The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (61 page)

It might be more than a year before the rest of the clan arrived, and Sinjin could not imagine what would happen between now and then. The events surrounding him were tenuous and uncertain, and he couldn't even say what the next day would bring. Certainty seemed a thing of the past, and even then it had been an illusion. The eggs surrounding Halmsa moved slowly--not like the jerking motions they had displayed weeks ago, but more of a steady, measured movement that left all of them oriented in the same direction. It was a startling and unsettling thing to watch, and Halmsa seemed as surprised as everyone else, but no one spoke. Even Durin, who had come to see what was happening, kept his mouth shut.

For many long moments, they stood there, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. The eggs moved no more, and Sinjin began to doubt they ever would again. It shamed him that he felt relief, but he did. That was the only eventuality that would absolve him of the choice, and he prayed for continued silence. It was not to be. One of the metallic-looking eggs moved, and the emotion in the room would not be contained. Collectively, the Dragon clan let out a triumphant roar, but a single wordless look from Halmsa silenced them. This was a time for reverence. This was a time that would be remembered for the rest of eternity. This was the birth of a new age, and Halmsa knew it. Sinjin could feel the conviction that radiated from the man like sunlight from a clear blue sky.

Another long silence held, but this one was less tense. When a different egg moved, those assembled issued a hushed murmur, and Halmsa remained silent, his eyes closed. Sinjin couldn't understand how the man maintained such calm or, for that matter, how the man had done any of the things he'd done. He had acted without fear, driven by belief, and he had survived; it defied logic. Yet here he was, sitting in the place of dragons, surrounded by eggs given to him by the feral queen; surely he had claimed his destiny as none before him. Sinjin was honored to witness such events.

Crack.

That single sound brought every person within the place of dragons, high in the hollow mountain, overlooking the land of their ancestors, to full attention. The covenant would be renewed, and the Dragon clan would become the people their legends said they would be. The thought made Sinjin smile, while those around him pointed to which one of the eggs they thought had made the sound.

Crack, crack.

With that, it became obvious which egg was hatching. It rested very close to Halmsa, and he watched it with wide eyes; even his calm had evaporated. Tense excitement filled the air. Weeks of relentless travel, leaving their homeland, their horses, their lives behind, all of it would have a purpose. The hatching of a single dragon seemed as if it would be enough for them, enough to make all the sacrifice worthwhile. Sinjin wondered how long that sentiment would last. A sick feeling was growing in his gut, and try as he might, he could not banish it.

Through the cracks in the shell, coppery scales moved on something that looked too thin to be a dragon; it was skinny even in snake terms. Then the tip of it emerged. Perhaps that was the tail, Sinjin thought, and everyone around him leaned closer, trying to see every detail, to memorize this most momentous event. Sinjin backed away, the fear in his gut growing. Slipping back even farther, he reached the place where the weapons had been stashed, and there he retrieved his knife. It was sharp and comfortable in his hand, and it should be enough.

Staying toward the back of the group, Sinjin tried to see what was happening. There had been more cracking sounds and excitement building in the crowd, and as people moved, Sinjin was able to see. The top of the shell was nearly gone, and there did not appear to be any space left within the shell. Slowly a black wing unfolded itself, coppery fingers tipped with gleaming black claws giving it structure. A bright green eye regarded the assemblage as the head dislodged itself; a thin, metallic neck supported the narrow, angular head. Next came a body nearly as thin. Two legs followed, tipped with glistening black points that looked ready to rend flesh.

Once the second wing was unfolded, the dragon extended itself and let out a shrill cry. It seemed impossible that a creature now as long as Sinjin's arm and with a wingspan as wide could have fit within the egg; and the dragon seemed to grow with every breath, as if unfolding itself. Halmsa watched the dragon that was right in front of him, nearly making contact with him. His hands were extended, and he could almost touch the dragon, almost wrap his hands around it. Perhaps he should have waited, or perhaps he should have made some sound, for when the dragon finally realized Halmsa was there, the Arghast did not in any way get the reaction he'd been hoping for.

