.𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘴𝘩.

FENRIR AND ALISTAIR

“What do you dream of now?” Kaiva asked. Fenrir was quiet for a long time. His brow furrowed, indicating that he was deep in through. Why did she care what he dreamed of now? Again, he was struck with confusion at her rather sudden change of behavior. No more barbs at his pride; no more attempts to spark his ire; no more attempts to ignite his temper. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t trust it. Still, some part of him was deeply relieved that she’d changed; he got enough needling from his sister. Although he hid it well, every barbed comment had cut deep, widening the cracks of his foundation. He could plaster over those cracks, but even the spackle didn’t last forever.

“Many things,” Fenrir lied. He was too nervous about Kaiva’s behavior to really be honest with her at this point. He’d told no one of his nightmares – not even Alistair, who was his closest confidant. It was his burden to bear, for the good of his kingdom. “None of them are important. We need to focus on the mission now.” They walked along in silence for a few more moments; behind them, Fenrir could hear the soft murmur of other conversations.

“These days I mostly dream of dying,” she said. He raised a brow at her tone, but it wasn’t all together surprising. That was what phoenixes did best, wasn’t it? Die repeatedly, in a blaze of fire. “No matter how many times you burn to death, there’s no getting used to it! Sometimes I sit up in bed feeling like my skin is on f—” She broke off abruptly.

Fenrir knew what had drawn her attention; the ground seemed to rumble beneath their feet, humming with an unrecognizable song. Fenrir held up a hand, and the party behind him stopped. “Hold up,” he said softly.
“What was that? Fenrir, what awaits us down here?”

“Nothing good,” he responded. There was a heartbeat of silence, and then all exploded into chaos. There was the sudden cacophony of wings that thundered in the cavern. Fenrir ducked instinctively, dropping the torch to the ground. With a hiss, it sputtered out. Son of a bitch! he snarled to himself. He whipped out his twin swords, and spread his wings. There was a dull glow in the cavern from the other torches, but he doubted that light would last for long.

Flashes of shadow cut across his vision, and he whirled to strike at whatever was attacking them. Without warning, something came sailing through the cavern like a shooting star. It crashed against the stone and burst, scattering sparks of what seemed to be moonlight in all directions. Fenrir got a chance to see what was attacking them.

“Careful!” came a voice. Fenrir swore he was hallucinating, because there was no way the owner of that voice was here.

“They’re afraid of the light!” Alistair yelled. The moon-colored dragon threw another vial; this one exploded into blue fire.

KAIVA

“Hold up,” Fenrir’s voice brought the group to a halt. The short, winded breaths of the company were momentarily the only sound that filled the air. Kaiva stilled every part of her body, trying to hear the sound which had vibrated through her body seconds before. She felt the brief flash of alarm that one feels before disaster strikes.

And then there was chaos. Movement flashed before her eyes and she ducked instinctively. Something with wildly flapping wings narrowly missed her head. At the same time, a cacophony of eerie shrieking reverberated through the cave. At her back, someone cursed loudly.

Kaiva unsheathered her sword and saw a strange blue light flash across it. The same light scattered across the cave walls, illuminating the writhing mass of wings and limbs up above. A pile of humanoid creatures with batlike wings and taloned fingers clustered against the ceiling. They shrieked and covered their eyes in response to the blue light which appeared to be coming from some kind of shattered vial.

As soon as the light began to dim, however, the creatures ceased their writhing and turned their attention down to the gathered company. Kaiva could see the wicked curiosity in their half-human eyes. Their gazes flicked predatorily.

With frightening speed, they launched themselves downward. Two plummeted toward Kaiva. She managed to fend the first one off with a swipe of her sword. The second, however, was too fast for her to react before its sharp hands grabbed her. One hand scratched her cheek as it grabbed onto her shoulder and the other entangled itself into her hair. She felt her feet leave the ground as it tugged her upward with a powerful downstroke of its wings. Thankfully the creatures were quite small, scarcely larger than Kaiva herself, and it failed to take flight. The two of them fell to the ground, each determined to tear the other to shreds. The winged humanoid scrambled toward her, claws scratching against the stone floor. In the same instant, she reached for her sword. They met each other half-way. Just before it could bite her with its gnashing teeth, she plunged her sword into its chest. Up close, she could see its pale skin which had seemingly never been touched by light. It had gleaming reddish eyes and sharp teeth like razors.

