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I’m within it. It expands from me. The void is all places and everything and gradually, the world reforms around me. The outline of a cottage. The sensation of cold wind brushing against my cheek. The scent of woodsmoke and apples in the air makes my stomach convulse in longing as it reminds me so much of home.
Slowly, a village appears around me from the darkness. A little square paved with uneven flagstones. A stone well with a wooden bucket hanging from a rope. A dozen cottages with thatched rooves and familiar painted front doors.
It is home. I turn slowly on the spot, marveling at every detail because Amriste looks as I haven’t seen it since the day I was taken away by the Brethren. There are people here, getting off carts, hurrying up to front doors with bundles on their backs, hugging each other, and looking around with smiles on their faces as if delighted they’re home. I recognize the two middle-aged Cantrell sisters, and Grandfather Ackworth, his son, and his granddaughter.
I whirl to my left and hurry forward, anxious to see one cottage in particular. The one I’ve known my whole life where some of the dearest people in the world to me reside, or they did until recently.
A woman is standing on the garden path up to the front door, her arms wrapped around a boy with a mop of dirty blond curls. She’s smiling happily, gazing around as if she can’t believe she’s standing where she is.
“Ma,” I whisper. Then louder in delight and with tears welling up in my eyes, “Ma.”
I run toward her while calling out louder and louder, but stop when I realize she can’t hear me. That’s all right. She’s in Amriste. She’s alive and well and finally home, and so is my brother Waylen.
Through the open door to the cottage, I can see two figures moving within, and hear a bright, chattering voice and a pleasant, deeper one. Dad and my sister, Anise. They’re both alive and well too. Happiness bursts through my chest, and I step forward so I can hear what they’re saying, not caring they can’t see or hear me.
There’s a screaming overhead, and something small and black dives for me, claws first, and caws loudly. Raven feathers brush across my face. The bird wheels around and attacks me for a second time.
I fling my arms in front of my face and cry out, “Mistress Hawthorne, don’t. It’s me, Isavelle.”
Somehow, even though no one else in the village can see me, Biddy Hawthorne’s crows can. It must be a witch thing, though why she should send her messengers to attack me I have no idea.
All sight and sound snap out of existence. As I lower my arms, I come out of the vision so swiftly that I stagger. When I open my eyes, my hands are braced against turquoise scales and I’m panting hard. Two shining turquoise and gold eyes are gazing into mine, and Esmeral’s head is tilted curiously to one side. She nudges me urgently as if asking what’s wrong.
“They’re home, Esmeral. My family is finally home. My whole village is home, and maybe even everyone else in western Maledin.”
I have to go there. I need to be in Amriste as soon as possible and wrap my arms around my parents and brother and sister after all this time and let them know I’m alive, which means finding my mate and flying there together.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Esmeral trills, ducks her body low to the ground, and nudges closer to me. She’s offering for me to climb onto her back.
I take her head between my hands. “Where’s Zabriel? Can you find Zabriel?”
In answer, Esmeral butts urgently against me again. I hesitate for a moment, expecting to be flooded by anxiety at the thought of riding Esmeral, but I feel only excitement. There’s no reason to feel afraid of the Brethren. They can’t hurt me anymore, and they can’t hurt my family. I can try this and see how it feels, and at the very least, this is probably the fastest way for me to find Zabriel.
Esmeral is so delighted to feel me on her back that her hind legs stamp in the dust, and then she launches herself into the air. I feel a lurch, but it’s nowhere near as stomach-juddering as it is when I’ve ridden Scourge. Esmeral is smaller and lighter and shoots into the mist-laden sky.
It takes me a moment to feel secure enough to get my bearings by looking toward the ground. I find we’re streaking not toward the castle, but toward the west. In shock, I watch as the city slips away beneath us in mere seconds to be replaced by open fields. Esmeral is taking me to Amriste, not to Zabriel. Either she didn’t understand my words, or I didn’t understand how you’re supposed to ask your dragon to take you somewhere. Zabriel communicates with Scourge in his mind, so maybe Esmeral heard me craving to be in Amriste with my family above all else.
I try and shout over the wind, but my voice is snatched from my lips and carried away behind me. I try thinking very loudly that I want to be taken to Zabriel, not Amriste, but it doesn’t seem to work. My desire is to go home, so that’s where Esmeral is taking me.
We break out of the mist and into warm sunshine, and I can’t help but laugh with happiness at the thought of what’s waiting for me at the end of this flight. How my family will gaze in shock and then in happiness as they see me hurrying toward the cottage. Zabriel will be angry that I left the safety of the castle without him or my bodyguards, but I know he’ll forgive me when I explain that it was a mistake, and he’ll be so pleased by this new turn of events and the fact that I’ve ridden Esmeral that he won’t be able to stay angry for long.
Below, the mist has mostly lifted, but the skies overhead are now gray. I see the familiar road leading into my village and realize that it’s a better place for Esmeral to land than in the main square where she might frighten the villagers. To my surprise, the dragon hears that thought loud and clear and begins to spiral toward the ground.
When Esmeral lands, I try and slide from her back as elegantly as I’ve seen Zabriel do it, but I misjudge it and end up in a heap on the ground. Brushing my hands off and getting to my feet, I’m grateful that no one saw my first attempt to get off a dragon by myself.
“Stay here for a moment. I’ll bring my family to meet you.” I pat Esmeral’s neck and then hurry into the village.
As I step into the square, I’m greeted not by the delightful scents of woodsmoke and apples, but by the stench of blood and suffering. It hits me like I’ve been belted across the face by one of Scourge’s wings.
For a moment I reel back, but as I gaze around the square my stomach convulses.
What I find in my village is so alarming that I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing. Happy families unpacking their belongings from carts and donkeys are nowhere to be seen. Thick, twisted vines have erupted through the cobbles in front of every cottage, and vicious black spikes are thrust toward the sky. They’re so unnatural that they must have been conjured by magic, and what a stench this magic has. A foul, acrid scent fills my nose. Over the reek of evil is another scent. The tang of blood and misery.
On each wickedly gleaming spike is a strange shape. A head twisted to one side. An arm at a strange angle. I don’t understand what I’m looking at and wonder for a moment if the thorns have grown body parts. Then I realize that the thorns are thrust through bodies, impaling them with such force they’ve lifted them off their feet. Blood oozes from their wounds and drips onto the cobbles.
My breath starts coming faster and faster. I don’t want to see what’s in front of my cottage.
Not my family. Not them as well. I saw them in my vision, and they were happy. They werehome.