Shrieking and springing away from Halmsa, the baby dragon reacted as if Halmsa were a predator. Other Arghast reached out to it, and it did not exactly fly, but it did jump and flap its wings and manage to avoid capture. Sinjin watched the whole thing with tense anticipation. He did not raise his hands or reach for the dragon. One hand gripped the hilt of his belt knife, and the other was clenched into a fist, while Sinjin wrestled with this most difficult decision. How could he know if this dragon was evil or just afraid? As he watched it flit away from all those who reached for it, he suspected the latter and began to feel sorry for the poor creature. Surely it was hungry.

No sooner had the thought entered his mind than the dragon suddenly changed direction and flew directly toward Sinjin's unprotected face. His reactions were not quick enough, and black claws flashed toward his eyes; dark, vein-covered wings buffeted him, and even as he reached up, he felt a tail wrap around his throat. What had been a fascinating spectacle had just turned deadly. The scales made a sound like rustling leaves as the tiny dragon used its surprising strength to constrict. Sinjin choked and claws dug into his shoulders. He would have cried out if he could. Reaching up, he tried to pry the tail loose, and the dragon struck like a snake, biting his finger. Perhaps it wasn't so unlike the ferals after all, Sinjin thought, and the dragon pecked him on the head as if to scold him.

His vision swimming, Sinjin could see the Dragon clan watching him in undisguised horror. All their lives they had dreamed of this moment, and he was ruining it for them. It seemed likely at that point that he would die doing it. Already, he could feel his consciousness fading. Doing his best to think calming thoughts, Sinjin thought he felt the dragon's tail loosening just a little. That made it easier for him to breathe and become truly tranquil, and the tail loosened just a little more. Sinjin closed his eyes and let his body go limp, the knife dropped from his hand and slid toward where Halmsa sat.

"It's killing him," Durin shouted, and before Sinjin could wave him off, his friend was trying to pry the dragon loose from Sinjin's neck. Durin cried out as the dragon struck him over and over, but still his friend fought to save him, not knowing he was making the situation far worse.

Terrified, the dragon constricted further. The world grew dark, and Sinjin's ears pounded in the moments before he struck the unforgiving stone.

Chapter
15

Energy and matter are one. We are beings of energy, stardust, and lightning, and we are eternal.

--Brother Milo, Cathuran monk

* * *

The
Maker's Mark
had never run lighter, and Becker knew they had lightened the ship too much; she now sat high in the water, and they had lost vital stores. It would have been better to get rid of some of the ballast bags, which were filled with sand, but people had panicked and had tossed aside anything not nailed down. No matter how much he griped, they had made speed. With the wind at their backs, they had outraced the ships that continued to pursue them.

These ships were slower than the
Maker's Mark,
but Becker couldn't help but feel they could go faster. There seemed no sense of urgency from these ships, and that worried him more than anything. When the Jaga finally came into view, they were too far east for his liking. There was only one serviceable port this far out, and it was not the kind of place Becker wanted to visit. A man was as likely to have his throat cut as to get passage somewhere.

"We've outrun 'em this far," Mord said. "Let's run 'em up the coast and let them deal with the defenses at Maiden Bay."

It didn't sound like a terrible idea until you really thought about it, which Becker did. They had no supplies and would need to stop for fresh water if nothing else. The Jaga west of their current location was far more dense and dangerous. Becker had no desire to seek fresh water in that jungle, and he also didn't want it to be his escape of last resort. The thought of dying there drove him to reckless action. Mord be boiled! "Make for the harbor!"

"What?" Mord shouted, waving his arms, his face turning red. "That's suicide!"

"It's our only chance," Becker said. "I know it." He had nothing to go on but his gut reaction, which as usual disagreed with Mord's. This time Becker was ready to fight about it, and Mord must have seen it in his eyes; he hesitated.

"They'll catch us if we go west," Becker said, "and we'll have nowhere to run but the deep jungle. That place'll eat us all up in a day, if it takes that long. You've seen it, and you've seen what lives in there. You might as well be thrown to the sharks."

Mord glared but said nothing.

"East of here, the bloom is under way. It won't be a pleasant trip by any measure, but then there's at least the chance we could make it to the Heights."

"Through the Jaga and the Cloud Forest?" Mord asked, his voice dripping with derision.

"Given the choice of traveling through the heart of the Jaga or the option to simply skirt the Jaga and climb through a forest, I'll take the latter."

Becker could see that the more experienced members of the crew knew he was right. There were still plenty who would question his judgment and would follow Mord, whether for preference, politics, or simple disagreement with Becker's logic he didn't know. A moment later, it no longer mattered.

