Rescue
“Why are you following me, Elloren?” Yvan’s tone is exasperated, but not angry. He doesn’t bother to turn around.
My face grows hot at being discovered, and from the ridiculous thrill of hearing his deep voice say my name. “I’m curious about you,” I reply, my tone self-conscious and stilted.
“About what, exactly?” he asks, not slowing, not looking back.
About so many things. “About why you’re always going off into the woods. I’m wondering if you’re secretly Lupine.”
He stops abruptly, and I stop, too, a nervous rush of energy coupled with my efforts to keep up making my heart race in my chest.
He puts his hands on his hips and looks down as if collecting himself, and then turns to me, his emerald gaze disconcerting.
My thoughts scatter like marbles, overcome by his severe beauty.
Our eyes lock tight, the woods quieting around us, save for the dry rustling of the remaining autumn leaves and intermittent birdsong. The silence between us grows charged, vibrating with suppressed emotion, an unsettling heat taking hold deep inside me. I search his eyes and wonder if he feels it, too.
“All right, then,” he finally says, his voice low, his eyes darkening, as if with challenge. “Try to keep up.”
* * *
“Where’s the University’s border?” I ask after what seems like an eternity of hiking.
He pauses and turns to me, brow furrowed in question.
My breath hitches in my throat. It would be easier to talk to his back. I stare at him for a split second like a complete idiot, distracted by the way a shaft of sunlight illuminates his handsome face.
He cocks one perfectly arched brow, his expression hardening with what seems like discomfited annoyance. Like he can read my thoughts.
“It’s dangerous for me...to cross the University border,” I testily clarify.
The furrow of his brow deepens. “Why?”
“There’s an Icaral trying to kill me.”
His eyes light with surprise.
“It thinks I’m the next Black Witch,” I try to explain. “Of course, I’m not. I’ve no magic at all, but it doesn’t know that.”
Yvan’s face darkens. “You look exactly like Her, Elloren.”
I bristle, stung by the accusation in his tone. Hurt by it. “Really, Yvan?” I snap, my traitorous voice breaking. “I had absolutely no idea.”
His eyes widen a fraction, then he gives me a close look as if taking my measure.
I inwardly slump, the impenetrable wall between us laid bare. I suddenly and fiercely wish I could be on the other side of it. Somewhere I could truly belong.
If only I looked like Iris.
I immediately regret the thought. I harshly remind myself that I’m not a Kelt. And I can’t be having these thoughts about a Kelt. He shouldn’t be so focused on me, either. It’s a stretch for Yvan and me to even be friends, and it would be impossible for us to be anything more. But I suddenly wish with surprising force that we could at least be friends.
There’s frustration and hurt in my eyes, and I’m too exhausted to hide it.
Yvan swallows and blinks at me, his expression losing its edge.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says with firm certainty, like it’s an unassailable fact.
Warmth spreads through me, some of the anxiety melting from my shoulders. I take a deep breath and nod, believing him and bolstered by his steadiness. Somehow, I know I’ll be safe with him.
Yvan stands there for a moment longer, considering. “Did the Vu Trin magic the border? To keep the Icaral out?”
“They put some type of protective ward along Verpacia’s western border, and an even stronger ward around the University’s border.” I gesture around loosely with my hand. “The Icaral escaped from the sanitorium, so I guess it’s ward-marked.”
Yvan frowns and spends a long moment studying me through narrowed eyes. “I’m going well past the border.”
Fear slashes through me, and I see the Valgard Icarals’ hideous faces in the back of my mind. I force the image away, grit my teeth and decide to be brave.
“You said you’ll protect me,” I say grimly. And I know you’re stronger and faster than a broken Icaral. “I’ll take my chances.”
* * *
After what seems like another hour, we come to the northwestern edge of the Verpacian Spine.
Yvan circles a tree near a jutting behemoth of Spine stone then, bends to lift a tangle of brush that covers the entrance to an underground tunnel. He steps inside and turns to me. “Coming?”
“Where? What is this?”
“A way into Gardneria.” He points up toward the vertical mountain of stone and gives me a wry look. “Unless you want to go over the Spine, that is.”
