Stormrise

By the end of the week, our weapons and breastplates had been delivered from the main camp, though without the helmets we would have worn into battle. The breastplates were specially crafted—thin and supple, made from tightly stitched braids of leather, so that we could engage in Neshu without being encumbered. Not as protective as a full breastplate, but better suited for our unit. Intense training with a weighty practice sword made my real sword feel lighter, though the added bulk of the breastplate, despite its lightness, made me feel slow.

Jasper pushed us to our limits, demanding stamina when we flagged while sparring and speed when we faltered from exhaustion. Over and over, he drilled us on the details of the high king’s rescue and the layout of Ylanda City. We practiced walking silently through the grass and slipping into shadows; we took turns launching surprise attacks on each other to heighten our reflexes. And we stood quietly when twice runners came with word from the north, speaking privately with Jasper before spurring their steeds for the return journey.

My dreams were laden with Nuaga’s unseen presence and with visions of the slaughtered dragon and her captured dragonling. I was certain Nuaga had imprinted the scene in my sleeping mind, and the horror of it hung thick in my heart every day when I awoke. It was hard to ignore the fact that, despite her beautiful eyes, Nuaga was the embodiment of the violence she’d shown me. Huge, scaled, serpentine. Surely that broad, thick-haired snout contained rows of merciless teeth. And stories from my childhood had emphasized the dragonbreath—hot enough to melt flesh from bone, or to ignite a field of dry grass with one exhalation.

This was what Nuaga wanted me to receive as her mark. I couldn’t imagine saying yes.

“Storm! What are you waiting for?” Rock’s deep voice called from somewhere within a stand of trees.

I straightened my shoulders and checked my sword. “Coming.”

It was the last training round of the day—my turn to deal with an unexpected attack. It was easier to feel fierce when I was the one hiding in a hollow or around a bend, but bracing myself for a surprise melee made me tense to my bones.

I picked my way carefully along the path, a half mile of mostly wooded terrain where four of my colleagues were hiding, ready to challenge me. I hadn’t gone a hundred paces when Rock barreled toward me.

His role was clear—unarmed attacker with brute strength. Rock was a vast expanse of muscle; in comparison, I was a dwarf. He knew he could best me at tests of strength, so my natural instinct was to move immediately to Neshu in the hope of outwitting and defeating him.

It worked—barely. As I gave the Great Cry, I felt as though I had already used all my strength—and three more surprise attackers remained hidden.

“I thought I was ready for you,” he said, breaths heaving.

“You shouldn’t have called out to me,” I said. “It was easy to guess you were nearby.”

Coast and Briar were next, accosting me from opposite sides of a small clearing. Their practice swords were drawn, and I drew mine as I quickly debated which to engage first.

They were both excellent swordsmen, but Coast was definitely the better—and also more than a head taller than I. I was able to disarm Briar and kick his sword into the undergrowth with a series of Neshu moves, but Coast engaged me quickly and efficiently, pressing his blade against my neck before I knew what had happened.

“You took your eyes off me when you kicked Briar’s weapon,” he said. “That was all the time I needed.”

I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. “You always beat me with the sword.”

“Not always,” Coast said. “Not when you’re paying attention.”

I looked at Briar, but, as usual, he didn’t offer eye contact. It was as though talking to people were physically painful for him.

“You’re fast,” I said to him. “And good. Maybe be prepared for Neshu combat next time?”

He nodded, but his face was knotted into a frown. “S’da.”

Coast clapped Briar on the shoulder. “Let’s see if we can down some pheasants while there’s still light.”

I watched them go, angry at my defeat and wondering if Briar spoke more when he was alone with Coast. Still seething, I turned toward the heavily wooded rise of ground that held my final hidden enemy. I gave myself a few more seconds to catch my breath before heading into the trees.

Forest came at me silently, like a panther. I assumed a defensive posture and reached over my shoulder for the wooden dagger sheathed in my breastplate as soon as I saw the practice blade in his hand. He danced lithely to my left, avoiding my block and lunging headfirst into my stomach. I fell backward and he landed on top of me.

