When I could see again, the crack in the wall had closed, and the three of us were in a small, square space, wedged together in a room of dirt and rock. Mara was sprawled half over top of me, and the flashlight was pressed uncomfortably into my side. The silverie stood, watching the sealed wall like she wanted to see what it would do.
It occurred to me that I should probably be relieved now.
After all, Mara and I were finally safe. Right? Except dirt didn’t feel anything like strong enough to keep out that… whatever it was. Except—the shadow monster had held things and displayed strength, but I wasn’t sure if I had seen it break anything, or even cut anything. It probably could, but it struck me that I had no idea how weak or strong it was. Dirt walls might make us as safe as a dead man’s secret, or it might be as protective as paper.
If I had to bet, I’d bet on the latter.
Mara scrambled off me and sat on the oddly comfortable floor—covered in some kind of lichen, I think—reaching for the bat even as she slumped against the wall. The silverie turned back to us, as if she’d determined what the wall was doing and now needed to inspect us.
And that was another reason not to feel safe, not just yet—while Wardens and silveries could be considered tentative allies, that was a stretch, really, and I couldn’t remember any stories of a Warden being invited into a silverie’s halls. A stoic and dedicated guard could kill us just as thoroughly as an illdýr, except maybe with less satisfaction.
“Um. Thank you for opening a space for us, ma’am,” I said, wishing I’d spent more time learning about the non-murderous varieties of illdýr. Was ‘ma’am’ even appropriate here? “We would have died without your help.”
“Yeah.” Mara looked up from the floor. “We’re really in your debt.”
I wanted to kick her, but my closest foot was the injured one. Never openly admit a debt to an illdýr until you know how they like to be repaid. Better yet, never be in debt to an illdýr, but it was a little late for that.
The silverie inclined her head in acknowledgment of our thanks, which I took to be a good sign. “In such times as these, I think we’d better look out for each other, thinskin or no. But the real question here is: what in the seven amnunses was that creature?”
“Thinskin?” Mara raised an eyebrow.
“We don’t know, ma’am,” I said, cutting Mara off. “We’ve never seen anything like it before, and, as far as I know, there aren’t any Warden records of it.”
“Concerning,” was all she said in response.
Now what? She couldn’t really open the door for us again—if she would, she might as well have not saved us in the first place—but it wasn’t like we could sit here for the rest of the night. Could we? No. The silverie probably had a job to do, and we had to get back before Mara’s parents—or worse, Grammy—noticed we were missing.
“Considering how you favor that leg,” the silverie said at last, turning large pale eyes towards me, “you’re injured.”
“We’re also very thirsty,” Mara added hopefully.
The silverie just nodded. “There’s a break room, as you might call it, near the guard outpost. Not far from here. We’ll get you water there, and I’ll see about fetching something to help carry the boy. That’s also where your friend is, so that’ll work all around, I believe. Stay here and don’t move.”
A friend of ours? Mara and I exchanged glances. Who in Mithaedrir did we know that could possibly be in a silverie den?
The answer was obvious: Grammy. My heart leapt with relief, then plummeted down back into acid. On one hand, Grammy would know what to do, she would take care of everything, and we wouldn’t have to worry about any of it anymore. On the other, I, who should have known better, had gone traipsing into the woods, at night, with a civilian. Everything being “taken care of” would likely include me being grounded for the rest of my foreseeable lifetime. A future of nothing but schoolwork and training flashed before my eyes, and I briefly considered the possibility of moving in with the silveries.
Whether or not Mara had guessed the same as I did, she was rubbing a circle on top of the baseball bat’s handle and frowning thoughtfully. But before we could discuss the situation or come up with a cover story, the silverie returned. She was pushing a contraption halfway between a wheelbarrow and a wheelchair, made of stone and some kind of metal, and studded with colored stones and tiny metallic flecks in a swirling pattern. Heaps of cushions obscured the actual seat. She nodded towards it, and with Mara’s help I tentatively lowered myself into it.
It was more comfortable than I’d expected—as I sank into the deep, plush cushions, I wondered how I was going to ever get out again. I noticed some kind of directional mechanism built into the armrests, and after looking the thing over, my best guess was that this thing was built for a third party to carry someone, but it could be converted into a more proper wheelchair if necessary. I wasn’t given that option—probably for the best—and instead lay back and watched the roof and walls go past.
The corridor was strange, and smelled oddly of fresh wood. Perhaps it was from the roots that I could just barely see curling their way along the roof. Our passageway wasn’t quite like a cave, nor a hole, nor a hallway, but somehow all of those and none of them at the same time. It had evidently been shaped, purposefully, but it wasn’t smoothed out or what someone from my culture would think of as “finished.” Whether that was because this was an out-of-the-way corridor that didn’t need it, or because of different societal norms and priorities, I didn’t know. Either way, the cart I was in didn’t bump or jolt once.
Besides all that, there were faint, glowing lines of something, trailing along the wall in mauve hues, and that was all the light we got. It refracted off of crystalline stones embedded in the patchwork of stone and dirt, and shone, glittering, along a metallic substance scattered across the rock—like the flecks patterning the wheel-barrow-chair. The reflections and shimmers gave dimension and definition to the space we moved through, but without adding any actual light to the experience.
From the shadowy, Mara-shaped figure trailing after us, I could make out that she was navigating with a careful hand on the wall, but the silverie (unsurprisingly) was not bothered by the lack of light. Silveries didn’t need it the same way we did. Tilting my head back, I could see her horns glowing a soft aquamarine, and her pale eyes glittered, half with their own light, half with reflections from the walls.
