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  Full stomachs paved the way to pleasant exhaustion, and stretching out at the table, we all decided it was time to turn in within seconds of each other. I didn't know where Katja was staying, whether she had her own room she was being locked into, or whether Akela or Atthis were standing watch over her, and didn't care to find out.

  “It's been a long time since you've seen your father, Rowan. I doubt you'll want us crowding around you,” Atthis said. “Head out with Kouris in the morning. She'll get you there hours ahead of us."

  I squeezed his hand, bidding him goodnight, and let my covers swarm me. Blankets. It was actually cool enough to need blankets. I pulled them tight around me, comforted by the weight and warmth, and drifted off to the sound of the sea lapping against Asar, wind carried across the waves all the way from Canth.

  The next morning, it all became real. The journey over wasn't a dream I thought I'd never escape and I didn't awaken in Canth, in Reis' hut. Almost two years ago, the opposite had happened; I'd expect to open my eyes, to find that the dragons had all been a dream, and wander back through Isin's castle.

  Knowing how distracting such thoughts could be, I didn't waste any time. I double-checked everything was still in my bag, felt for the chain around my neck, and met Kouris down in the lobby.

  Travelling with a pane was the best way to go unnoticed. Had someone actually been tracking me down, they would've looked straight over me, attention fixed firmly on Kouris. Other patrons were side-eyeing her warily, whispering things she could clearly hear with ears like those, and the innkeeper was working on building up the courage necessary to ask her to hurry on.

  There were a lot of things I was going to have to get used to again about Asar, but this frustrated me the most.

  “Good morning,” I said, making a point of pushing myself up on tip-toes and kissing her cheek, when she bowed towards me. “Are you ready?”

  “Are you?” she asked, holding the door open for me.

  “No. Really, really not,” I said, shakily laughing it away. “It's been so long since I've seen my dad – more than two years! – so of course it's going to be hard. But I've got to go. Because I just feel like... like I can't leave it a second longer than I have to. As if a few minutes are going to make a difference. That sounds weird, doesn't it?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “I think I understand how you feel.”

  Breakfast came in the form of the baker's first batch of bread that morning, and at the edge of Ironash, Kouris knelt down. I climbed on her back, not ready for the miles to fade away in minutes, but unwilling to let myself linger for more than a moment. I couldn't stop now. I'd come back for a reason; to be useful.

  With my arms around her neck, cheek pressed against hers, I said, “I feel like I've never been away. But I feel like I was never really here, either. Like it was all a dream. I don't think I'm going to believe it until I'm there, back at the farmhouse. And even then...”

  Closing my eyes, I felt the wind rush across my face, felt Kouris chuckle. I'd fallen asleep dull and woken up much the same, and as long as I kept my mind clear and my thoughts focused forward, I'd be able to keep control over it all.

  “Can't wait to see the look on your dad's face when you drag a pane home with you.”

  “And not just any pane,” I said, leaning back and holding onto her horns.

  I'd never been south of my village, had never gone anywhere near Ironash, but it didn't take long for my surroundings to become startlingly familiar. Every tree we passed jogged a memory, too many of them coming to me at once to be made sense of. I'd forgotten how rich the landscape was, couldn't appreciate the wealth of life therein until we were rushing through the long grass.

  A rabbit cut across us as I found myself grinning. I hadn't seen one of those in months.

  “What's he going to think?” I murmured a few hours into the journey, knowing we couldn't be far off. “I sent him letters, I let him know I was okay, but that was so long ago, Kouris. It was spring when I left, spring two years ago. He'll know what happened to Kastelir, everyone will, and if Michael wrote to him...”

  “He'll be thinking that he's so happy to see you that anything he's thought before suddenly won't matter, yrval,” Kouris said firmly. “No point in worrying yourself now; that's all gonna turn to relief quickly enough, trust me.”