I cried out and used a swift cut with my knife arm to knock the blade from his hand. He countered by slamming both my arms into the ground and pinning them with his knees. The dagger fell from my grasp, but I was able to use my leg to knock Forest off-balance, and moments later we were wrestling on the ground, neither getting the better of the other.

Until suddenly he had me pinned. His forearm was tight against my neck and his nose was inches from mine.

“Surrender,” he said.

“No.”

I struggled to twist from his grasp, but the advantage was his. Determined, I snaked one arm free and used the heel of my palm beneath his jaw, shoving his head up and back in an effort to dislodge his hold.

“Storm, stop. You’re beat.”

“Not … beat.” I kept shoving.

“If this were real, you’d be dead. My blade’s right here.”

He loosened his grip as he reached for the dagger, and I growled and flipped him over, landing hard on top of him. He went limp, and for several seconds my body rose and fell with his breathing. Every inch of my skin awoke, feeling his heat and the strength of his muscles beneath me.

I lifted my head and met his gaze, and the brown-gold of his eyes arrested me. I’d never noticed the depth of their color before.

“Storm. Get off me.”

I rolled onto the ground, melting with embarrassment I couldn’t show, and reached for my dagger. “Sorry. I should’ve stopped.”

“It won’t be the same with a real enemy,” Forest said. “It’s hard to say what would happen if we really wanted to kill each other.”

I stood and resheathed my dagger and couldn’t seem to make myself look at Forest. “True.”

“Ready to head back?”

“Ready.”

We walked mostly in silence, catching our breath. I couldn’t find words to speak, anyway—I felt as though I had thrust my heart at him in full view, and there was no way to take it back.

And yet he hadn’t seen, because he hadn’t expected to see.

Great God, where had these feelings come from? I would have to stamp them out the way I would an errant campfire.

If only I knew how.

The last hold of summer slackened, and as the falling season approached, the nights grew chillier. As the sun set on Oradon, we were given heavier blankets and leather, fur-lined cloaks from the supply wagon. The coffers of the high king surely ran deep, to provide so well for his army.

First watch was mine that night. I hurried to my post, my hand sweaty on the hilt of my sword.

Quiet settled around me as the others disappeared into their tents. River was last to go, banking the fire before crawling into the tent he shared with Sedge. I wondered how he could stand it.

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour later when sudden darkness enveloped me, and I stood once more inside a waking dream. Soundlessly, Nuaga stepped forward.

“Nuaga.” I spoke her name as boldly as I could.

She stopped several paces from me and lowered her face to the level of mine; she was huge and magnificent and real. She was also undeniably familiar. As though I had known her a long time.

Time grows short. Release me and receive my mark.

“You’ve said that before,” I said, “but I don’t understand.”

Do you carry my Lament in your heart?

“Yes.” I’d had it memorized for days. “But I still don’t understand what you’re asking of me.”

A long, hollow sound, like a sigh, escaped her. The Lament contains the words you will need to wake the dragons.

“I don’t understand.” Remorse wound its way through me, and I couldn’t account for it. Was this the magic of T’Gonnen rising up within me, or was it my own heart, finally opening to Nuaga? I thought of the baby dragon and its slaughtered mother. I thought of how Nuaga seemed sure I was worthy of her mark.

Yet what had I done to be worthy, other than to accidentally wake her by taking the dragon powder?

Nuaga seemed to be waiting for me to say something. I licked my lips and chose my words with care. “Teach me.”

Behold.

Her eyes caught mine before I could look away. Once again, I was drawn in, as through a thousand doorways.

Darkness swirled around me like a living thing. I stood, nearly blind, my feet submerged in a warm, soft substance that felt like it was breathing. When I tried to lift a foot, it wouldn’t move. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that I was surrounded by a low wall over which I could barely see. It seemed like a stall of some sort. A pen.

A nest.

The swirling ooze pulled at my feet, irresistible and comforting, and I found I suddenly wanted nothing more than to sink into it and sleep. Slowly, I became aware of dark, hulking masses huddled around me—silent forms that breathed along with the muck at my feet, sinking into their own nests of undulating goo.