It struggled for a moment then fell limply away. Meanwhile, the others around her were in the throes of battle. Kaiva spotted the brunette bloodgiver ducking for cover to avoid the talons of one of the harpies. Sid was impossible to see, but she could hear his gruff voice above the fray. To her left, Fenrir was wielding his own weapon. At the back of the pack, she spotted the white head of Alistair and felt herself suppressing a smile.

That smile quickly vanished when she happened to glance up. She had not noticed the large crack in the ceiling before, but she could see now that it had been where the harpies had come from. More were arriving, so many at once that they reminded her of angry ants emerging from an anthill. Once they were free of the crevasse, they skittered downward on their bats wings. The company was outnumbered at least one to ten.

Kaiva accepted her fate with a hearty sigh. She knew what she had to do.

HELIKE

Helike flexed her fingers in an effort to keep the blood circulating. It was cold in the tunnel, cold enough that she began to wonder how and where they were going to sleep when the time came. And that question led to another, which was how they would even tell when night came. She supposed they would simply have to guess. The world of the underground was a strange one, one seemingly beyond time itself. Not to mention light. And most sound.

At some point, a member of the company handed her a torch to carry while he tied the laces of his boots. She did not know the man’s name, nor did she recognize his face. He also forgot to retake the torch once he had completed his task, but Helike did not make a move to return it. She was glad to be a designated light-bearer. It made navigating the stone steps simpler, for she was relying on the steadiness of her own hand rather than someone else’s.

Beside her walked a tall man. It was not often that a person was noticeably taller than Helike herself, so she took note of it. He had lightly tanned skin, and she caught him glancing at her once or twice. Perhaps a more outgoing person would have introduced themselves, but Helike was never the type to start conversations. Instead, she met his gaze once and offered a lift of the chin in greeting.

It quickly became clear who in the group were the talkers and who were the introverts. Helike did not say a word, nor did the man beside her. But up ahead, she could hear the clear voice of Kaiva. A few others chatted as well, and Helike listened wordlessly.

Time passed, she supposed, because the stairs continued to led down, down, down. And soon their surroundings began to slowly change, the walls opening up to reveal the natural inner contours of the mountain. The ceiling opened up, to the point where the torch-light could barely illuminate it. Fresh water dripped down in places and the air smelled clearer, less dusty. To either side, the conical rocks reminded Helike of teeth. As if they were in the mouth of some enormous creature.

Will we stop soon? she wondered. They would need to rest and regroup eventually, but exactly when was up to Fenrir.

That question would soon be answered for them, but not how Helike envisioned.

Suddenly there was a disturbance at the front of the pack. It all happened so quickly that she would not know what happened until later. All she understood was that the people directly in front of her came to an abrupt halt, nearly causing Helike to run into them. In the same instant, there was a sharp cry and the sound of beating wings. The people up ahead flinched, some lifting their arms above their heads.

Helike stilled, holding the torch higher so they could all see what was happening.

Further down the stairs, Kaiva, Fenrir, and the others had their weapons drawn. Winged figures danced between them, inhumanely quick. In the chaos it was impossible to get a good look at them, but Helike knew they must be some kind of harpy. The high-pitched shrieking that echoed through the cavern froze those standing at the back of the group. It was impossible to tell whether the sounds were coming from up close or a distance because they bounced off the cavern walls chaotically. The fray grew more frantic by the second, with the sounds of swords being drawn and voices barking orders. Blue light danced off the walls, coming from vials tossed by Prince Alistair (he had appeared suddenly, and though Helike did not remember him being a part of the party, she was too distracted to question it).

Helike tried to hold the torch steady, but she was forced to duck as one of the harpies suddenly appeared right in front of her face. She gasped in spite of herself and flinched just in time to avoid the outstretched talons.

When she looked up, her eyes widened with shock and fear. The harpies were everywhere. They descended upon the company like a swarm, and more still were appearing out of the abyss.

“Stay together!” she found herself shouting. They had a better chance of fending the creatures off if they formed some kind of wall. But it was impossible for her to organize. Those at the front of the group were being drawn further down into the cave as they fought off the rabid harpies. There was nothing to be done, Helike knew it. With each passing second they were growing more outnumbered.