  I occupied my thoughts with things that didn't matter to me. I wondered how the village would react once they knew I was back, wondered if Thane or any of the other elders would march up to the farmhouse and knock on the door, demanding to know what I thought I was doing. Blaming me for all that had happened in Kastelir, no doubt.

  I saw the forest surrounding the valley before the village itself, and planted my hands against Kouris' shoulders, pushing myself up for a better view. There it was, same as it'd ever been: the buildings hadn't rearranged themselves, nor had the streets taken on any new twists and turns. I wasn't close enough to be able to spot anyone on the streets yet, and I gripped Kouris' horns tighter, thumbs pressing into the grooves Reis had carved.

  I would've steered her away from the village, into the fields and up to our farmhouse, but something was wrong. We drew closer and closer and still I didn't see anyone; Kouris skidded to a halt outside the first building on the outskirts of the village, and I jumped off her back, running ahead.

  I was met with emptiness, with silence. None of the fear or repulsion I'd expected was to be found within the village, and none of the resentment they'd once felt for me lingered in the air.

  “Hello?” I called out against my better judgement, spinning on the spot, desperate to find a sign of life.

  I reached out with my powers, grasping at nothing.

  The windows of the building in front of me were boarded up, and all around, planks of wood had been nailed across doors.

  The plague. The plague had been creeping along the coast, before I left.

  It would've been easy for Kouris to catch up with me, but she let me run on alone, up the dirt path leading to the farmhouse. I could've stopped this. Had I still been here, I could've cleansed the plague in a matter of moments. But would the villagers have let me? The farmhouse – my farmhouse – was right in front of me, washed-out red paint peeling off the front door, and I couldn't have ever gone to Canth.

  I barely knew my way out of the valley.

  I pounded my fists against the front door, light slipping from my grasp, not knowing what I expected to find within. A note on the table to say where he'd gone, at the very most. I gripped the handle and shouldered the door open. I used more force than I needed to and ended up flinging myself against the opposing wall, knocking over an empty bucket and a shovel in the process.

  Momentum finally lost to me, I crouched down to pick the things back up and fell to my knees, breathless. Coming back hadn't been a waste, I told myself. My father had simply... headed to Kyrindval, where Michael was, or taken refuge a few villages over. Hands twisting in my hair, I did what I could to draw in my light, when a voice from behind me cautiously asked, “Rowan... ?”

  My father stood in the kitchen doorway, gripping a hatchet in one hand. All of the crashing about I'd done had put him on edge, but the second he set eyes on me, he lowered the weapon, placing it on the ground. He moved to put his hands on my shoulders, but I rushed to my feet, launching myself at his chest.

  “Dad!” I said, feeling his arms wrap around me in spite of the glow he didn't understand emanating from me. “Dad, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”

  “Shh, shh,” he said, hand on the back of my head. I clung to him tighter, doing all I could not to shake, and he swayed me on the spot, saying, “There, there, Rowan. I'll get us some tea, shall I?”

  I found my way to the kitchen table, and nothing in there had changed but me. I sat with my hands clasped together beneath the tabletop, trembling in what my body had yet to register as relief, and my father stood by the counter, boiling water. He kept glancing over his shoulder, ensuring that I was really there, an
d my teeth chattered together every time I tried to smile.

  “I didn't mean to be gone for so long,” I blurted out. “Really, I didn't. Everything just...”

  He placed a cup of tea in front of me, and I stared down at it, biting my lower lip.

  “You had to leave home eventually,” he said gently, sitting down opposite me. For as quiet as he'd always been, I could tell he was straining to hold all his questions back. His eyes flickered across me for the hundredth time, and he took in the sight of my darkened skin and said, “Where have you been? Last I heard from you, you were at Isin and, ah. And I know how that turned out.”

  “Canth,” I said, and it sounded ridiculous, even to me. “We were in Canth. After the dragons came, we couldn't get past the soldiers and back into Felheim. We ended up along the coast, and it was the only place we could go. Honestly. I didn't think we'd be gone for so long...”