Dragons. Dozens of them. Their eyes were luminous in the dark, so that I was surrounded by pairs of blue and red and deep purple orbs that alternately gazed steadily and blinked sleepily. Voices ricocheted across cavern walls that I couldn’t see.

We will rise again.

What if no one wakes the she-king Nuaga?

She will awake.

And who will pen her Lament?

Rest easy. It is already penned, and in the hands of Mennek the Lesser.

What human would dare to sacrifice for us? This last dragon moved toward me as if I weren’t standing there. It is without hope that I go to my rest.

Peace, Solara. When he comes, he will bear her mark, and all will be well.

The dragon Solara continued toward me, oblivious to my presence, as though I were invisible. I tried to move out of her way, but the muck pulled me down, down, even as she stretched her great form over me, ready to crush me to the bottom of her nest.

“No!” I cried. “Stop!”

“Storm?”

I gasped forcefully and found myself kneeling in the dark near my post. The dragons were gone.

“I’m here.” I didn’t even know who I was talking to.

“What happened?” Jasper approached, weapon in hand.

I swallowed the dryness in my mouth. “It’s nothing, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you yell?”

“I…” Sounds of others approaching caught my ear, and I felt utterly stupid. “A wild beast. It … caught me off guard. I’m sorry.”

Jasper nodded; I could barely see his face in the darkness. “Better to rouse us for nothing than to let us sleep when danger is near.”

I felt even smaller in the face of his mercy. “Thank you. Yes, sir.”

Jasper and the others shuffled back to their tents, and I was left alone in the wake of magnificence unlike any I had ever seen. These, then, were the dragons Nuaga wanted me to call forth—intelligent and dangerous, beautiful and terrifying.

I chose not to fear them.

The rest of the week was a grueling blur, during which Jasper did everything he could to hone us for what lay ahead. He also reminded us daily what Tan Vey’s victory would mean for our people—the slaughter of surplus citizens, the ruining of women, the murder of children. His words held fire and fear and turned my heart toward my family at home. Would Jasper’s plan truly be the means of protecting those we loved? Or did our salvation lie in the dragons?

Every day, I thought of my brother, safe at home and oblivious to the danger I had taken his place to face. How long would he stay safe? I imagined the expression of uncomprehending terror on his face as nomads rushed toward him—eyes cold, weapons raised to kill—and my heart knotted with fear.

More and more, I felt as though the fate of those I loved best lay not in the hands of the high king’s army, but in mine.

The cooler edge to the air made the long days more bearable, and in the evenings the fire brought more comfort. Outside its glowing circle, the night air held none of the late summer warmth it had a short while ago.

Nuaga didn’t appear again, though every night I dreamed of dragons waking from their slumber and rising from their secret chambers. And every morning when I awoke, I was filled with a renewed zeal for the dragons that was hard to contain.

On the night before Oradon, I crawled into my tent and lit the lamp I’d hung from the crossbeam, hoping to capture a few minutes of study before joining the others around the fire. I had just unrolled Dalen’s scroll when Forest lifted the flap and slipped inside.

“I was wondering why you had a lamp in here,” he said, frowning at the scroll. “What are you reading?”

I’d apparently done an excellent job reading in secret. I was ready to offer a vague answer, but then I caught the expression on Forest’s face—open, earnest. As though his question were born from friendship instead of curiosity.

“The Lament of Nuaga,” I said.

“Why?”

I lowered my voice to a near-whisper. “I have something to tell you.” And it struck me that I should have, perhaps, told him sooner.

“Go on.” He sat on his blanket and waited while I turned to face him.

“I started hearing Nuaga’s voice in my dreams after we arrived at Grigsbane,” I said. “And then she began appearing to me.”

Forest’s expression was flat. “You’ve seen a dragon.”

“Yes.”

“Where, exactly?”

“They’re waking dreams,” I said. “It’s like she’s taking me somewhere else, but I’m not really there.”

“And you’re sure you’re not actually dreaming?”

“I’m sure.” I watched the skepticism growing on his face. “She shows me things, Forest. And she talks to me. She wants me to learn this Lament and wake the other dragons. I’ve memorized it.”