It was a short enough ride, surprisingly pleasant in its smoothness and the softness of the pillows—as long as I could ignore the pain that was slowly intensifying in my foot. I could almost feel the locus of the injury, a throbbing tenderness along the side of my ankle bone and over the ridge of my foot. That, plus the thirst burning through my throat, kept me from fully relaxing. Not to mention, I had no idea how I was going to face Grammy. And what was she even doing here? We weren’t enemies of the silveries, but tales of cooperation between them and the Wardens were few and far between, and there were no records of humans entering silverie hollows. What had happened to drive her here? Maybe instead of worrying about myself, I should be worried about her. Was she okay? She’d been out in the night, like us—had she encountered the same monster we did, and been forced to beat a retreat? I almost hoped so. That might make her more sympathetic. Unlikely, but maybe.
I tried to relax my muscles, take advantage of this short moment of rest, but it was no use. By the time we got to where we were going, I itched to take control this contraption myself and try and get us going faster, despite how my body didn’t want to move anymore.
“Let’s get you up,” the silverie said. “Carefully, carefully.”
Despite her warning, I nearly panicked as the barrow-chair tilted, turning me upright. For a second I thought she was going to dump me on the floor, but I realized she’d engaged some sort of kick-stand that allowed the the whole thing to sit up and forward in a way that made it easy to slide out. The pillows must have been strapped in, somehow, since they didn’t follow my exit.
Mara came up and leveraged her shoulder under mine. Leaning on her for support, I hobbled my way into the room, throat constricting, still not sure what I was going to say. Sorry? How are you? What’s going on? Did you run into any living shadows out there?
But any and all thoughts of greetings died on my lips as I caught sight of the figure sitting there, back towards the door.
At first glance, it looked like a male silverie, crystalline horns jutting upwards sharply. But the horns weren’t glowing. And somehow, something felt weird about its posture in a way I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe they were too tall? Also, the back was covered in what looked for all the world like a suit, several sizes too large, which was very different from the robe-like wrap our silverie escort was wearing.
Then the figure casually turned to look back at us, and I saw the narrow, glowing gold eyes and slitted pupils.
“Well,” Kalgyrad said, unfamiliar face curved into its soft, recognizable smile. “Can’t say I was expecting this.”
I stopped dead in the doorway, the silverie behind me almost tripping to avoid running into me, Mara struggling to keep her balance. “Can’t say I was, either,” I replied dully, mechanically, my brain struggling to catch up to my eyes. Surely this was just a silverie. Surely I was misunderstanding something.
Kalgyrad stood up and bowed graciously, the picture of elegance despite how his usual dark blue suit and gold waistcoat sagged a bit, and pulled out a seat beside him. “It looks like you’re injured, young Vordur. I think you’d best stay off that foot.”
It was definitely him.
Mara was looking at me quizzically, trying to get me to move again. I allowed myself to be dragged forward, and sat—though I hated the thought of sitting so close to him. It felt vulnerable, dangerous. But refusing him might also be dangerous. The silverie had called him my friend, but whether she meant the Wardens, the Vordurs, or me specifically, I didn’t know. And why would they assume that? What was the silveries’ relationship to him? Why did he look like a silverie?
Mara pulled out a chair to join me, keeping a suspicious eye on Kalgyrad. She didn’t know who he was or what was going on, but she was no fool. She could tell there was something.
The silverie that had been accompanying us bowed. “Water is on the counter over there, and so is a first aid kit. I’d help with that, but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with human biology. So, I’ll leave you to help each other, but I’ll be on call if I’m needed.” And like that, she was gone.
Kalgyrad was still standing. “No need to stir yourselves, children, I’ll be glad to assist you.” He made his way over to the countertop and cabinets that I now saw lining the side wall of the room. The room gleamed, this time with a higher percentage of metallic flecks than colored stones. “I’d imagine, too, that this room is too dark for your eyes.”
There was a scratching snap, like a match, but distant and muffled, followed by a flaring puff of light. Kalgyrad turned around to set a candle on the table, as if he’d pulled it from thin air. I certainly hadn’t seen where it’d come from. Mara and I blinked in the sudden dimness, but more from relief than irritation. By the candlelight, I could see a bit more of the room, and the walls around me winked and glowed.
It was a small, rectangular room with a low, arched ceiling, not much bigger than my bedroom at home. There were small cabinets and counters on both side walls, carved into the stone that went halfway up the walls. The floor was earth, with some kind of springy moss that glittered faintly in the candlelight. Despite the walls also being mostly of earth, the place looked quite tidy. It smelled of loam and dirt and stone, thickly but not as oppressively as I would have imagined, and it summoned an almost faded memory—myself, very young (maybe three years old?), watching my father dig a garden.
“Many thanks for your visit,” Kalgyrad said, ironic amusement lining his eyes, and pushed two cups towards us.
Mara looked from me to Kalgyrad, still trying to figure out what was going on, but she was too thirsty to worry about it for long. She took the cup—delicately carved to almost glass-like thinness out of some kind of crystal—and didn’t put it down until she’d drained the cup.
“I would give you more, but perhaps best to let it settle, ey, young Vordur?”
I felt his eyes on me while I stared into my own carved cup. It looked like water and smelled like water, and my dry tongue and throat were more than ready to accept the offering. But still, there was something weird about this. I should have stopped Mara from drinking. We didn’t know what was in here, what he’d put into the cup. Maybe it was poison. Maybe the silveries weren’t friends, and were in league with the dragon, who was trying to weasel his way into… something.