The sight of fire in an enclosed space is enough to make any person shrink. When the burst of yellow and red flashed before Helike’s eyes, she did just that. And she drew her arm up to protect her face, too. A wall of hot air whooshed past her face, hot on her eyes and in her mouth. But the fire was not directed at the company, but away from it. It was cast forward in a rolling wave that illuminated the entire cave in flash brighter than sunlight.

FENRIR AND ALISTAIR

Fenrir’s panic and frustration grew with each passing second. He could not see his enemy, save for the fleeting glances he stole when the cavern was bathed in the light from Alistair’s concoctions. He swung his blades in every direction, feeling the steel bite against flesh and bone, but still the onslaught was relentless. He’d tried shouting orders, but any meaningful words were soon drowned out by the cacophony. Harpies – he should have guessed they’d make their lair here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his fellows battling. Bellinor and Sagremor were entrenched, although the former was battling his way towards the prince.

“Fenrir!” he called. “I would suggest rallying our companions. They cannot be isolated further!” Instinct led Fenrir’s next movement; he pivoted on one foot, as neat as a dancer, and swept his two blades forward in a savage arcing thrust. Bellinor barely managed to avoid the blow.

“Start gathering everyone,” he shot back at Bellinor. “Put those who don’t have fighting experience in the middle.”

There was another flash of colorful fire, and the harpies shrieked in pain and fear and anger. He heard Bellinor ask Alistair something, and heard his brother reply in the negative, but he put it out of his mind. Focus. Keep the others safe. Dodge, thrust, parry. Duck, slash, block. Each of Fenrir’s movements was smooth and practiced; despite this, even he was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the number of enemies. Most harpy nests were small, perhaps made up of twenty to thirty individuals at most. This nest was different; there were hundreds, if not thousands, of harpies swarming. This had to be a convergence of nests, or perhaps their breeding grounds. Of course it would be he, along with his company, who would stumble across this travesty.

Gradually, the group began to collapse in on itself, pushing the more vulnerable members to the center of the formation. Fenrir fought with all he was worth, swords slashing silver fire through the darkness, but with each foe he felled, two more took their places. Soon, his skin was covered in slashes and claw marks, and several holes had been rent through his wings. While he’d started out using the appendages to fight, he now had the clamped close to his body to protect them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shayne, firing arrows into the wall of enemies. She didn’t even have to aim so much as just point in a direction and shoot. Once she ran out of arrows, he withdrew the two daggers she had at her hip, and moved into melee combat. He was reminded that she was a soldier once, although that seemed like a life-time ago.

He grunted in pain and took a step back; while he’d been distracted, a harpy had taken advantage and has managed to sink its talons into his shoulders. It was trying to life him from the ground, but was having little success. Snarling, Fenrir slashed with his own wings and rent it to pieces. He lost track of Kaiva for a heart-beat.

Without warning, the darkness was obliterated; the sudden light was so bright that Fenrir reflexively raised an arm to shield his face. The source of the light was fire, he realized, and then cursed to himself. He watched, eyes squinted, as the fire seemed to move forward and upward in a cascade, as brilliant as a dying star. Countless harpies were turned to ash in an instant; others were burned and fell from the skin. The remaining harpies retreated back into the crack from whence they came, screeching and screaming. A single arrow arched forward and disappeared into the crack; a moment later, there came a soft boom, followed by the sound of rocks tumbling. With a brilliant crash, the harpies’ lair was sealed up.

The fire finally vanished, and Fenrir glared at the space it had been. He coughed at the dust in the air. When he glanced at his company, he realized they were too wounded and tired to go any further tonight. “We’ll camp here,” he ordered. “Sid, get her ashes together. Helike, take a few others and start moving the bodies away. Shayne—"

“I’m on it,” she shot back. Already she’d begun attending to the wounded.

“Right,” he replied, suddenly weary. “Let’s get a fire going.”

“I can help with that,” Alistair piped up. Fenrir pinched the bridge of his nose, but knew it wasn’t a good time to argue. He’d tear his brother a new one soon enough, once everyone was settled. And then he’d lay into Kaiva.