“Why you, though? Why would she arbitrarily choose you?”

“It’s the powder,” I said.

“For your pigeon toes?”

I cringed, hating the lie. “Yes. The woman I bought it from warned me that I might have dreams. But I never thought she meant anything like this.”

He seemed, for a few moments, to withdraw into his own thoughts. “I don’t know, Storm.”

My stomach tightened. “I’m not lying.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

“Great God, Storm, you’re telling me you’ve been talking to a dragon.”

I swallowed the indignation that was creeping up my throat. “Yes. Because I thought you’d listen.”

“I am listening. But—” He sighed. “A dragon.”

“I thought you’d believe me.” I fought to keep the wobble from my voice.

Forest studied me, as though assessing my sanity. “You might’ve given me too much credit.”

“My mistake.”

I returned to my scroll, breathing through the hard lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry, s’da?” Forest said. “I don’t know what to say.”

I closed my eyes and opened them again. “Let’s see if the meat is cooked.” I rolled the scroll and shoved a million emotions deep beneath my breastbone.

And wished I hadn’t told Forest anything.

We joined the others at the fire. Cedar was busy cutting chunks from the wild boar he’d knifed earlier—the best kill of the week—and throwing the steaming meat into bowls. Forest and I each grabbed a bowl; we were headed toward the fire when I saw Dalen standing off by himself. I slapped Forest on the back—boy code for “I’m leaving but I’ll be back”—and joined Dalen.

“Why are you standing here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Sedge said I always grab the food before everyone else. I’m waiting my turn.”

“Oh.” Now wasn’t the time to tell him not to take Sedge seriously. “Can I ask you something?”

“As long as you’re not asking for my share of meat.”

“Nothing so awful,” I said. “I was wondering if you thought maybe there’s more to the Lament than what you gave me.”

He frowned. “Why would there be more?”

“It feels cut off. Like there should be another stanza, at least.”

“Onen is a common name in Ytel. It means ‘not one.’”

“Not one?”

“As in, becoming a father to many sons. That’s why a lot of mothers give their boys this name.”

“But why does the Lament end with it?”

“It’s a general call for someone to step forward and answer Nuaga’s beckoning.”

I thought for a moment. “A general call.”

“Yes. Why does it sound wrong to you?”

“I’m a poet. I would never end something like that. It breaks the rhythm.”

He hesitated. “Some people believe there’s more. But I don’t.”

My heart quickened. “Why do some people believe it?”

“Like you said. They think it sounds cut off.” He motioned toward the fire with his chin. “Kendel thinks there’s more. It’s the one thing we disagree on.”

“But it would be easy enough to find out, wouldn’t it? You said yourself that the original Lament is in the Archives at the commune.”

“It’s not like you can walk in there and look at whatever you want,” Dalen said. “I’ve heard tales of people who traveled days to get there and were turned away. And some people don’t even believe the commune exists anymore.”

“But you do.”

“Always have. My great-grandfather stayed there for three nights when he was a young man. But they wouldn’t let him inside the Archives.”

“So no one can be sure the Lament is actually there.”

“I’m sure,” Dalen said softly. “Mennek was the first keeper of the dragon writings and relics after the dragons went to sleep. Legend has it his daughter is the one who wrote the Lament.”

My heart thrilled; the dragons Nuaga showed me had mentioned Mennek, and I believed Dalen’s story. “Well, I hate to disagree with you, but I think part of it’s missing.”

“That gives you and Kendel something to talk about.”

Not that Kendel talked much. “I think it’s probably safe for you to grab some meat now.”

Dalen smiled wryly. “If there’s any left.”

We walked to the fire and I handed him a bowl. There was plenty of wild boar, and Cedar filled Dalen’s bowl while I sat farther from Forest than I normally did.

“Winter falls faster in the north,” Forest said through a mouthful. “It will affect everyone’s ability to fight.”

“The nomads are used to the cold,” Dalen said, sitting beside me. “We’re the ones who will feel it.”

“The cold does fall faster, but it isn’t that much greater.” Jasper stood by the edge of the fire. “Not until you go far beyond the borders of the outlying tribes.”