I thought about what Grammy had said, about how there were no caverns big enough for a dragon in this area. Was he just looking for a new home to settle in, and that’s why the silveries? What did this mean?
“It’s good water,” Mara offered. “Nice and cool.”
I considered saying I wasn’t thirsty, but that was a blatant lie. And, anyway, Mara had already drunk. If she died, I’d be close behind—whether I chose the poison or not. Better to call his bluff, I decided.
I meant to be dignified about it. Instead, I found myself gulping it down like I’d die if it wasn’t drunk in the next two seconds. Mara was right. It was nice and cool, lacking in the thicker minerals that often accompanied tap water, and tinged with a fresh sort of sweetness. I could practically feel it trickling down into my stomach and through every parched vein in my body.
Well, I thought, recovering myself and neatly placing the cup next to Mara’s, I guess if it is poisoned, I’d rather die of that than of thirst.
Of course, I wasn’t fully quenched—though I did feel leagues better. While Kalgyrad was, unfortunately, correct about not drinking too much water at once, I was still tempted to get up and find the jar or sink or whatever and try and drown what remained of my thirst. But I didn’t. He was right, and the idea of putting weight on my foot sent an anticipatory pang through my leg.
“So, what exactly are you two doing in this neck of the woods, at night?” Kalgyrad said conversationally, pulling out the chair across from us and settling into it like he was preparing for an after-dinner chat. The barrier between us was welcome. “I was fairly convinced humans were diurnal.”
“You’re one to talk,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why are you out here, in a silverie hollow?” I didn’t know whether he was diurnal or nocturnal, so I decided not to respond to that.
Kalgyrad’s smile curled wider. “First, we must own up to having been poor hosts. This lovely young lady doesn’t seem fully aware of the situation we’re in.”
“I’ve at least figured out that you two know each other,” she said composedly, straightening her back like she was preparing for an pop quiz. She cast me a nervous side-eye.
“You may call me Kalgyrad,” he said graciously, extending his hand across the table.
Mara wasn’t one to shy away from, well, anything. She took his hand and shook it firmly.
“We know each other through his grandmother; a wise, clever woman, I must say.”
“He’s been kind enough to volunteer to teach me Mithae,” I added, stiffly, giving her a significant look.
I watched her eyes tighten as she nodded slowly, seeming to understand what I meant. I didn’t really want to say out loud “this is the dragon-man I’ve told you about” in front of him, in case he might object, or decide Mara was more involved than she was.
“Speaking of your grandmother,” Kalgyrad said, “I must confess I’m surprised she let you out under these conditions. That doesn’t seem like what I know of her.” There was a shine in his eye, of understanding. He was being polite, avoidant, but I knew he knew Grammy hadn’t authorized this. “She must be worried sick.”
“I suppose she will be,” I said evasively. “But she’s done a good job as a trainer, so it’s not really an issue.”
“And yet, you still got hurt.” His voice shifted to concern. I wanted to slap him. It was amazing how genuine he could sound while I still felt so condescended to.
“We had an… unexpected encounter,” Mara put in. I noticed she had let her hand drift towards the baseball bat propped up against her chair.
That wasn’t good.
I didn’t know what would happen in a direct fight against the shadow monster, though I could imagine plenty. Against a dragon? Suicide.
“We were just out patrolling the woods,” I said, trying to gain control of the situation. “Doing our duty as Wardens.” Mara wasn’t one, and neither was I, but he didn’t have to know that. “Keeping an eye on anything dangerous, and all that. Just routine, but… things… came up.”
“Of course.” Kalgyrad smiled again. “There really was something there, wasn’t there?”
I narrowed my eyes. Did he know anything? Or was he just guessing? “Yeah, we ran into a few foxlights and such.”
“Ah.” Kalgyrad nodded. “One of the local creatures. I’ve heard about them. Was it they who hurt your foot?”
“No. I-I fell down an incline at a bad angle.” I didn’t know why I couldn’t let him know about the shadow monster. Maybe I was afraid he’d use it against me. I think part of me wondered if he might be in league with the creature, somehow—two ultra-powerful illdýr moving to the same location at the same time was a heck of a coincidence. The rest of me just didn’t want to think about it anymore.
He clicked his tongue sympathetically, an oddly metallic sound. “The real danger of the forest is itself, it seems.”
“And what about you?” I said, more forcefully than I meant. “What are you doing out here? And why do you look like a silverie?”
“I was wondering about that,” Mara muttered.
Kalgyrad spread his palms in a gesture meant to look open and honest. “Well, I’m in their halls. It’s simple courtesy, really. They know I’m not one of them, but it’s the thought that counts. A gesture of good will, of sorts, a concrete way to show that I don’t see myself above them.”
“Is that why you can look human, too?” Mara said, squinting at him.
Kalgyrad smiled. “Something like that.”
“You’re a shapeshifter,” I said, needing to say it aloud, only now letting the full implications of that sink in. “And a dragon.”
He nodded. “It’s one of my special talents.”
I was an idiot. I hadn’t questioned at all that he could look like a human, maybe because, if the old tales were to be believed, it wasn’t uncommon that mithecal beings could take an alternate form. Dragons are powerful, obviously, so it made sense that one of them could pull off the change. But there are different levels of power, even among dragons, and to have a special talent like that spoke of a deep level of magic. If Kalgyrad could simply change his shape at will—
The air felt unbearably cold, and not from being underground and surrounded by stone. I licked dry lips.
