was it? Akela tells me it was quite the find!
Gold phoenixes and all.”

“Oh,” I
said, tuning back in. “Right. There was definitely a lot left
behind.”

Strange.
I hadn't felt compelled to mention the woman in the temple to
anyone else, but I felt as though Katja knew all that I had yet to
say.

“... they're not
solid
gold, of course. Gold-plated, and still
incredibly valuable,” Katja explained. “The one Akela showed me was
wonderfully detailed. Exactly like the illustrations I've seen of
the birds themselves.”

Nodding,
I pushed a slice of orange around on my plate.

“Won't,
uh... won't Isjin be angry? We did kind of defile her temple and
steal all her statues,” I said, quietly bitter that no matter how
much I saw, no matter how much I experienced, Katja always managed
to know more about Isjin and the temples than I did, simply with
the aid of some dusty tome.

“Goodness, no. Those golden birds have nothing to do with
Isjin!” Katja said, chuckling, as though it was the most obvious
thing in the world. “They were left at her temples as offerings to
the necromancers, who never worked for a fee. If anything, Isjin
will be angry that we hunted her real birds into
extinction.”

“Now,
how'd you go about killing off something that's immortal?” Kouris
asked, as curious as I was.

“Technically immortal,” Katja said, delighted that she had
knowledge to share. “You see, when a phoenix reaches the end of its
lifespan, it erupts into flames, only to be reborn from the ashes.
One of the reasons I believe they were paired with necromancers,
actually; they are able to bring themselves back in the only way
necromancers cannot. At some point, people came to the wonderful
conclusion that eating the meat of a phoenix would grant them
immortality in turn. I once read a series of letters that, if they
were properly translated, seemed to suggest that people believed
grinding down the bones of phoenixes and using them in certain
medicines would draw out necromantic abilities. And so phoenixes
were killed prematurely, denied the chance to burst into flame, and
as they do not reproduce, their numbers fell
dramatically.”

Kouris'
ears perked up and she tapped her claws on the tabletop, quietly
impressed. I'd spent so long believing that they'd died out killing
off necromancers over fifteen-hundred years ago that it seemed
absurd to me. It almost didn't matter how they'd died; in the end,
the phoenixes all were dead and gone, no matter how senseless it
was.

“They
did try to save the phoenixes, in the Kingdom of Myros,” Katja went
on to say. “The phoenixes that remained lit a great fire in the
heart of the country, that any bones salvaged from a butchered
phoenix might be thrown in and reborn.”

“Wait,
you mean the Phoenix Fire? I though they made that to kill the
necromancer who started the war,” I said.

Covering
her mouth with a piece of bread, Katja laughed softly to
herself.

“Goodness, dear. Who tells you these things?”

I stared
at her and she smiled at me, returning to her breakfast without a
second thought. A long time ago, when we'd first met, I thought
she'd only found me entertaining because I was a novelty to her. I
was poor, illiterate. I worked with my hands. I grew up in a
farmhouse, not a castle, and the most important person I'd ever met
was the village elder from Birchbridge. But after a year in Port
Mahon and months spent in Ridgeth, after living amongst the dirt on
the bottom of Canth's boot, Katja still laughed frequently and
fondly at all my little deficiencies, ever under the impression
that I wouldn't notice.

Sometimes, she tried to translate between Canthian and
Mesomium for me. She'd pat me on the shoulder whenever I bartered
successfully with a merchant. I could engage in conversations she
only understood the gist of, yet she'd do me the favour summarising
them afterwards. To her, I was still that person who'd trundled out
of Felheim, unaware of what I was doing in Isin; unaware of what I
was doing anywhere. The sun had darkened my skin, new languages had
stretched my tongue and mind alike, and my stomach had conquered
the sea, but she saw through all of that.

For my
part, I hadn't failed to notice her change. Or rather, I hadn't
failed to notice her become more of what she was. She was a good
friend. She took pride in being a good friend; had my powers crept
through someone else's veins, she would've been a good friend to
them, too.

