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A war upon death? Why, what could be complicated about that?
‘Follow me, my brave guardians!’ cried Lasa Rook. ‘I will swim in that lake by noon!’
* * *
Even after centuries, in which the chaos of the love between them coruscated in wild ebbs and flows, the fever of desire could take them in an instant. In hissing savagery, talons scored deep, tearing loose scales that spun earthward. Jaws snapped and sank fangs into the thick muscles of the nape. The wings hammered in confusion, and Dalk Tennes, gripping tight, would feel her terrible weight dragging them both to the mountain peaks far below.
Beloved wife, I felt you twist away – once the fury was spent in us both. I saw you slide along a strong current, finding at last an updraught that sped you away. Moments later, Iskari Mockras, you were little more than a speck, but still I trembled to your heat, and knew that you did the same to mine, as it lingered on within you.
We are fragments of Tiam. Something like children, but too wise for that title. We preen with the air of ancients, but remain too foolish to hold that pose. The winds we ride – this sea of endless sky – hold us aloft, neither too high nor too low. We are in the middle of our lives, in the age of walking backwards.
Since the opening of the gate, since that sudden torrent that was either escape or a summons that could not be denied, Dalk had flown a wild cavort, striving to distance himself from his dragon kin. There had been clashes, mindless as ever, as each dragon raged against its own splintered nature. The histories and bloodlines that bound them all, heavier than any chain, tighter than any skin, made a fever of companionship.
Yet he had taken his lover anyway, high above these mountains, and after weeks of stalking. And he had then left her to fall away, satiated and wounded, wanting only to sleep in some solitary place. Where she could heal, and muse on the snarling spawn to come.
Was this instinct, this need to so claim a new world? So the rocks and earth would tremble to the sharp cries of the newborn, to make a home of the unknown. Or was every desire no less than the caged soul deafened by its own cacophony? Instincts could make for a host of regrets, and Dalk was still undecided on what flavour this deed would take. The voice within the mind that spoke to some other, and that other none but itself. In spiralling dialogue of endless persuasion, entire realms could be swallowed up, encompassed, mapped with delusions, and so claimed for one’s own. And yet, for all this, the cage door does not open.
And so, we rule what we have always ruled, and every border beyond the limits of our skull is but an illusion. Now watch us fight for them. Watch us die for them. This is not majesty that fills graveyards, but sophistry.
We are new in this world, and yet have nothing new to offer it.
My eyes guide me, from one unfamiliar place to the next, but I cannot escape the place behind my eyes, this cage of self, and these words – these endless words!
Escape, or summons. The matter was yet to be determined. Magic burned bright in this strange realm, but flowed untethered. Currents charged nowhere, clashed without purpose.
In hissing savagery, talons scored deep, tearing loose scales that spun earthward. Jaws snapped and sank fangs into the thick muscles of the nape. The wings hammered in confusion, and I, gripping tight, felt her weight …
He would hunt anew.
I shall make this sorcery mine.
Moments later, as he sailed the high winds rising from the walls of mountains that faced the western sea, Dalk Tennes caught the scent of freshly spilled blood. Turning, he banked, and then began a lazy spiral earthward. Desire’s spending made for fierce hunger.
* * *
‘There is some witchery in a wife’s silence,’ said Garelko.
‘It was the lure of a few more moments in bed,’ Ravast replied, nodding. ‘Had she forgotten us? Did she tend the garden, unmindful of how the morning lengthened? Why charge this sleep – so gleefully snatched – with her curse that is our guilt? I was restless in my somnolence.’
Tathenal laughed behind Ravast. ‘But not enough to prise open an eye! To look about, wondering, flinching at the cold hearth, hearing – with burgeoning consternation – the snores of Garelko.’
‘Ah, but those I am used to,’ Ravast said. ‘No more jarring than your beastly grunts. Still, what you say is true enough. We rejected the signs of amiss.’
‘Husbands live under that cloud with unceasing trepidation,’ Garelko said, as he led the small troop down the steep, rocky trail. ‘As upon a frozen lake, the ice beneath us is of unknown thickness. As in a forested trail, with the scent of cat all about, where every tautberry glows feline eyes to our overwrought imaginations. As upon a cliff’s edge, with the dread shadow of some winged monster sliding over us.’
At that last observation, Ravast snorted heavily. ‘So you go on about that, an event neither I nor Tathenal did witness. The sky was clear, the morning fresh, and if there was indeed a shadow, then some condor mistook the top of your head for a rival’s nest. But, upon closer inspection – the shadow that made you start – the wise bird saw no eggs worth mentioning.’
‘We are men,’ grunted Garelko. ‘Eggs are for breaking.’
‘We are husbands,’ corrected Tathenal. ‘Eggs are for juggling.’
Ravast sighed. ‘Amen to that.’
‘I was speaking of the witchery of a wife’s silence, my beleaguered brothers. Have you not seen her standing at the door, her back to you? Did your knees not tremble, as your mind scampered like a stoat back through the day, or was it last week? When you might have with blind bliss committed some slight?’
Ravast shrugged. ‘The heart that questions its own love will stew in the mildest season. Our bellies have been on fire for months now.’
‘Back to that again, Ravast?’ Tathenal drew closer and slapped Ravast on one shoulder – the one that did not bear the weight and show the edge of the slung battleaxe. ‘Her love for us is gone! Your moans will make felt from handfuls of wool, and so suffocate the very virtue whose death you fear.’