Languidly, Kalgyrad reached back and picked up a crystalline pitcher from the counter behind him, filled up our glasses again, and set the pitcher on the table.
“Drink,” he said. “Even routine patrols can be thirsty work.”
Unlikely he’d ever done a day of that sort of work in his life, but I kept my head down and sipped slowly at my water, knowing it was far too late to keep a low profile and avoid him.
I really, really, wanted to just be asleep in my bed.
“Okay, so you’re a shapeshifter,” I said, almost in spite of myself. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re getting involved with the silveries.
“Well, we’re in their mountains,” he replied. “Again, it’s only polite. We went to the Wardens, after all, didn’t we? We wouldn’t want anyone to feel… threatened by new arrivals.”
“We?” Mara asked, clutching her glass. “Who’s working with you?”
Kalgyrad chuckled. “Quite the interrogation this is turning out to be, isn’t it?”
“I think we both want to know what’s going on,” Mara replied levelly, “And you seem to be the person best equipped to give answers.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Kalgyrad mused. He fiddled with something on the table I hadn’t noticed before—a long, thin stick of some kind of shimmery metal. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a Mithae stylus. It reminded me of one of his pens from the lesson he’d given me. “That being said, do I have a reason to tell you about my own, private business? As far as you two are concerned, I’m not convinced that it’s your affair who I am or am not affiliated with.”
“You’re working with my family,” I pointed out. “And the Wardens, which I’m a part of. Wardens take care of the land and the balance between species, so that does make this more or less our business. How do we know you’re not just trying to use the silveries for your own ends?”
“That makes it your grandmother’s business, perhaps,” Kalgyrad countered. “But you’re a little younger and lower down on the hierarchical ladder than she is. I have no reason to insist on keeping secrets from you, but I also have no incentive to reveal any, either. So if you don’t mind, I think I’d rather keep my own cards up my own sleeve, as you humans might say.”
Mara and I exchanged glances, both of us trying to figure out if he meant the phrase as we humans meant it, or if he was confusing it for a different saying.
“Well, in that case, we don’t have much cause to answer your questions, either,” Mara replied with a defiant lift of her chin.
Kalgyrad nodded. “That’s true, and I probe more out of curiosity than any real need for answers. You have to admit, it’s a strange occurrence to find young ones like yourself wandering so deep into the forest.”
That, at least, was true.
“But, again, I find my manners lacking. You need help with your injury, do you not?”
I opened my mouth, and then realized I didn’t know how to respond. While it was obvious that I did need help, I didn’t know that I wanted to accept help from him.
But Kalgyrad didn’t bother to wait for my go-ahead. Before I could properly figure out how to reply, or before I could ask him what the price would be, he had already slipped out of his chair and was messing with my ankle, turning it and prodding it. I gave a sharp yelp and would have yanked my foot back if his grip hadn’t been so firm.
Mara stood up so suddenly she knocked her chair back, baseball bat in hand. “What are you doing?” She asked tersely, not yet moving into an attack—to my immense relief. Not only was I in the way, I didn’t want us getting caught in a dragon fight.
“I’m diagnosing him,” he said calmly. “Considering how the ankle moves and the way you react to certain stimuli, I’d guess it’s a fracture and not a sprain.”
“A fracture?” I asked, feeling suddenly lightheaded. “Like, it’s broken?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Not exactly. And it will possibly be better for you in the long run, young Vordur. Bone heals faster than muscle.”
“Are you for sure about the diagnosis?” Mara asked, not relaxing.
Kalgyrad turned my foot more gently in his hands, frowning in concentration. There was a distant look on his face, like he was looking through my foot, not at it. I realized that I’d lost my shoe ages ago. That was going to be hard to explain to Grammy.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said finally. “Two hairline fractures. Your muscles are also stressed, but not quite sprained.”
“So what does that mean?” I said. I was acutely aware that I’d once again completely lost control of the situation. My foot was broken, or fractured, I was exhausted and in pain, in completely unfamiliar terrain, and the one guy I trusted least in the world was doing a convincing act as a doctor.
“Not to worry,” he said. “It should be easy enough to fix up. Though it might be swollen for about a week, and you’ll want to stay off it for at least two. I’d recommend crutches, if available.”
“O-okay,” I said, trying to figure out how I was going to sneak into a hospital. The closest thing that wasn’t an emergency clinic was in the big city, and that would take an hour drive, at least. Maybe Grammy knew someone who was secretly a doctor. It wasn’t unlikely, but that would require having to tell Grammy the full story—and I wasn’t sure about that, yet. As silly as it sounds, I was as afraid of her disappointment as I was of the dragon in front of me.
But before I could mentally pursue that thought any further, Kalgyrad grabbed his stylus and began drawing on the ground beneath me, humming in a low, rich bass.
Mithae. He could use Mithae for healing?
For a second, I was too flabbergasted to say anything, going over in my mind how many intricate directions and terms he’d need to know—and apparently did know—to just… freehand a rewrite like that. More, I was wondering how it was even possible. The Mithae I was familiar with could affect the body, yes, but it was generally accepted by Mithae users at large that a proper healing rewrite was too difficult, too complicated to be reliable. A functional one would require the wielder to have an astounding knowledge of both the physical body and Mithae—including terms and symbols that hadn’t been discovered yet, to my knowledge—as well as who knows how many decades of research behind them. But Kalgyrad had said that this complex and unheard of mithecal maneuver was “easy enough.”
It would seem that the prodigious lifespan of a dragon wasn’t just used for bragging rights.