I frown and follow him through the thin brush and down into a hidden, cavernous tunnel as he fishes some Elfin lumenstone from his pocket to light our way.
I wonder how on Erthia he found this tunnel. And how many people know about it?
We travel through a series of caves, not much to see but the dripping of water and the occasional resting bat, all of it cast in the lumenstone’s green glow. We ascend through more brush, pushing through a veil of dry branches to the outside.
I wordlessly follow him on. Soon the forest starts to slope upward. I struggle to keep up with his fast clip, a sharp cramp in my side. Sounds ahead begin to assert themselves. Commands being shouted. Horses. And something strange, something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end—a low-pitched shriek that sets the forest floor vibrating.
Yvan pauses, then turns to me and holds a finger to his lips in unspoken warning. He motions for me to stay still, then climbs swiftly up a steep hill before us.
I watch him, amazed by his speed and silent ability to fluidly wind around the trees without even needing to grasp onto anything for balance.
He’s now at the top of the wooded hill, crouched down behind some thick brush and peering over it. He motions for me to follow.
I labor up, skidding a few times on the dry leaves, grabbing onto small trees for leverage. Breathing hard, I finally catch up with him. I gasp when I see what lies ahead.
A vast Gardnerian military base stretches out over the entire valley. It’s surrounded by the wilds and framed by the imposing Spine and the Caledonian mountain range. Huge blocks of Gardnerian soldiers move in formation, a cacophony of commands ringing out. They’re surrounded by a city of black military tents, wooden barracks and Spine-stone structures cut into the imposing rock.
And there are dragons.
Scores of them. Moving in formation. Gardnerian soldiers astride them, whips in hand.
I fall back as close to twenty dragons rise into the sky with one unified shriek, my hands flying up to cover my ears. The dragons fly in formation behind a lead dragon.
Without warning, they soar up and swoop directly toward us.
I hit the ground as Yvan pulls me back, and the dragons zoom in close, then arc away toward the middle of the valley.
My heart pounds, and I feel light-headed. I’ve seen artists’ renderings of military dragons, like dignified horses with wings. But these dragons are terrifying—black as night, with emaciated bodies that hint at their underlying skeletons. And their wings—jagged, jutting things with sharp feathers that resemble dull blades.
“Oh, Sweet Ancient One,” I breathe, an icy chill coursing down my spine. “Do they breathe fire?”
Yvan frowns and shakes his head. “No. They lose the ability when they’re broken. But as you can see, they can still fly. And they’re strong, with sharp teeth and large talons.”
“Are they getting ready to attack the Keltic military?”
“And anyone else in their path. Just like last time. Villages. Families. You won’t hear about that, of course. You’ll hear about one glorious military victory after another.” He grimaces. “You won’t read about whole families being torn to pieces by soulless dragons.”
I imagine one of those creatures landing in a village. It’s too terrible to fathom.
“Can’t anyone stop this?” I ask him, horrified.
He gives a tight shake to his head. “The Resistance is no match for the Gardnerian Guard. The most they can do is slow them down. Get as many people out as they can.” His expression turns bitter. “I imagine,” he says, his voice thick with disgust, “when the inevitable happens, you’ll be enjoying a party somewhere, celebrating your victory over the Evil Ones.”
His words sting. I’m genuinely hurt by them. “You’re so...you’re wrong about me.” I defend myself, grasping for words. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m living with two chickens, did you know that? Do you have any idea how messy two chickens are?”
Yvan glares at me, furious. “They’re called Icarals, not chickens!”
“What?” I’m momentarily thrown, but quickly figure out where the confusion lies. “I’m not talking about Ariel and Wynter. I’m talking about Ariel’s pets. It used to be just one chicken; now it’s two. So please, stop judging me so harshly. Have you ever spent any time with Ariel Haven? I should be given some type of medal for living with her!”
“Yes, Icarals are such vile, disgusting creatures,” he snipes.
“Actually,” I counter, “Wynter’s quite pleasant, now that she’s stopped acting so spooky, and Ariel’s not quite as homicidal as she used to be. I know I look a lot like my grandmother, but I’m really not what you think I am, and neither are my brothers, for that matter.”
