Song of the Beast

Chapter 33

As prisons go, the bondage of Narim’s poison was not terrible. Other than the initial nausea when he administered it every morning, little discomfort was involved. I was tired enough that a few days of immobility didn’t seem cruel. The Elhim fed me and made sure all normal bodily needs were taken care of. The only thing they didn’t know and I couldn’t tell them—since I was quite incapable of speech—was how wickedly I itched all over once my hair started growing in again. Nothing much to do about that, even if I’d had control of my own muscles. I probably would have scratched myself to ribbons.

My mind was limp as well. I slept most of the days as we traveled. Only when the poison started to wear off could I apply any logical thought to this latest detour in my life’s peculiar journey. What was Narim planning? Was it truly to speak to the dragons? To get reassurance he could not accept from me? I couldn’t believe it. Nien’hak ... that was the key. According to Davyn, Narim had been poking around in it, and according to the journal map, it was somewhere in the mountains of the Carag Huim. But I couldn’t remember what it was. I tried picturing the journal entry, the lists of names and numbers, and I tried remembering where I’d heard the name before. On the third night of our journey, as I lay paralyzed and staring into the dying coals, my thoughts drifted to Cor Talaith, the Elhim’s green valley left in cinders by the Ridemark. That led me to Iskendar and his dying words ... and there was Nien’hak again. “Ask him what he found in Nien’hak,” he’d said. “Ask him why there is an Elhim named for every dragon.”

It was so hard to think. A spark snapped and flew up from a crumbling log, shooting across my vision like a miniature dragon. The names in the journal lists were Elhim names. No dragons, though. Narim didn’t know the dragons’ names except for the Seven. The second list was tools—unhelpful. The third list was place names. My thoughts flitted away with the swirling ashes of the fire, and for a while the focus of my being was how dearly I would love to rub the grit from my eyes and take a hay fork to my itching legs.

What did barrows and picks have to do with dragons? And what were the place names in the journal list, and what did the numbers attached to each place mean? Vallior—32, Camarthan—12, Aberthain—3 ...

The truth struck me like a tower toppling on my head. In the span of a heartbeat all of it was clear: why it was so important that the dragons come to the lake, how Narim planned to rescue Lara, why he had to kill me. I thought I would burst with the horrifying certainty, and indeed I must have groaned aloud, for Narim was soon standing over me as I struggled to move and speak.

The place names were the locations of dragon lairs. The numbers signified how many dragons were in each lair. “An Elhim named for every dragon,” and Narim knew exactly how many dragons there were. And the shovels and barrows were to use in Nien’hak—Nien’hak, the “pit of blood,” the mine near Cor Talaith where the Elhim had dug out the bloodstones. What had Narim found in the pit of blood?

Narim called for Kells to hold me still as I writhed and croaked, “You can’t—” That was all I managed to get out before they poured more poison down my throat.

“I was trying to keep the doses small enough so you could have some control of yourself,” said Narim, “but I can’t have you gathering any semblance of your wits. Certainly not enough to speak to Roelan.”

I gagged and heaved, but the oily liquid slid down, burning in my stomach, leaving me limp and scarcely breathing, all sense sagging into a puddle of despair. Narim was planning to enslave the dragons again—only this time to the Elhim. And once an Elhim and his bloodstone had been bound to a dragon, only one human would know how to set them free. And I would be dead.

Narim must have judged his poisons well, for I continued in this semimindless state, drowned in panic and horror, yet unable to call on Roelan. I could not concentrate, could not draw my will together. Most of the time I could not even remember why my flesh quivered with the need to warn the dragons away from the lake. Once I felt Roelan reaching for me, his call a distant, lonely peal of thunder. I cried out after it, as will a drought-stricken farmer when the storm veers away from his sere crop-land. My effort resulted in little more than a wordless moan, and all I got for it was an extra dose of Narim’s poison. The Elhim had to replace the ropes around my wrists that morning, for they charred through and I almost fell under the hooves of my horse.

I could not say how many more days it took us to get to the lake after that. I was lost in terrifying dreams: of being trapped in unending dragon fire, of being dreadfully sick when my horse foundered in a river crossing, leaving me to drift on choppy water, of thrashing in mindless panic as I was returned to the chains and damp stone of Mazadine. ...