I was too distracted by the shock to wonder what the price for this would be. What we’d have to pay in return for this service didn’t cross my mind, not until it was too late and there was a glowing, weaving line stretched along the floor around my chair. Unless….
Was he going to let me have this for free? That was as much of an impossibility as the rewrite he was scrawling around me. But I couldn’t risk saying anything and breaking his focus. I didn’t want him to slip up and accidentally, say, split my bones open further. It was also too late to ask him if he was that familiar with human biology, to check that he wasn’t assuming properties transferred over from dragon biology.
Biting my lip, gripping my chair, I watched, trying to make sense of what he was doing as a further orange-gold glow made the walls glitter, brighter and brighter, and his low hum moved to something like a spoken song. The little room echoed the deep voice, catching us in a web of sound that, I hated to admit, sounded fantastic, surreal, almost ethereal. It was mesmerizing, the whole performance as enchanting as the mithecal forces he was summoning. A glance towards Mara told me that she was even more enthralled, staring in wide-eyed delight, mouth slightly open. It probably helped that she wasn’t worried the spell might inadvertently turn her foot inside out.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over.
There was a rushing in my head like blood, and I could feel my ankle changing, somehow, something between pain and pressure, a compression and a pulsing. I sucked in a breath, trying to process all the sensations, before a sharp spike of pain pulled through my skin—and then the light was gone, dwindling down into the one little candle. I clutched my seat tighter, half afraid to look down and see what had happened.
Kalgyrad sat back on his heels, like he was perching on the ground. “How do you feel?”
He was annoyingly unaffected. Mithae of that magnitude should have drained him, made him tired. Instead, not a stitch of his recently ironed suit was out of alignment.
I swallowed my nervousness and looked down, angling my ankle. It was still swollen, but it… well… I tested it cautiously on the ground. There was a slight twinge that felt nothing more than sore. It wasn’t painful. I knew without trying that I could walk on it.
“I feel… better,” I said, reluctant to go overboard with my praise. But I knew my eyes were wide in wonder. “That was… a cool use of Mithae.” I had to acknowledge that, but I didn’t want to admit how impressive I’d found it. “Thanks,” I added. It would be impolite to assume bad motivations, I decided. No use worrying about what hadn’t come up.
“You are most welcome,” Kalgyrad added with another one of his smiles. “Remember what I said earlier: it’ll stay swollen for a while, and you’ll still want to keep off it for a few weeks. That will help the muscles, too.”
I looked over at Mara, who had composed herself back on her chair. She was chewing on her lip thoughtfully, watching Kalgyrad through narrowed eyes.
“That was a nice gesture,” she admitted. “And pretty neat magic. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us learning it…?”
Kalgyrad laughed. He stood up and lounged against the table. “Maybe some day. I could teach you that particular rewrite, but it would have very limited use—unless young Vordur here has a habit of cracking his bones in that exact spot. So you’ll have to be patient until you can learn and understand the theory behind the execution.” It was almost an electric shock to realize that he looked and sounded genuinely pleased. The laugh hadn’t been as… as… as scripted as usual.
He really liked using Mithae, didn’t he?
Mara nodded, eyes distant, like she’d forgotten about us for a bit. It was likely she was pondering Mithae and her hopes to learn it.
Meanwhile, I was having another revelation. The idea that he might have had to tailor the rewrite to me, specifically, hadn’t occurred to me. I suddenly got the impression of being a small child, asking if the sea was as big as the pond near where we used to live—a tiny, ignorant thought that didn’t understand the magnitude of what an ocean could be. Here, I was still that child, on the shore of a sea of Mithae that ebbed and flowed with an unsearchable enormity of possibilities, beyond anything I’d previously thought of. And worse, it was beyond what anyone had ever thought. No one I knew of in Warden society had dreamed of anything like that healing spell. We were all still looking at the pond and imagining ourselves sailors.
I didn’t trust Kalgyrad, didn’t like him—though this incident was making me view him more positively, if by a razor thin margin—but maybe there was something I could learn from him.
That was for later, though.
Kalgyrad straightened and, just like that, he was back to his human form, the too-large suit now appearing perfectly tailored. I was too shaken by, well, everything to pay proper attention to the transition.
I swallowed, trying to ignore all the thoughts I’d had before, about what shapeshifting really meant. “So, what now?” I asked. “Mara and I would like to go back to her home, if possible, but we’re a little lost.”
What else could I say? It wasn’t like we were going to get any information out of him about the shadow monster—if he knew anything at all. And how do you follow up an insane performance of Mithae, done in front of you with all the concern of someone putting on a jacket?
“Well, I think all that’s left to do now is to make a proper deal,” Kalgyrad said casually, tapping his stylus on the table.
But I saw the glitter in his eyes. My newfound feeling of interest and vague positivity shattered like glass. “What do you mean by a deal, exactly?”
“Two things,” Kalgyrad replied, lifting up corresponding fingers. “One, I think we both know that you being out in the woods wasn’t officially sanctioned Warden business.” He tucked one finger away, lowering the other to point directly at me. “And two—what is your foot worth to you?”
Mara and I exchanged glances, faces struggling to settle on any one emotion. A coldness settled in my lungs, half a smothering fear of the dragon, half a vein of anger seeping through the cracks.
“I never asked you to heal my foot,” I snapped.
“And yet, now it’s healed.” Kalgyrad spread his hands as if to say there was nothing he could do about it. “My first deal is simple: you don’t tell your grandmother where I was, and I won’t tell her where you were, or any of the other subsequent details.”