  I wrapped my fingers around the cup, taking in the heat as though cold air was causing me to shiver.

  “What happened here?”

  “Nothing so exciting as Canth,” he said, smiling quizzically at the thought. “The plague reached us a few months after you'd left. It was contained, for the first few weeks, and then we had three deaths in a day. Houses were boarded up, businesses left behind. People took what they could and spread out through the country. I chose to stay here because... well, you and Michael needed somewhere to come back to.”

  I stared down at the surface of the tea, at my blurred, bright reflection, guilt sinking into my marrow. My father had been alone for more than a year, waiting and waiting.

  “Michael? Is he... ?”

  “The last I heard, he was in Kyrindval. This was before the business with the dragons, of course,” my father said, sipping thoughtfully on his tea. “Word rarely crosses the border, these days, unless in an official capacity.”

  I nodded, though I'd been told nothing new. Michael's fate was uncertain as it had ever been, but I had to believe the pane had been spared.

  “I'm sorry for running away,” I said, pressing my hands to my face. My father had stayed here for me, and yet I hadn't even been able to bring myself to say goodbye. “I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know why I just left, I—”

  “I do,” he said. He'd never cut me off before, and I took notice of what he was saying. “It was clear enough how they were treating you. I ought to have said something; ought to have done something years ago, when they thought you were a healer, but you seemed so happy to be helping people.

  “I only wish I'd acted sooner. Moved away when the village turned against you. I should be the one apologising.”

  I scrunched up my face, eyes dry, temples throbbing, and shook my head. Of course we couldn't have left. This was our home, our life; we had the farm, dozens of animals to look after. We couldn't have left that all behind because of me.

  “It's fine. It's fine, I don't... don't think anyone should know how to deal with this,” I said. “It's just bad luck, having a necromancer for a daughter, I guess.”

  “It's bad luck having a daughter born into a Kingdom that discriminates against necromancers,” he hurried to correct me.

  I looked away, desperate to scrape together the right words to reply to that, but could only get to my feet, and move over to wrap my arms around his shoulders.

  “I wasn't surprised when you left. I was glad to get your letters,” he said, patting me against the back. “Sir Ightham's abrupt departure had the village in a state for days. No one thought to suggest that you'd somehow been involved for the better part of a week. I'm glad you had good company on your journey. This we you mentioned...”

  My arms went slack around him and I stood back up straight, mumbling, “No, Claire, she...”

  “Ah,” he said, brushing his fingers against his mouth. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  I fell back into my seat, determined not to let myself sink further.

  “My friends are with me, though!” I said, “It's alright for them to stay here, isn't it? Just for a while?”

  “Of course,” he said, answer matched by a knock at the door.

  My father rose to answer the door and I shuffled over on my seat so that I could peer out into the corridor. The front door hadn't swung shut all the way behind me, and I saw my father pull the door to, saying, “Hello,” before he set his eyes on Kouris. If he'd ever seen a pane in his life, I would've known about it. Kouris bowed forward, ears folded back as she gave him her best smile. After a moment of staring, my father said, “Ah. Mind your head.”

  Kouris ducked through the doorway, remaining hunched over once she was inside.

  “Cosy!” she said, clapping her hands together, and met my gaze with a grin. My chest tightened at the sight of how pleased she was for me, and I silently thanked her for giving me and my father time alone. “Look at that! It's just like you said it was.”

  “Dad, this is Kouris. Kouris, this is my dad,” I said, chin propped on the back of the chair.

  “It's good to meet you. Now, let's see...” my father said, shaking Kouris' hand and rushing off to find a chair sturdy enough for her. He dragged it over to the table, patted the seat and said, “Tea?”

  The three of us crowded around the table, mugs in hand. I never expected Kouris to meet my father, or indeed for any pane to be in our house, but he was as welcoming of her as he would've been to anyone. Kouris busied herself with looking around the room and out of the window, where the farm's remaining animals had been brought closer to the house. With only my father in the village, there was no need for fields of sheep and herds of cattle; no doubt the villagers had taken plenty of them when they left, needing something to pay their way with.