An unfriendly grin plays at the corners of Yvan’s mouth. “Yes, your brother Trystan does present a bit of a dilemma for your illustrious family, doesn’t he?”
A cold dread twists itself around me as all of my bravado evaporates. “Trystan’s a good person,” I say, my voice low. “Please...please don’t make trouble for him.”
The anger in Yvan’s face dissipates as he takes in how deeply his words have affected me. “I won’t,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically kind. He studies me for a long moment. “Come on,” he says, then abruptly gets up as if deciding on a spur-of-the-moment course of action. He glides down the hill and turns to wait for me at its base.
I follow him into denser forest, thick with evergreens and brush. When we reach a small ridge, Yvan crouches down, then motions for me to follow.
There are cages up ahead, just around the ridge—a great number of them scattered throughout the woods, their bars black and curving.
All of them holding dragons.
I swallow nervously as we creep by the cages. The sight of the dragons’ horrible faces startles me—thin drool falling from long mouths, lips pulled back to reveal killing teeth. But worst of all...
Their eyes. Milky opaque and soulless. Like the Icarals in Valgard.
Were these dragons tortured like those Icarals in Valgard were? Turned into broken monsters?
The dragons watch me pass, and I feel like I’m being watched by demons.
Yvan grabs my arm and pulls me behind the back wall of a cage.
Two Gardnerian soldiers pass, chatting amiably. Yvan fishes a watch out of his pocket and glances at it as their voices fade. “The changing of the guard,” he whispers.
Heart racing, I follow him around a small hillock to an isolated cage that’s surrounded by a wide swath of charred forest.
It holds a single dragon, but it might as well be a completely different creature, for how much it resembles the others.
It’s black, but not a dull tar black. Each scale shimmers like an opal. And its wings aren’t rancid and jagged, but strong and sleek, the feathers stiff and shiny like polished obsidian. The dragon paces back and forth on the far side of the cage, its movements strong and fluid as we walk up to the bars.
The dragon stops, slowly swivels its muscular head and sets its emerald green eyes on me.
I stare back at the dragon, frozen in place.
Suddenly, the dragon lunges toward me at incredible speed. Yvan thrusts me back and throws himself in front of me.
I fall backward as the dragon crashes against the cage’s bars, sharp talons thrust through the gaps around Yvan. The dragon and Yvan stare at each other for a long moment, both of them stock-still as if facing each other down.
“It...it tried to kill me!” I stammer, my breath coming in great gasps.
“She,” he corrects.
He cannot honestly be arguing semantics. “Okay, she,” I breathlessly amend. “She seems like she wants to kill me!”
“She won’t hurt you,” Yvan says, his eyes locked on the dragon’s as if he’s convincing the dragon that this is true instead of attempting to reassure me.
The dragon snorts derisively, falls back then fluidly turns and stalks to the other side of the cage. She shoots Yvan a look of misery, draws herself down and turns away. I notice that her body is covered with bloody lash marks.
“She seems like she understands what we’re saying.” I gulp as I find my bearings.
The corner of Yvan’s mouth twitches. “Dragons are...very observant.”
“So this is where you go when you walk off by yourself?”
Yvan stares at me for a moment, then nods.
I take a deep breath, my heart slowly falling into a more normal rhythm.
“She’s been beaten,” I observe, my brow knitting as I take in the crisscrossing lash marks.
Yvan tenses, and he looks toward the dragon. “They’re trying to break her.” An anguished expression crosses his face.
“Will they keep beating her?” I ask.
He swallows, then glances back at the dragon, his eyes dark with worry. “They’ll place her with another dragon,” he says. “A young one. They’ll wait for her to become attached to the child...and then...they’ll torture it to death in front of her. I’ve seen it done. To another dragon here.”
He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks back at me, I can see the pain etched deep in his mind, his voice breaking. “I still have nightmares about it.” His brow tightens, and he looks away.
“I have nightmares, too,” I confide in him. “About Selkies.”
He glances back at me, surprised. “Selkies?”
“I saw one once. In a cage, in Valgard. She was screaming.” I wince at the memory. “It was awful. I’ve dreamed about her almost every night since.”