“Seems pretty suspicious that you’re trying to keep your movements a secret,” Mara said, fingering the baseball bat again. “If you’re really staying quiet about our questions, because it’s just ‘none of our concern,’ then it shouldn’t also be such a big deal that you want it hushed up.”
Kalgyrad chuckled. “I’m a business man, of sorts, meaning that trades and power a large part of my vocation. I see an opportunity, and to me, knowledge is the most potent power there is. I have my reasons.”
“And why do you think that we’re as desperate as you to keep secrets?” I said. If I could have broken the chair from grip-strength alone, it would have been in splinters.
“Because you know your grandmother wouldn’t like it,” Kalgyrad said. “And she’d cause trouble, for both of us. What exactly do you think would happen if she found about your trip, when she gave you express instructions to stay behind the lainlines? Or if she found out about how much your school friend knows? From what I know of the Wardens, this young lady isn’t one, is she?”
“Grammy’d ’cause trouble?'” I seized at the only thing I could plausibly attack. “‘For the both of us?’ Is that some kind of threat? Or are you feeling threatened by her?” I didn’t want to think about how his barbs had struck home.
“Neither. I just know the limits of humans better than they do themselves,” Kalgyrad replied, all a mask of calm politeness.
“Well, thank you for your concern,” Mara put in, “but I don’t mind who knows what I know. I couldn’t care less if someone found out.”
“But what if they found out that it was your friend who told you?” Kalgyrad countered. “Found out that he broke the rules?”
“Grammy is a reasonable person,” Mara said, folding her arms back over her chest.
“His grandmother isn’t the only person involved in the Wardens,” Kalgyrad replied, pointing the stylus at her.
“They might still be better than you,” I said, coldly.
Kalgyrad turned the weight of his golden eyes on me. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me reprovingly, like I’d disappointed him.
Well, he wasn’t the only one who got to feel betrayed tonight. But fear and uncertainty swirled over the rest of the cutting remarks I had in my mind. Don’t provoke him too far, my mind whispered. What Grammy will do in the future only matters if the dragon doesn’t overreact now.
“Granted,” he said, as if his moment of discountenance hadn’t happened, “I am not familiar with the bulk of the Wardens. But I have eyes and ears in many places, so I don’t find the situation as promising as you do.”
Once again, infuriatingly, he was probably right. Whenever the Wardens at large got a bee in their bonnet, they could be maddeningly implacable. They’d probably force Mara to be a Warden out of principle and paranoia, and I already knew she wouldn’t do well in their environment.
“Getting back to our point,” he continued smoothly, “I believe it would be in everyone’s best interests to keep this our little secret. For now, at least. I don’t think your parents would be much pleased to find out about this adventure, either, young lady.” Kalgyrad gazed at Mara, and she looked away. “So, do we have a deal?”
I gritted my teeth.
At least this was mutually assured destruction. Neither of us could say anything without outing the other. And I didn’t have any solid proof, yet, that Kalgyrad was up to anything nefarious, so there wasn’t any way to back up our accusations right away. Besides, just because he was in a strange place didn’t necessarily mean that there were schemes afoot.
This wasn’t letting him win, exactly. This was a tactical retreat. We could afford to wait, and to avoid irritating him more than necessary.
“Fine,” I said. Mara shot me a surprised look. “We’ll keep quiet on our end if you do on yours. But if something happens and anyone finds out one way or another, then we’re both off the hook.”
Kalgyrad inclined his head. “Understood.”
“So, what’s the second deal?” Mara said, tucking one of her small braids back behind her ear. I realized how messy her hair looked and thought with a twinge of guilt that she was probably going to have to redo her whole head tomorrow. Maybe she could still salvage it? I didn’t know.
Kalgyrad went back to tapping his stylus. “You know, I’m not sure yet what to propose. I healed your foot.” He refocused his heavy gaze on me “Again, I ask you what’s that worth to you?”
I pressed my lips together, frustrated, paralyzed. What on earth would be worth that? Maybe I could bluff, and pretend that the Mithae was just something regular and not that special, and he could be content with— with what? I had nothing, small or great, that I could offer. I was 15. It wasn’t like I had a lot of personal property to work with.
Maybe I could get something from Grammy? No, that would just reveal everything and put us right back to where we started. And stealing from her would go neither unnoticed nor unquestioned.
“Well, what’s it worth to you?” Mara replied. “You’re the one insisting on a deal.”
Kalgyrad chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. However, I’m afraid I don’t know what is available to be bartered.”
“Nothing,” I said, quietly, staring at the table. “I don’t have anything that would be of use to you.” Better to not beat around the bush. I was too tired to bluff properly, anyway. But now what? Would he, I don’t know, re-fracture my foot? Chop it off and take it with him? Dragons often operate by fae logic, after all, so my being in debt to him wasn’t going to get a free pass. I had been stupid to hope otherwise.
I should have known better than to accept his help. Worse, I did know better. I’d just been too distracted by the shiny new magic.
Kalgyrad considered my confession. I wanted to snatch the stylus from his hand and break it, just to stop the relentless tapping.
Of course, I didn’t.
“Well, then,” he said at last. “I guess you’ll just have to owe me a favor.”
This didn’t seem like much of a better deal than losing my foot. Favors like that always seemed like they came back to bite. “What kind of favor?” I asked.
Kalgyrad shrugged. “I’m not sure. If I already knew what I wanted you to do, I’d go ahead and ask.”