“Well, that’s something.” Dalen scooted closer to me to make room, and Jasper sat on the other side of him, a mug of ale balanced between his hands.

In the beginning, something had always shifted when Jasper was nearby. Leadership set him apart, as it had set apart everyone else in authority in the training camp. Now, after all these days together, Jasper mostly felt like one of us, and the awkward hesitation when he wanted to join us at the fire had faded.

He seemed pensive, though. All day, I’d noticed his gaze drifting to the north, looking for another message from the outpost. But none had come.

“Commander Beldan and I have planned something special for tomorrow, to test how well you’ve honed your skills,” Jasper said, breaking into my thoughts.

“What could be more special than roasted field rat?” Mandrake said, and several boys laughed.

Jasper offered one of his rare smiles. “We’ll do a series of rope pulls with our strongest climbers, and some three-man melees with practice swords. We’ll also have a Neshu match among the officers. The captains have motivated their companies for the first three weeks by telling them that their best men will be invited to a small tournament this Oradon. They’ll be bringing more ale.”

At that, a cheer went up. After it had died down, Jasper continued.

“For the sword fights, we’ll have River, Briar, and Flint on team one, and Forest, Coast, and Kendel on team two. Everyone else on the rope pull, except you, Storm. You’re our Neshu fighter.”

I almost dropped my mug. “But…”

“I drew the lot for judging instead of fighting,” Jasper said. “I want you to fight in my place.”

“I’m honored, Commander,” I said.

“You’re a natural,” Jasper said. “I’ll bet money on you myself.”

Rock slapped me on the back. “I’d place my coin on you any day.”

“To our rising Storm!” Mandrake raised his mug.

“Rising Storm!” and “Stormrise!” came the answering calls.

I wanted to smile and swagger a bit, the way I thought I ought to. But visions of the entire mass of boys and men watching me spar with military officers made my insides quiver. The expression on my face was probably closer to a grimace than a grin.

“There will be two Neshu matches, and the winners from each will fight for a prize of fifteen coin and a bottle of spirits.” Jasper’s eyes glinted in the firelight. He seemed truly eager to create this final diversion for us.

“What happens if I lose?” My voice cracked halfway through the question, making me sound like I had the confidence of a dead dog.

“You won’t lose,” Jasper said. “That’s why I’ve chosen you.”

I bowed my head, a silent thank-you. His certainty that I wouldn’t fail left me without words.

“Jasper thinks highly of you,” Forest said later, as we were preparing to go to sleep.

“I don’t know.” Things felt stiff between us, and for the first time I didn’t feel like talking with him. I lay on my back and pulled my blanket up to my shoulders.

“Um. About the dragon.”

“What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. Exactly.”

I sighed. “I’d never make something like this up.”

For a while, Forest was quiet. Then he said, “It could be visions caused by that powder, couldn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“But you don’t think so.”

I rolled to face him, though it was dark. “I never believed dragons were real, same as you. If I had a rational explanation, I’d offer it. All I know is—I’ve met a dragon and she’s chosen me.”

“Chosen you for … what?”

“To wake the dragons. She says it’s the only way to save Ylanda.”

He was silent for another little while before he spoke. “You sound crazy. You know that.”

I didn’t answer.

“If you have another dream, will you tell me?” he asked.

Something in me softened. “Yes.”

“And if these dreams keep happening, you’ll tell Jasper?”

“I don’t know. If you don’t believe me, why should he?”

“I want to believe you, Storm. It’s just…”

I rolled onto my back. “S’da.”

More silence. “Are you afraid of dying?”

“No,” I said. “I think I’m just afraid of the pain that will come first.”

“Yes,” Forest said. “That.”

I closed my eyes and wondered if Jasper truly thought highly of me. Hadn’t that been what I’d been striving for? Becoming Jasper’s equal—perhaps surpassing him—would surely restore the honor Papa had lost by not having a mentally sound son to march off to war. For Papa, for my brother, I would do anything.

And a small, quiet corner of my heart whispered that the honor would be mine as well.