For a long moment he just stares at me. “I’ve never seen one,” he finally says. “I’ve heard about them, though.” He turns back to the dragon, his eyes darting to every last part of the cage, like he’s trying to work out a complicated puzzle. “The bars,” he says absently, “they’re made of Elfin steel. She’s tried to melt it, but it’s not possible. And they don’t use keys to open the cage. They use wand magic.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” I observe with dawning suspicion.
He doesn’t answer, his attention still riveted to the dragon’s cage.
My eyes fly open with stunned realization. “You want to rescue her, don’t you?”
His entire face constricts, as if suddenly caught in a vise.
“You do!” I marvel. “You want to steal a dragon. From a Gardnerian military base!”
Yvan shoots me an angry look, turns and starts back into the woods.
I run after him, struggling to keep up. “You’re going to get yourself shot—you know that?”
He doesn’t answer, only walks faster as if attempting to put as much distance between us as possible.
The dragon’s low, keening moan of despair resonates on the air, snagging my heart. Yvan and I both halt. Yvan’s back has gone rigidly straight, but he quickly gathers himself and resumes stalking rapidly away from me.
* * *
By the time we’re back on the Verpacian side of the border, the tension between us has become unbearably thick. It distracts me from keeping my footing, and I silently blame Yvan for every stubbed toe and scratched arm.
After a time a weathered cottage becomes visible through the trees. It’s unkempt, with tools scattered about, a weedy garden and unhealthy livestock in cramped pens.
“Who lives there?” I ask Yvan’s back as he walks well ahead of me, keeping the same unfriendly distance between us as he did on the walk out.
“The University’s groundskeeper,” he answers curtly as a flash of white darts through the trees.
A Watcher.
I follow its curving flight around the trees with my eyes. It lands on a branch just before the cottage’s clearing and turns to face me. And then it disappears.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
There’s something there. Something in the cottage it wants me to see.
I don’t know why these Watchers came to me with Sage’s wand. I don’t know why they’ve taken such an interest in me to begin with. But I’ve come to realize that when they appear, it’s because they need to show me important things.
I start for the clearing.
“Elloren,” Yvan says, “where are you going?”
“Just give me a moment.”
Geese sound in the distance as I near the cottage.
I hear a crash and jump back in fright. Then an angry male voice.
More shouting. Another crash.
Then a strange shriek, a sound both exotic and heart-wrenchingly familiar.
No, it can’t be.
The door to the cottage flies open, and a young woman runs out, her eyes wild, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. Her movements are unfocused, panicked, as she trips over a stone and falls flat on her face.
My breath catches in my throat. It’s the Selkie from Valgard. The Selkie we were just speaking of.
A beefy, bearded man with stained clothing and an unwashed appearance storms out of the cottage, following close at the Selkie’s heels. He quickly catches up with her, his face red with fury. Before she can get up, he kicks her hard in the side with his heavy black boot.
Fury rocks through me. Fists balled, I start forward, but reason quickly reins me in. I’m no match for the huge groundskeeper. I fall back behind a tree instead, my heart slamming against my chest.
The Selkie lets out a bloodcurdling scream and curls herself into a protective ball, cradling the side where she’s been kicked.
The man grabs her roughly by the arm and wrenches her up into a standing position. “Shut up!” he thunders, shaking her violently as she continues her unearthly shrieking. “I said shut up, you bitch!” He pulls his free hand back above his head and strikes her so hard that she cries out and falls backward to the ground.
The Selkie cups the side of her head with her hands and rolls onto her side on the ground, her whimper high-pitched and strange.
I turn in desperation to Yvan, quivering with outrage. He stands, frozen in place, mouth agape.
The man is now standing over her, his large hands on his broad hips as the Selkie cowers below him.
“The next time I tell you to do something, you stupid animal,” he bellows as he jabs a sausagy finger in her direction, “you better damn well do it!” He grabs up a ring of keys hanging from a wall hook and storms over to the Selkie, then wrenches her up by her hair.
She gasps as the groundskeeper swipes up a metal collar secured by a heavy chain to a long post. He forces his knee into the Selkie’s back, throws the collar around her neck, locks it into place and pushes her headfirst onto the dusty ground. Then he storms back toward the cottage, throws the ring of keys onto the hook, mutters something about the “damn Selkies” and disappears inside, slamming the door behind him.