“... lie still. You’ll hurt yourself worse if you keep this up.” The calm, dry voice penetrated my dreams, but did not banish them. “I’m sorry. I’d rather do almost anything than this.”

Cold darkness. Not the musty damp of prison, but sharp, chill air. Thin. Clean. Something scratchy and warm laid over me. The horror was dreams. Only dreams. If I could just get my head clear. But my head ached so fiercely, I thought my eyes were getting pushed outward from within. I tried to pull my arms over my head to hold my eyes in place, but cold iron clanked me in the face, dragging me further out of my dreams. Just not far enough.

Indeed chains bound my wrists, fastened somewhere above my head, bolted, no doubt, to the cold, rough granite beside which I lay in a pitiful heap. No chains on my ankles at least. Silver specks—blurry stars—swam in the darkness, blocked by the dark shape crouched in front of my straining eyes.

“Aidan, can you hear me?”

My tongue felt as if it were coated with a thick layer of wool; it would not obey my command. I jerked my head and wished I hadn’t, as the dark world set to spinning and my stomach rebelled again, heaving up nothing and nothing and nothing. Surprisingly my eyes were still in my head when I was done with that pointless exercise, though they weren’t functioning at all properly. Behind the dark shape, the world tossed restlessly ... moving toward me with little slurping noises. I shrank back against the rock, shivering in the wool blanket laid around my shoulders.

“Between the jenica and the boat trip, your stomach’s a mess, so I won’t feed you until morning. I’ve no wish to make this harder on you.” A hand stroked my aching head. “I am truly sorry for the chains. You were burning off the ropes every time Roelan would come seeking you. But I don’t think it will be long now. A dragon has been circling the mountains for two days. Here ...”

Drops of cool water were dribbled on my lips, removing some of the fuzz from my tongue. “Don’t. Please don’t,” I mumbled. “They won’t harm—” I had to close my mouth before I started heaving again.

“I wish I could believe you, Aidan. But if you’ve guessed my plan, then you know it is much more than just protecting my people from the dragons’ revenge. What will the Ridemark do when they understand what we’ve done? What will your own king do when he sees that the Elhim have stolen the foundation of his power? Can you imagine what it is like to be vulnerable to every race’s whim, to be despised, discounted, ignored? Never have we been able to take our rightful place among the peoples of the world because we are not men. That’s what caused this whole disaster to begin with. If I could go back five hundred years and change what we did—what I did—I’d do it. But I cannot. All I can do is to ensure the world is ordered justly. That means Elhim must control the dragons, and there must be no possible way to undo it. If it gives you comfort, know that we will let them fly as they will. We will never use them as beasts, nor force them into war—only to defend ourselves. And only Lara will ever ride. I promised her long ago and cannot go back on it.” Narim tucked the blanket around me and stuffed another under my head. “I’ll be back in the morning to feed you.”

The midnight shape dissolved into the larger night. Throughout the long hours that followed, his words sank slowly into my fogged mind like snowflakes melting as they landed on the quiet earth. Roelan would come looking for me. He would drink from the poisoned lake, and Narim would be waiting with a bloodstone. Once bound, bereft again of words, unable to give warning, Roelan would draw the others. When Narim returned with the dawn to pour thin gruel down my throat and renew his paralyzing poison, he gently wiped the tears that ran unchecked down my face. So sure of himself ... so humane in his murdering ... so kind as he schemed to enslave a race. He did not speak.

My immediate surroundings were little more than a strip of rocky sand, stretching perhaps ten paces to the lapping waters of the lake. Beyond the vastness of the water were jagged cliffs of mottled red and gray granite, and a strip of blue sky above them. I lay on my side, and my cheek rested on the bundled wool blanket in a puddle of drool. My mind wandered over past and present, drawing no conclusions, forming no plans, scarcely awake.