Mara frowned. “That sounds decently fair, considering we didn’t know we had to strike a bargain to begin with. But first, two things.” She held up her fingers in what I suspected was imitation of Kalgyrad from earlier. “One, it’s only fair to know what kind of situation he might get called into, if this kind of thing is going to be looming over him. Two: you should make the deal with me instead of him, since it’s my fault his foot got hurt in the first place.”
Kalgyrad lifted an amused eyebrow as I sputtered in protest.
“That’s not true,” I said hotly, sitting up ramrod straight. “You would never have insisted if I hadn’t been an idiot. And you’re not the one that pushed me down the mountain.”
Kalgyrad made some kind of reaction that I could just faintly see out of the corner of my eye, but Mara and I were locked in a glaring contest. I paid him no mind.
“Yeah, but this was all my idea,” Mara shot back. “You might have been a condescending prick, but I let my pride get in the way of common sense. You probably would have long since made it out of these woods, too, if you hadn’t been trying to shepherd me at the same time.”
“Maybe, but I would have already died if you hadn’t—”
“Only because you remembered to bring—”
“Alright, alright!” Kalgyrad put up his hands, and somehow, as low as he spoke, we couldn’t help but break off our fight and give him our attention—if through scowls. “Let’s put it this way: you both had a part in what happened, and both had a part in the solution. So, whatever favor I ask, I’ll make sure it applies to the both of you.”
“Now that’s not—”
“Unless you’d prefer to owe one favor each?” Kalgyrad cut me off. “Either way, it’s clearly not going to work to involve one but not the other.”
Mara and I looked from him to each other, sullen and unsure. Finally, we nodded and looked back to him.
“We’ll take the joint favor,” Mara said, with all the dignity of a general preparing a surrender.
Kalgyrad clasped both long hands in front of him like he’d been offered dessert. “Excellent. We’ve arrived at two simple deals. First, you don’t tell Madam Vordur about me, and I won’t tell her about you. Second, in return for having healed young Vordur’s foot, you will both collectively owe me a favor. And as to the type of favor,” he added, catching Mara’s narrowed gaze, “I cannot yet say what it might be, except that I will do my best to make sure it isn’t life-threatening.”
“That feels a little steep for an injured foot that could maybe have healed without even needing a doctor,” Mara huffed.
“I only don’t promise safety,” Kalgyrad said, skewering her directly with a gaze of his own, “because guarantees of that sort are beyond anyone’s power. I can at least promise that I would not ask you to do anything that I knew to be unsafe.”
I hated to admit it, but, in a disturbing pattern, he once again had a point. Mara wouldn’t have asked me to come to the woods if she’d assumed it’d be life-threatening, and yet, here we were, in a silverie tunnel making a deal with a dragon. “Alright, then.” I said. “How do we confirm the deal?” Kalgyrad opened his mouth to speak, but I put up a hand to stop him. “And what would be the price be for helping us get back to Mara’s house, before dawn?”
Kalgyrad smiled approvingly. I wasn’t sure I liked that. “Not to worry, that is less my domain and more the silveries’. I would be nothing more than a simple escort, since our paths happen to lead in a similar enough direction. So no price from me.”
I filed away that information for later. Maybe his route could be a clue to what he was up to.
“However, I can’t be sure the silveries will say the same.”
There was an unhappy thought. The silverie guard had saved our lives—what would they ask in return for that? Still, I nodded. There wasn’t much else I could do.
“Now as for signing the deal—” Kalgyrad pulled a thin book out of his suit pocket, reminiscent of the one he’d used during the lesson that felt like it’d happened four months ago. But it was smaller, more compact, and the paper looked thicker. He rifled quickly through the pages until he got to the one he wanted, and popped the top off of his stylus, revealing it to to be a pen as well.
Mara and I watched and waited in silence while he calmly made an entry. Kalgyrad capped the pen, flipped it neatly around his fingers, and uncapped the other side, revealing a small knife. Setting the notebook on the table, I saw a title of sorts, and two smaller, boxed off sections. But I couldn’t read any of it. It looked like some mishmash of Mithae letters and some kind of… maybe Korean? Obviously it wasn’t—it was probably a draconic script—but I was more focused on the knife just then, anyway.
“Your fingerprints here and here, please,” he said brusquely, tapping each boxed off section. “Like this.” He carefully pricked the tip of his index finger—which I noticed to have some kind of… pad on it, like a thinner, less obvious version of a cat’s paw—and when a drop of blood welled, he pressed it under each section. It left a faintly fingerprint-patterned smear spreading out onto the paper, and turning a deep orange.
“Blood,” he explained as he faced our stony expressions, “is a better mithecal signature than a fingerprint that your police would use, or the simple writing that most humans seem to rely on. All of the above have their strengths and uses, but blood is best for signing a deal. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”
I grabbed the book and pulled it closer, holding out my hand for the tiny knife. Sooner done, sooner left behind. I was growing to resent Kalgyrad more with every passing moment. So much for that brief, fleeting moment of positivity. Still, I cooperated, biting my lip and forcing myself not to think too hard as I pricked my finger—which, due to the razor sharp edge, was not as difficult as I’d feared—and pressed my finger beside Kalgyrad’s prints. My blood, too, spread out and turned orange. Maybe it was a property of the book, or of Mithae, or whatever else. I didn’t care anymore. Still, I couldn’t help but notice slight ridges coming from the other side of the paper. It looked similar to the writing for our entries, and in a similar box shape.
There were other entries in the book, other deals, recorded on the earlier pages.