The Selkie lies there, whimpering, her eyes closed, her face twisted in despair, a large, bloody red welt now encompassing the side of her face, her lovely silver hair caked with dirt and mud.
Tears of outrage sting at my eyes. Animal or not, how can he be so cruel?
I’m suddenly filled with a wild, desperate idea.
I turn to Yvan, my anger solidifying. “I’m going to rescue the Selkie,” I say, my heart pounding.
His eyebrows fly up. “What?”
I crouch down and make my way toward the Selkie as stealthily as I can, my legs trembling beneath me. “Selkie girl!” I call out in a rough whisper.
Her eyes fly open wide, like two terrified moons, a low moan catching in her throat. She focuses in on me, and her expression abruptly changes as if she remembers me just as well as I remember her.
I retrieve the keys and rush to the Selkie as heavy boot heels sound inside the cottage. Pushing her silver hair aside, I force the key into the lock with shaking hands. I feel a warm flush of surprise when her metal collar opens and falls to the ground with a clank. I motion frantically toward the woods as I pull at her arm.
We make a run for it, scrambling across the clearing and into the woods.
Upon spotting Yvan, she lets out a terrified shriek and falls backward, her feet frantically skidding against the forest floor as she holds up her arms to ward him off.
“Back up, Yvan!” I push my hand out toward him.
Yvan falls back and crouches low, his palms up.
I clasp the Selkie’s trembling shoulders. She flinches as I touch her. I reach a hand up to gently stroke her hair. “Shhhh,” I croon. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Her hair is a strange and wonderful consistency, soft as warm water. “We’ve got to get you out of here,” I say, wishing I could speak Seal. Her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out, the gills on her neck flapping open and closed.
I manage to pull her into a crouch as her eyes dart around in panic. We slowly start away from the cottage, both the Selkie and I tripping repeatedly over our feet, made clumsy by fear. Yvan keeps his distance off to the side, always keeping us within sight, his face tense.
Soon we find our courage, along with our footing, and break into a run, leaping over logs, swerving around trees, the forest whizzing by, listening desperately for the sound of heavy footsteps behind us. I keep my hand tight on the Selkie’s wrist as we run for what seems like forever. We run until my breath starts to feel like sharp glass, my sides cramping up.
A clearing appears just ahead. The blessed University grounds.
I never imagined I’d be so overjoyed to see the North Tower.
We slow, the Selkie and I panting heavily, her gills ruffled open, her thin wrist weak and fragile in my hand. She stumbles, and I throw an arm around her before she can fall. We’re a few paces away from the University grounds, barely hidden by the thinning trees.
“Elloren.” I hear Yvan’s calm voice from a few feet away. The Selkie flinches at the sound of it. “Have you thought through where you’re going to hide her?” Yvan is leaning calmly against the trunk of a large tree, studying me, looking like he hasn’t even broken a sweat.
“No,” I reply defensively as I reach up with my free hand to stroke the trembling Selkie’s strange hair.
“This is a little reckless, you know that, right?”
I glare at him as I catch my breath. “Oh, and rescuing dragons from the Gardnerian military isn’t?” I really don’t need this from him right now.
The corners of his mouth lift into a wry smile.
“It was the right thing to do, Yvan,” I say.
He nods, serious again. “I know it was.”
There’s something new in his expression. Something that catches me completely off guard.
Respect.
We’re both startled by the sound of a horse whinnying nearby.
I whip my head around and see Andras Volya, the young, heavily rune-marked Amaz man—Professor Volya’s son. He’s a short distance away from us, across the wide field astride a large, black mare.
He’s staring straight at us.
The horror of being discovered presses down on me.
Andras pulls hard on the horse’s mane. The animal rears and turns sharply around before galloping away toward the University stables.
“Oh, Sweet Ancient One,” I breathe. “You don’t think he saw us, do you?”
“I think he did,” Yvan says, his voice low.
“What do you think he’ll do?”
Yvan narrows his gaze and looks toward Andras’s receding figure. “I don’t know.” He sets his green eyes on me. “But we need to get her inside. Before anyone else sees her.”