The afternoon glare was bright, and it would have been a wretched misery indeed if I had been left exposed to the direct sun, but the rock which supported my back had enough overhang to keep me in the shade. Though the air felt cool enough, waves of blistering heat swept over me all through the day, until the manacles on my wrists began to sear my skin. As the endless time passed, I grew desperately thirsty, a nasty torment with so much clear water so near, yet unreachable—poisoned water that would leave the dragons in a state akin to mine. Thirst captured every scattered thought, and even the flash of copper and green wings spread across the blue strip of sky could not divert my attention from it. Wild, thundering cries echoed from the cliffs and in my bones, echoing cries of distress ... of loss ... of pain. Yet they were only a fleeting sorrow, quickly forgotten in my craving for water.

As the angle of the sun grew steep, and the cooling air bred fogs from the waters of the lake, I saw a bit of rock detach itself from the distant cliffs and move toward me. Madness. I felt its insistent fingers scraping away the few bits of sense I had left. I struggled to move, to scream, to weep, but I could not. The rock kept coming. I closed my eyes and wished myself dead.

A quiet thump ... some sloshing ...

He’s bringing more poison. No. No more of it! Make him kill you now.

Though I raged when the cup touched my lips, nothing but a soft moan displayed itself outside my hot skin. The drink was not the oily jenica, however, but water. I gulped and choked and came near drowning in my frenzy, sucking every drop of it down to cool the blaze that was my body. When there was no more, I opened my eyes. Two pairs of boots stood near my face, beads of water rolling off the leather onto the thirsty sand.

“Are you sure this will work?” A new voice. What was it about that voice that made my heart pound like the sea on the ice cliffs of Eskonia?

“Roelan has been hunting him all day. We’ve had to keep everyone inside. Clearly the beast is leery of the lake, but it won’t be long until he finds what he’s looking for. Once he finds Aidan, he’ll touch the water. Once he touches the water, he’ll drink. I’ll be ready.”

“I’m glad I got here in time to witness it.”

“I always knew you were exceptional, but to escape from the Ridemark ...” A counterpoint of suspicion. A minor key in the melody of his welcoming relief.

“They were distracted when Cor Neuill was emptied in a single hour. I don’t think MacEachern believed the reports until he saw the dragons leaving one by one.”

The boots moved, replaced by slender legs in leather breeches. A thin brown hand lifted my head, so that I looked into the face of the one who knelt beside me. I wanted to shout, to scream for joy, to leap into the air and thank every god who might exist. “Lara.” Even in my living death the name burst from my lips.

“I hope events unfold quickly, Narim. This is pitiful. Why couldn’t the weakling fool do as he was told?” The icy calm of her voice withered my swelling joy as frost shrivels an autumn garden, leaving a monstrous emptiness where her name had been. Despite my confusion I could recognize the gleam of red at her neck.

“Few men are capable of rational choices when their hearts are so involved.”

“Better not to have a heart than to be this way.”

“I thought you loved him, Lara.”

“Why would I? He cared more for his beasts than for me. He saw Desmond drag me away out of Aberthain Lair, and he knew what MacEachern would do to me. A foot cut off ... a hand ... torture until I told him everything. That’s what was going to happen, and this Senai fop did nothing to prevent it. What love is that? I despise him”—she spit into my face and dropped my head back on the blanket—“and I’ll put the knife in him myself when the time comes. And this”—torn scraps of paper covered with crabbed writing drifted onto the sand beside my face—“blathering. Good riddance.” One pair of boots walked away and stood by the boat.

Narim crouched down beside me. “Ah, lad, I am sorry. I thought that seeing Lara might give you some joy. She arrived here unharmed this morning and insisted on seeing you. I didn’t know her feelings had changed.” The Elhim gave me more water, splashing a little on my face, then before I realized what he was doing, forced one more vial of jenica into me. “Make your peace with whatever god is left to you, Aidan. Once your dragon is controlled ... well, I promise you will feel no pain.”

Never had I felt anything as urgent as the question that forced itself through the impossibilities of speech and movement—beyond madness, beyond dying, beyond mystery and love and everything that had been my life. I had to hear it. “She knew?”

“Of my plan to control the dragons? That you would have to die if it all came to pass?” He smiled sadly. “Of course she knew. She knew everything. As we told you, she very much wants to fly.”

With that simple revelation did all my struggles end. All hope was dead, all love, all strength. I could do nothing for the dragons. Nothing for Lara. Nothing for myself. Nothing. I closed my eyes as Narim’s poison did its work, and I let the madness come.