From within the Jaga flew a feral dragon. All aboard the
Maker's Mark
looked silently to Becker. Whether it was out of fear or for tactical purpose, he wasn't entirely certain, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. The dragon, it seemed, had something else on its mind; it circled over the shoreline not far away, and Becker pointed to the east with emphasis. His order was obeyed without question. At least he knew that when it came time to act, the crew would still obey.

The dragon dived then and reached out for something. The trees shook and leaves rained, but the dragon came away with empty claws. After two lazy turns, the feral struck again, and this time its prey was flushed onto the open expanse of sand along the shoreline. Now there would be no place to hide. This was made all the more horrifying by Becker's recognition of the dragon's prey. He didn't know who the man was, but he recognized Allette even from a distance. Others aboard did as well, and there could be no doubt; the implications hit Becker hard. The captain had been a good man, but by his reckoning, this could only mean he was dead. By the looks of it, his daughter would be next if they didn't do something.

With a quick look around, Becker gauged the mood of his crew; time was running out, and he had only an instant, but he would not send these men to their deaths against their will. What he saw there convinced him, and he shouted, "To Allette!"

"To Allette!" the crew roared in echo, even Mord, and for the first time in a long time, they worked together as a single cohesive unit. Across the water came a stunned and anguished response. She'd seen them as well and had heard their call. May she take heart from it, Becker prayed, knowing all of them would need a miracle to survive, especially her, the old man, and the cat.

* * *

Seeing the
Maker's Mark
was almost more than Allette could take. The dragon attack had come suddenly and with little warning, and she'd barely had enough time for her brain to register what exactly was happening when she heard her own name being shouted across the water. That was when she had seen the ship she would know anywhere, the ship that had been her home for most of her life. Her heart throbbed with pain, knowing the danger the
Maker's Mark
was in, and that the crew seemed intent on trying to save her from the feral; it was suicide. An anguished cry escaped her lips, and beside her Rastas growled, low and deep.

Thundegar leaned heavily on his staff, having not fared well during their flight from the trees. He didn't look as if he had much left in him, and with the dragon circling above, escape was as likely as being able to put up a good fight. They were doomed.

Looking down at her, the feral made eye contact with her as it turned in a lazy circle. The crew of the
Maker's Mark
made as much noise as they could, trying to distract the terrifying beast, but it was intent. Looking into her eyes, it seemed to read her soul and find it distasteful. Allette didn't care; she just wanted to keep the dragon's attention long enough for the
Maker's Mark
to flee. She wanted nothing more than for the ship and crew to escape. Her life was not worth risking theirs and she knew, deep down, that it was likely they would all die.

With all the courage she could muster, Allette cast her defiance at the feral, and the feeling was almost palpable, as if her anger and determination had made the very air inhospitable. The feral looked down at her with unimaginable fury and issued a roar that rattled Allette's bones.

"Run!" Thundegar urged, but Allette stood her ground a moment longer, not wanting the dragon to attack the
Maker's Mark.
As if reading her mind, the dragon turned on a wingtip, and Allette could almost feel it laughing at her. The cries from the
Maker's Mark
changed then; gone was the blustery bravado, and in its place were the cries of people who saw their deaths approaching fast. The dragon circled the ship three times before it struck. Showing just how intelligent the creatures were, the feral aimed for the base of the mainmast and snapped it off as if it were but a sapling. Allette watched in horror as a man jumped from the crow's nest right before the dragon hurled the mast and rigging away.

"Go!" Thundegar screamed, but Allette couldn't move.

One more time the dragon circled, and it struck again. The crew lashed out with every weapon they could muster, but the feral just ignored them. Swooping in low and with speed, the dragon reached out with its claws and clamped on to the ship, digging into the wood, which groaned and snapped under the intense pressure. Tipping backward, the ship protested loudly as the flying dragon held on and tried to gain altitude. Unable to gain the skies, the feral issued a frustrated cry and gave one final thrust that sent the
Maker's Mark
tumbling forward and capsizing the ship. Three more times the dragon struck the now exposed hull of the ship and made certain she would never sail again. Allette's home was gone, her family dead, everything she'd ever cared about was gone. Rastas leaned against her in sympathy, and she was thankful that Thundegar and the cat remained; at least she had them.

* * *

Pain.