I wasn’t in a position to speculate about that now, though. It, like so many other things, would have to wait until I got to safety and a bed.
Mara, too, cooperated without a word.
“There,” Kalgyrad said. “It’s done. We have the record, and we’ll both know if either of us breaks our side of the deal. Now, I believe you wanted to go home?”
Before Mara or I could protest or ask for more information, Kalgyrad swept out of the room to find our guide from earlier.
“He’s a bit overbearing, isn’t he?” Mara muttered. “I don’t think I like him much.”
I nodded a heartfelt agreement.
And then, the night was over.
The silverie cheerfully pointed us in a direction that Kalgyrad seemed familiar with. He led us on our way, chatting amiably with the silverie about the strong points and weak points of architecture and tunnel systems. It probably would have been a fascinating conversation if it had come from anyone else, and if Mara and I weren’t on our last legs of exhaustion. I hadn’t slept for almost 22 hours (I’d been woken up early the previous morning by nightmares), and I was feeling it acutely.
The tunnels led on for what felt like hours, appearing much the same as the one we’d come in through—though with a varying pattern of colors which seemed intentional, but which I couldn’t make sense of. We took turns and climbed slopes that felt like they’d never end, and all the while I tried to limp and keep weight off my bad foot, but it got increasingly sore. It was better than if it had still been fractured, but that thought wasn’t doing much to stop it hurting now.
And then, at last, we reached the end. The silverie fiddled with something I couldn’t see, and the ground in front of us opened more uniformly than the crack from earlier.
“Thank you for saving our lives,” Mara said to the silverie, bringing forth a tone of sincere thanks that I knew was partially genuine and partially put on to exclude Kalgyrad.
The silverie clasped her hand. “Like I said, in times like these we all have to look out for each other.” The silverie hesitated. “I’d expect the same reaction if one of us needed shelter, as well.”
So that was the price. Mutual aid and cooperation. Well, that seemed fair, and I was a lot more willing to hear her out. Though the thought of a silverie showing up at Grammy’s house and requesting entry was somewhat jarring. It almost made me laugh, with how incongruous it felt from every other illdýr that had knocked on our doors throughout the years.
“Of course,” Mara said, and I nodded my assent.
To my relief, the silverie did not seem to have her own version of Kalgyrad’s notebook.
“My name is Krestan Denite,” she said. “Make sure they’re familiar with it before you let them in.”
We both promised we would, and left into the slumbering dark, a world only just beginning to dream of waking up. A few steps away was a road, and as it twisted away, I could see the entrance to a driveway, the one leading to Mara’s house. I sent a silent thanks towards Krestan for her navigational skills.
“And now, with you both more or less safely at your doorstep, I assume you can manage?” Kalgyrad slid his hands into his pockets. Despite the journey, his suit still looked crisp and clean. I felt an urge to try and smack the soft smile off of his face, but that urge quickly melted away as my brain continued to play out the scenario, ending with Mara and I sprawled, probably dead, on the road below.
“We’ll be fine,” Mara said primly, grabbing my hand as if I were a child she was pulling away from danger. “I would say no thanks to you, but I suppose you did heal Rhys. So. Thank you for that.”
His eyes glittered with their own light. “You are most welcome. I look forward to seeing you both again.” He pulled away, then stopped and looked at us, an unsettling intensity on his face. “I think it would be wise if you didn’t make a habit of this sort of excursion,” he said quietly. “Take my words how you will, but keep in mind that your lives and safety might be lost in such a gamble.”
Mara and I looked at each other. I felt a shiver of dread crawl up my backbone.
“Everyone thinks they know what’s going in the woods,” he said, looking out across the road to where the trees parted, providing a view of the valley shadowed in black. “But they don’t. Not even I, really; not anymore. There are new things moving. Best for everyone to stay out of their way.”
One last time, he locked eyes with each of us in turn, and then left before we could reply.
I felt sick, and I wasn’t sure if that was nerves or fatigue.
Mara and I stood there, watching as Kalgyrad seemed to disappear before our eyes, still holding hands like the feel of another living, non-murderous being was a lifeline.
Finally, I guided us towards the road, sharply aware that it was still night out, still dangerous. Mara mumbled something under her breath that did not sound complimentary. But, ominous warnings or not, we had a more immediate issue to deal with.
It was probably, considering the late night from before, that the family would sleep in. No one among them got up before 7 on a normal day, Mara told me, so it was safe to assume that we’d have about a half-hour past that. It was about 6 now, I guessed from the stars—we should have an hour and a half. As long as we were careful and quiet, we could sneak back in, get a shower, change clothes, and get in bed before anyone stirred. And, as Mara pointed out, we wouldn’t be expected to get up early, anyway, so we should be able to get a few hours of sleep in.
It was beyond wearying to think about. When my shoulders slumped, I half-imagined they’d shove the rest of me downwards with them, until I sank into the frost-cracked ground at our feet.
But, well, it wasn’t like we had much choice. And sleeping without a shower was out of the question, unless we wanted to get dirt all over clean sheets, which would be even more conspicuous than wet hair on two kids who were supposed to have slept all night.
So, holding our breaths and preparing for one last hurrah, we snuck around the back and made our way inside.
Thankfully, nothing sprang up to challenge us. For the first time since that accursed night began, everything went smoothly—despite me almost dozing off in the shower. I crawled into the fresh, clean sheets of the guest bedroom, hair faintly dripping, and fell asleep before I could either set an alarm or panic about what Grammy would say when she saw my foot.
Tomorrow would have to worry about itself.
To be continued…