Yet she
was part of my past. Part of the family I'd built up. I clung to
her because Kastelir was her home, and if I was with her, then I
too might end up back there, one day.

“Rowan,”
Katja said, pushing the skin of the fruit she wasn't going to eat
into a neat pile on the side of her plate. “Might I have a word
with you? In private?”

Kouris
got to her feet, lifted our plates and washed them louder than she
needed to. I nodded, gesturing for Katja to continued, but she only
leant closer and said, “Outside, perhaps... ?”

I
exhaled heavily, and thinking I might refuse her, she added, “It's
about Uncle Jonas,” in a whisper.

If I
could've reached out and grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt
without Kouris asking why, I would've. Anger rose up in me with
more force than the Canthian sun, and I tried to speak, tried to do
anything that didn't resort in letting Katja get her own way, but I
was on my feet before I knew it, marching out of the
hut.

“What do
you think you're doing?” I hissed once we were outside. “You can't
bring that up, Katja. Not ever.”

Wincing,
Katja reached out to straighten the collar of my shirt, but I took
a swift step back.

“I
didn't... Rowan, you know I'd never tell anyone what you did. I
simply thought you wouldn't be willing to hear me out, otherwise,”
Katja said, glancing skittishly off to the side. “It's simply
that...”

I wasn't
about to let her drag things out.

“It's
what?” I demanded.

“What I
was saying about the phoenixes. Crushing their bones. It gave me an
idea, and...”

“No!” I
said, gripping her by the shoulders. “No, Katja. We're not going
through this again. It won't work. Whatever it is, it won't
work.”

Katja
stared at me blankly, brow furrowed, as if she didn't know why I
wouldn't hear her out. Worse than that, she was looking at me as
though I was stupid, unable to comprehend anything. Telling her no
wouldn't work. It never did. I'd have to show her how wrong she
was.

“Come
on,” I snarled, grabbing her wrist.

She
hurried on behind me as best she could, and I was deaf to her pleas
for me to slow down, to wait just a moment. I charged across the
beach, up onto the street, not stopping until we were at the docks.
A few of the fishing boats had already brought their first catch of
the day in, and I let go of Katja's wrist, pulling a handful of
fish out by their tails.

“Oi!” a
woman called, drawing her sword as she hurried over. “What do you
think you're doing?”

In no
mood to be meek, I stepped closer, teeth grit as I looked up at
her.

“They're
for Reis. If you've got a problem with that, you take it up with
them,” I said, holding her gaze.

The
woman gave one of her companions a questioning glance, and the
other fisher was wise enough to nod her head. I didn't wait for the
woman to sheath her sword. I stormed off, fish in hand, leading
Katja through the busy streets and up the single flight of stairs
clinging to the side of the building she lived in.

Katja
had moved beyond asking what I was doing, what I needed the fish
for. She fumbled for her key, as confused as she was excited as the
door clicked unlocked, and I shouldered it open, stomping into the
living area. The apartment was a far cry from what she was used to
– the walls were bare and I strongly suspected that nobody within
Mahon knew what a carpet was – but I found everything I
needed.

I
grabbed a pitcher of water, placed it on the table at the centre of
the room, and dropped a fish into it, letting the other two slide
across the table.

“Bring
them back to life,” I said bluntly.

“I can't—” she began, but I cut her off before she could
add
not yet
.

“Of course you can't!” You're not a necromancer,” I said,
slamming a hand down against the table. The water trembled in the
pitcher and Katja had finally done it; she'd finally forced me to
use my powers, after all this time. The fish twitched, calmed down
once it realised it was alive, and panicked all over again thanks
to its confined quarters. “If there was any chance of it happening,
you'd be able to do it by now. You can't learn this. I can't teach
you it. I wanted the fish to come back to life and it
did
. That's all there is
to this!”