  “Kouris...” my father mused, tapping his spoon against the side of his mug once he'd mixed more sugar in. “Like the stories Michael used to tell?”

  Kouris ducked her head sheepishly and said, “There are plenty of mistakes in those, Dad.”

  I almost snorted my tea through my nose upon hearing her call him that, but my father only lifted his brow, amused, and said, “You're certainly more alive than those stories led me to believe.”

  Holding the seemingly tiny mug delicately between her claws, Kouris tilted it back, tipped the whole lot in her mouth and said, “Might be an idea for me to head back and meet up with the others. Sort out living arrangements. Reckon we can use one of those abandoned houses for anyone we don't want hanging around here.”

  My father's gaze narrowed at the suggestion of unwelcome guests, but he said nothing. I nodded to Kouris, hoping she might shut Katja up within one of those plague-ridden houses, and leave her to rot. I stood in the doorway, and watched her sprint off down the dirt path, up the sides of the valley and into the trees beyond.

  Lifting his brow, impressed with how swiftly she moved, my father said, “Well. I go all this time without company, and in one day I'm graced by my daughter and a pane. Shall we prepare dinner? How many more are coming?”

  “Two,” I said, wincing. “Three. But one of them... she's not allowed up here, near you. No matter what.”

  My father's face fell as he look at me, and he placed a hand on my cheek, holding his silence as though too many questions might cause me to disappear again. Trusting my decision, he managed a smile, and said, “I hope you haven't forgotten how to make stew.”

  We passed the hours in amiable silence, peeling potatoes and washing vegetables, preparing the meat and laying the table as we went. My father always said he found it best to keep busy when something weighed upon his mind, and he didn't stop moving for half a second. After months of cooking for himself, he finally had a chance to prepare something for others, and used the best of what he had.

  I chopped carrots, light from my fingertips making the knife gleam, still having trouble drawing it back in.

  “You haven't asked why I'm glowing,” I mumbled, “It's kind of noticeable, but...”

  “Do you want to tell me why you're glowing?” he asked, tappin
g the chopping board on the side of the pan, meat sliding into it.

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then I won't ask you. I'll wait until you want to tell me.”

  Assuming it was just a necromancer thing would have to do, for the time being.

  It was early afternoon by the time Akela and Atthis arrived. The stew simmered over a low flame, and I'd been knelt on an armchair, looking out of the window for them. Kouris and Katja were nowhere to be seen, and I wondered which dinner guest would be of more of a shock to my father: a pane or a King.

  “Northwood! Or perhaps I am saying Northwoods! It is us, we are here,” Akela called as she approached our house. “I am hoping your father is having all sorts of embarrassing tales to tell about you, Northwood!”

  I rushed to the front door, held it wide open for her, and saw how shamelessly happy Akela was for me. She gripped my shoulders, knocked her forehead against mine with no small amount of force, and refused to jinx our luck by saying anything out loud. Atthis was trailing behind, still at the foot of the hill, and I waited by the door as Akela barrelled my father into a hug.

  “Excellent! I am smelling stew, yes? Northwoods, both of you, you are being far too kind,” Akela said, towering over my father once she finally released him. “Yes, yes, and of course, it is good to meet you. My name is Akela Ayad, and we are checking on this stew.”

  My father shook her hand, and with a breathy laugh said, “I can't help but feel as though something's missing. Perhaps you'll be able to help.”

  They disappeared into the kitchen, and the lively discourse that rushed out into the hallway made it sound as though this was a regular event; as though Akela came over for dinner once a week, and my father already knew to trust her opinion, when it came to food. A cool breeze drifted in as Atthis approached, not wont to rush ahead as Akela was, and he stopped in the doorway, dropping his bags to his feet.

  “Kouris told me the good news,” he said, beaming. “A day into our travels and things are already going our way.”