Page 190 of Of Empires and Dust
He’d not particularly liked the idea of spending the night in the marshes. But they were to fly for Ilnaen the next morning, and the marshes were the safest place to rest with just the two of them. The only sign of life Valerys had spotted for miles were small rats, rabbits, snakes, and birds. The dragon had seen some deer with strange backwards antlers near a larger patch of earth a few miles back, but for the most part, the marsh’s occupants would leave Calen and Valerys alone as long as they did the same.
Calen drew a cold breath of air through his nostrils, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He let the breath out slowly.
Alone.
The word had once terrified him. But at that moment it gave him peace.
This was the first time he and Valerys had been truly alone in months. The marshes stretched for hundreds of miles, and not a single soul within its bounds wanted anything from them. They were not being pulled in all directions, not being told how and when to act, not having people look at them like they were some saviours or heroes of old.
Calen dreamt of climbing onto Valerys’s back and flying away. Just leaving. They could rest in the Varsundi mountains,fly south to Narvona, where the cities were built from marble and gold, or to Ardan, where the land stretched endlessly to the horizon. He allowed himself a few moments of that dream before setting it on fire.
Calen opened his eyes without lowering his head. The stars shone bright above, that same pink hue tarnishing their light. He turned his gaze to the source of the poisoning glow.
The Blood Moon was at its fullest. It waxed and waned like any moon, or so he had been told. Though the Order had fallen on the twenty-eighth day of the last Blood Moon, which told Calen that the waxing and waning meant little.
Sheltered within the walls of Aravell, his only experience with the Blood Moon’s effects had been during battle for the city and in scouring the remnants of the Lorian forces afterwards. The Uraks that had set upon them in the woodland had been different creatures to the ones Calen knew. Stronger, more vicious – if that could even be possible. But still, from the reports he’d heard, the moon’s effects on the rest of the continent were far greater. Entire cities were gone, razed to the ground, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of souls snuffed out.
And all the while, he and Valerys had just sat in Aravell, licking their wounds, twisting words with the elves. The thought was infuriating. At least now they were doing something. At least now they could make a difference. First, they would see what awaited them in Ilnaen. Then, they would do as asked and win Aryana and Tukul Unger’s oaths. After that, they would go and protect their home.
As the word ‘home’ lingered in Calen’s mind, Valerys alighted behind him, the damp ground absorbing the shock of his landing.
The dragon dropped the body of a half-eaten deer into the grass, blood painting his scales and dripping from his maw.
“Home,” Calen whispered as he approached Valerys, who nudged the deer carcass before ripping a leg free with a snap of tendon and bone.
The dragon eyed Calen sideways and nuzzled into his outstretched palm, continuing to crunch on his meal. Images of The Glade passed from Calen to Valerys, images of the home Calen had grown up in, of The Gilded Dragon, of Vars’s forge, of the Moon Market.
The smile that graced Calen’s lips vanished as quickly as it had appeared. That home was gone. Burned to ash and dust by the same Uraks that now laid waste to the continent.
Up until learning the truth from Haem, he had at least been able to believe that no matter what, no matter where he travelled or what things he’d seen, he could always go home. His parents might not be there to greet him, but his home would always be his home. That fact had been immutable, except it was not.
The Glade was gone. His parents were dead, Rist likely with them. And now Ella lay unconscious on a bed in Aravell, and Calen had absolutely no idea if she’d ever wake. It felt as though the threads that tethered him to the world were slowly coming loose. Dann, Haem, Elia, Lasch, and Faenir – and he supposed Therin, in a way – were all that remained from the life he’d left behind.
Valerys stopped chewing and let out a warm breath of air that smelled of ash and fresh blood. He nudged his cheek into Calen’s shoulder, a low rumble in his throat.
Warmth flooded across the bond, allowing Calen a soft sigh as the cold fled his fingers and toes. But with the warmth came faces that drifted through Calen’s mind: Jorvill Ehrnin, Ferrin Kolm, Aela and Erdhardt, Tharn and Ylinda… Anya Gritten.
Even without words, it was clear to him what Valerys was trying to say: the home may be gone – the wood, and the stone, and the glass – but the people remained.
He remembered his mother’s words when he’d asked her why she’d never wanted to go home. Home in her case had been a village somewhere in southern Illyanara. Karikloan, she’d once told him it was called. Calen had never been there; he’d barely left The Glade before meeting Erik and the others.
“Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling,”she’d said.“Home is knowing you’re safe and loved. Home is knowing that you are where you need to be. My home is here with you,”she’d said, brushing his cheek with her thumb.“With you and Haem and Ella and your dad. Home is where your heart goes when you let it wander.”
Calen sighed softly, resting his forehead against Valerys’s scales, the warmth bringing relief from the frigid air. A pressure built behind his eyes, and his throat grew tight. He would never hear his mother’s voice again, never get the chance to tell her how much comfort all those words of wisdom had given him.
The sorrow turned to anger at the thought of Farda walking free in the Eyrie. At the thought of the man who’d murdered his mother still drawing breath while she lay in Heraya’s embrace.
He butted his head against Valerys’s side, running his hands over the small horns that jutted from the dragon’s forelimb. Those thoughts led to dark places.
After Valerys had consumed every shred of muscle, bone, and cartilage, Calen laid out his blanketroll at the dragon’s side and stared up as Valerys closed his wings around him.
That night he dreamt vivid dreams. The dreams that felt real. If Ella did wake up – no,whenElla woke up, he would ask her if she dreamt those same dreams. He would sit down and talk to his sister until the sun set and rose again and set once more. He would never again take the sound of her voice for granted.
The next day,Calen and Valerys flew for hundreds of miles without a break, clearing the marshlands and leaving the thick fog and eerie silence behind.
They stayed high, soaring between the clouds and blending with the sky so that nothing below could mark their flight. But through the dragon’s eyes, they could see the comings and goings of the land from above. Caravans of people journeyed eastward, towards the marshes and the coastal cities. No doubt they were coming from Argona. Calen had never laid eyes on Illyanara’s capital, and now he never would. He’d heard it had been enormous, that The Glade itself would have fit inside its walls a hundred times over – a thousand, even, if the bards and travelling merchants were to be believed. Though, now that Calen had seen more of the world, he understood that all stories were both exaggerated and diminished.
Apart from the weary travellers trudging along the roads, large groups moved about bearing all sorts of colours, sigils, and banners. Some numbered no more than fifty, while others were in their hundreds. It was precisely as Therin had said. As the empire’s hold on Illyanara faltered, others were beginning to grab at any shred of power they could find.