Thought came later along with questions. What happened? Memory was slower to return, and when it did, Sinjin drew a deep breath. His airway was clear. His hand reached instinctively to his throat, and though a little tender, it didn't seem bruised or crushed. Either the dragon had lacked the strength to kill him, or it had chosen not to. With that thought, his vision began to focus, and he saw Durin sleeping on the cold stone nearby, only his cloak for a pillow.

More senses returned and Sinjin smelled fish--raw fish--quite strongly. It offended his already delicate stomach and got him moving, and that's when he felt the weight on his left arm. Looking down, he saw coppery scales coiled there. Sudden fear raised his heart rate, and he must have made some sound, for Durin came awake with a start.

"It's all right," he said, even while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "The dragon actually likes you. Now that he's fed, he doesn't bite as much, and he hasn't tried to choke you in a while. He's got some pretty sharp teeth, that one."

It was then Sinjin remembered Durin trying to save him. Looking more closely, he saw bandages on Durin's arms and hands. "How badly are you hurt?" he asked.

"It's not that bad. Millie had a fit, though, and had to clean all the cuts and put humrus root on them."

"Did she make you drink it too?"

"You know she did," Durin said. "That stuff tastes like dirty feet."

Sinjin would have laughed, but he was still worried about waking the dragon. Durin had said it liked him, but he still wasn't so sure.

"He likes fish," Durin said. "Well, they all do, I guess."

"All?"

"The rest of the eggs hatched," Durin said. "Benjin convinced the Arghast to follow your lead."

"But I didn't do anything," Sinjin said.

"Exactly," Durin replied. "They were all chasing your dragon around, and you just sat there. The dragon came to you because you were calm."

"And did that work for the Arghast?"

"It did," Durin said, "though the fish didn't hurt either. Benjin also suggested they have fish ready for the hungry hatchlings. They started out with smoked fish, but now some fresh fish is starting to make its way up. For desert people, the Arghast have taken to fishing remarkably well."

Sinjin's dragon shifted and adjusted itself to get more comfortable then gave a great sigh. Hooded eyes twitched and the dragon seemed content.

"You won't believe how much those things can eat," Durin said. "It's only sleeping now because it gorged itself. Two whole fish he ate! I had to cut it up, and I couldn't cut fast enough. I had to let him gnaw on one while I cut the other."

Sinjin noted that Durin assumed the dragon was male, though he had the same sense. There was no outward sign to easily indicate sex, yet Sinjin felt confident that this was a male dragon. If there were a female hatchling, would she be the queen? Could there be more than one? Questions filled Sinjin's mind, and he thought so much uncertainty might relieve him of his sanity.

"Do you think they are like the ferals?" Sinjin asked, knowing there was no way Durin could tell any more than he could. Neither had any point of reference. Perhaps this was exactly how Thorakis had succumbed to the dragons. It may have started innocently at first and grown over time once the bond was formed. This bond was not something of conjecture for Sinjin; already he could feel it. He and this dragon were bonding. Already he felt the need to protect this frail creature that nuzzled his side. Already he knew that he could not kill this dragon; if this were a creature of darkness, then he was lost. Not wanting Durin to know his thoughts, Sinjin said nothing of these feelings.

"The Arghast who weren't chosen have been more gracious than you might guess," Durin said, not noticing what must have shown in Sinjin's eyes. "They've vowed to provide for the 'Drakon,' which is what they call those with dragons."

Drakon--the word raised the hair on Sinjin's neck, and he looked to Durin, who now seemed uncertain.

"They have a name for you now," Durin said after a long pause. Sinjin watched his friend with a strange sense of anticipation. It should not matter what anyone called him since that would in no way change who he was, but still Sinjin felt as if this moment would change things. "They call you Al'Drakon."

The title felt heavy.

"It means 'First Dragon,'" Durin said. "Halmsa said it is the highest honor."

Sinjin let that statement sink in. What had he gotten himself into? He'd come here to help the Arghast and to make sure the dragons did not threaten the world, and now he'd bonded with a dragon and had become something entirely different to these people; he'd become a part of them. In some ways it helped him to feel as if he had purpose and that he belonged, but mostly it made him feel strange and frightened. So much had changed. Once he'd thought he knew what his future held, but now he couldn't imagine what would come next.

"It looks like you're feeling a good bit better," Benjin said from one side, "and you look far better pink than blue."