FENRIR, SHAYNE AND ALISTAIR

Fenrir watched as Sid slowly lowered Kaiva to the ground. The look on her face was distinct – it haunted him every night. There was wear terror in her eyes, a deep, primal animal instinct that recognized her end was coming, and it was desperately clinging to any fragment of life it good. Her breath rattled in her chest, and tears began to pool in the corner of her eyes. She tried to push herself up, but her fingers – her hands – disintegrated beneath her, turning into ash that drift to the ground almost peacefully, in stark contrast to the terrified whirl that was Kaiva. Sid pushed her back to the ground, murmuring some comforting words to her.

Kaiva crouched on her knees, coughing and gagging on the black smoke that filled her lungs. Fenrir stepped forward, extending his right wing to touch her shoulder gently. It was the only part of him remotely fireproof, and even then, he could still feel the heat of her skin. Fever was burning through her quickly now, leaving nothing behind. She tried to take in a breath, but nothing happened. And then she was gone. With an almost tranquil, breathless sigh, Kaiva’s recognizable form was wiped away. And Fenrir was left looking at what his recklessness had wrought.

He closed his eyes, grinding his teeth. Halike stepped forward to gather the ashes, but Sid stopped her. Fenrir stepped away, turning to prowl around the edges of their make-shift camp. Shayne was working to patch up one of their group, sewing a gash on his arm with tight, neat stitches. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but did not speak, seeming to understand the look on Fenrir’s face. After ensuring their defenses were secure – for now – he returned to where Kaiva had fallen. Helike had already donated blood. When he looked upon the season, he felt a sort of nausea roil in his gut. The ashes had coagulated around Helike’s blood, clinging to it like parasites. He looked away.

“We’ll need a place for Kaiva to regenerate.” Sid was speaking. Fenrir turned to look at him with a hollow gaze. “Shall I stay behind and wait while the rest of you move forward? You’d need to leave Helike for the blood.”

“No,” Fenrir said almost reflexively. He paused then and seemed to really take in Sid’s words. “I don’t know,” he replied, voice as weary as his soul.

“We won’t have to,” came a sudden voice. Shayne.

“What do you mean? It takes several days – a week, even – for phoenixes to regenerate.” And there was Alistair.

“It used to,” Shayne corrected. “But I’ve figured out a way to accelerate the process by at least five-fold. In a day or two, she’ll be back to normal.”

“How?” Alistair demanded. “There are no known substances or potions that can do this. Have you ever even tested this so-called remedy?”

“Well, no,” Shayne snapped. “There are hardly an abundance of phoenixes in the capital, Princeling. But everything about my theory works out.”

“Everything? Even the math?”

“Shut up and let me work,” she huffed, pushing the two dragon princes out of the way. She sat down in front of Kaiva’s ashes and began to rummage through her satchel, removing a mortar and pestle. She gathered several different herbs and ground them together into a fine powder. Alistair hovered over her, watching each motion carefully. Finally, Shayne withdrew the last ingredient. Alistair let out al ow whistle.

“Where did you get a phoenix feather?”

“From the sky, you idiot. Where do you think?”

“How did you get it?”

Shayne shrugged. “A woman never tells.” She removed a few of the barb of the feather and added them to the powder. When that was done, she had Helike give a bit more blood, and then she added water she’d boiled, creating a liquid. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself, and then poured the mixture onto Kaiva’s ashes.

Nothing happened for several agonizing heartbeats – and then the ashes began to pulsate, forming a writhing mass that was even more disturbing to look at. Rapidly, the ash seemed to solidify, before settling back down into a semi-solid state.

“Now, we wait.” With that, she gathered her things, and wandered back to continue assisting with the wounded.

“All of you, get some sleep,” Fenrir ordered. “I’ll keep first watch.”

“You shouldn’t –”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Alistair. We’ll talk about you being here later. Now, go help Shayne.”

It took a bit more convincing, but Fenrir was finally left alone. He sat down heavily on a rock near Kaiva, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Alistair was there, holding something. Fenrir’s expression softened as he took the small instrument – about the size of a lute – from his younger brother. “Thought you’d want it,” Alistair explained. “It always did help you wind down after a battle.”

Fenrir nodded, and his brother left again. He picked at a few of the strings, letting the soft, barely audible sound wash over him. He laid it on his lap, and let his mind drift for a bit.

Some time later, the camp was silent, except for the crackle of the fire and the snoring of people who were exhausted after a hard fight. When he was sure that no one would over-hear him, he picked up his instruments again, testing a few notes. And then he, Fenrir, Crown Prince of Traeterra and Dragon Warrior, began to softly sing.

“Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow,
Like fragile, tiny shells,
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy,
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Come marching home.”

He kept his voice soft, audible mostly to himself. His mother had used to sing him to sleep every night with the soft lullaby. It wasn’t until much later, when Fenrir was out on the front, that he learned the rest of the song. And then he’d understood why his mother had never spoken those verses.

“Ash in the snow,
Falling so slow,
Like fragile, broken hearts
With no place to go.

Little soldier boy,
Taken from home.
Forced to fight a war
That was not his own.

Little soldier boy,
Cold and alone.
Brave soldier boy
Never made it home.

Leaves from the vine,
Changing so slow,
Like empty, fallen souls
Looking for a home.

Little soldier boy,
Thought he could soar.
Brave soldier boy,
Fallen in the war.

My little soldier boy,
I need you home.
Brave soldier boy,
Come marching home.”

KAIVA

His sheepishness was charming. When he offered her his cloak, eyes closed, she was glad to wrap it around herself. Its fabric held some of the warmth from Fenrir’s back. She balled her fists into it, tugging it tightly over her shoulders.

“Twenty-four hours?” she echoed, confused. She felt as though she had slept for decades. Even the dim light in the cave burned her eyes. But she was relieved to hear nothing much had happened in her absence. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, restraining the urge to press the matter. You waited for me? But she did not want to press him. Even then, as she told him about hearing his voice from behind, he had a distant look in his eyes. He shook his head, seemingly caught in some sort of internal dialogue. Her chest tensed as she was unable to guess what thoughts swirled inside his head.

And then he stood, offering her his hand. She took it appreciatively and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The muscles in her legs tensed in protest but she pushed through the pain, straightening. “Sorry,” she murmured, noting the black smudge of ash her touch had left on his palm.

As they walked back to the others, Kaiva noted the silhouettes of some of their companions. Some sat around a fire. Others lay sleeping. There was one pitched tent, through which she could see the glow of lantern light.

As they approached, Shayne moved to greet them.

“Sounds like I have you to thank for this pounding headache,” said Kaiva, who smiled to prove she was joking. “I don’t know how you did it, but I feel like a new woman…aches aside.” She tightened her grip around Fenrir’s cloak.

Glancing that the prince, the phoenix stated, “I’m ready to go whenever you want me to. I don’t want to delay finding your dragon any longer.” If Kaiva was anything, she was determined. And she was genuine in saying she would press on if asked to. She had dealt with worse pains than a bit of soreness. That being said, she would be lying if she denied the desire for a warm meal and some rest.

It was then that she noticed the table within the tent, on which were a number of weathered maps and scrolls. “Consulting the history books?” she asked, glancing at the prince.

Curiosity drew her inside, and she stepped past the healer in order to enter the tent. It was smaller than the tents used on the frontlines, but there was enough room for the table, a fur rug, and several lanterns. Kaiva paused when she reached the maps, green eyes sweeping over them with interest.

Her fingertips followed, drifting across the weathered parchment. One of the maps was buried beneath the others, and she tugged it out when she noticed the writing along its edge.

“Rensali,” she said under her breath, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The native language of Lexar. The blocky letters had always reminded her of the continuous motifs on vases or temples. They were so uniform in size and shape that it would have been easy to mistake them for mere decoration on the page. Much like her surrogate father, the language was beautiful but difficult to understand. She chewed on her lip, fighting back a wave of homesickness for her former guardian. Her thumb dragged along the edge of the paper, then paused.

“Have you had someone translate this?” she asked, clearing her throat as she looked up at Fenrir. She did not know the language well enough to speak it herself, but she had picked up a serviceable lexicon during her training. At a glance, she recognized some of the words she had heard Lexar speak over the years. But she dropped the map back onto the table, not wanting to interfere with his research or presume to know anything he did not. With all the resources at the prince’s disposal, she did not doubt he had brought in a dozen foreign helpers. Perhaps he knew several of the languages himself. Then again, Rensali was not a language commonly heard in their parts. Never on the frontlines had she met a man who could understand her colorful curses in the tongue (which she, of course, had learned from sparring with Lexar).

Her body was still unusually sore from her return to the land of the living. As Fenrir looked down once more at the pages, she perched against the table’s edge, burrowing into the warmth of the cloak he had lent her.