The Wounded Sky

A bright sun pried Astria’s eyes open, and she woke in a bed with the smell of cut grass drifting past the curtains of an open window. Where’s my dragon? For comfort, she reached for the engagement ring on her necklace, but it was gone. She jerked upright and groaned at the stab of a headache. When the world spun, she lay back and closed her eyes until the pain became bearable. When the dizziness eased, she opened her eyes again to find her necklace with the silver-gray rune coin on a table beside her bed, but her ring was missing. Thieves? Two empty beds sat on each side of hers, and opposite them stood cabinets with tiny bottles and jars on shelves behind glass doors. On the wall hung crutches and canes. Vandrare, where are you? A thousand miles from safety, the three Fates had driven her into the Wild to be hunted by men and beasts. And here in the South, where she knew nothing other than what she hoped it to be, her dragon, Vandrare, was protection and escape. Lifting the blanket, she found herself in a long linen nightshirt. Raising the hem exposed her thigh where the iridescent purple halo of a barbarian curse surrounded the white scar, and she rubbed the senseless flesh until the feeling returned. Purple tendrils from the scar snaked toward her hip as if it lived. The same tendrils appeared on dragons cursed like her partner, Zephyr, and when they reached the heart, they died. How long do I have left? She rose and walked on shaky legs to the door, and found it unlocked and unguarded. At the window opposite the door, Astria put a hand on the sill to stop the world from spinning again, but frowned at the pale skin and bony knuckles emerging from her sleeve. Vandrare, Vandrare, where are you? Outside lay a courtyard crossed by cobbled paths with a fountain in the middle. Another building stood across the courtyard and a similar one to her right to form a U, leaving an open side to a field of wheat and an orchard. No threats appeared, but Vandrare was not in sight, and she needed to know if he was being hunted. On the table under a mirror sat a basin of water, and beside it a bowl of cold broth, a spoon, and a bun. Foregoing the spoon, Astria drank the broth and pocketed the bun in her jumper. From the basin, she splashed water on her face and the tattoos at her temples. She gasped at her hollow cheeks; the world spun again, and she gripped the table until the dizziness left. The tattoos could expose her, so she found a cream in a cabinet to cover them. Over her undershirt, she threw on a linen blouse and brown-and-white jumper that hung from a hook on the door and put on the necklace. A bell rang and footsteps passed in the hall. Outside the window, men in brown cassocks and women in jumpers like hers hurried toward her building. Alarm? Are they coming for me? Astria ducked out of sight at the edge of the window and watched them. None were armed or armored, and most were in their teens. Once the bustle in the hall passed, Astria slipped out, checking each doorway and corridor for threats. Descending the stairs, she caught a whiff of cooking bacon, and her stomach growled. A bell to announce meals. Nothing more. But she had no time to eat or chat and weaved her way upstream through cassocks and jumpers until she was past the courtyard. Along the path north, she stopped on a hillock and scanned the sky. There, high above her, a silhouette resolved of a hunter soaring over the warming hills, a hunter the natives would not care enough about to identify. But she cared and followed the shadow to a knoll where it disappeared in the tall grass. As she searched in all directions, the hunter glided silently overhead, close enough to ruffle her hair, and dove into a thicket where an animal squealed. Pushing aside the underbrush, she came across his tail, and at the sight of him, she sighed. At six times her length, the dragon was larger than average, with fangs the length of her forearm. Mottled blue-green hair covered most of his body except the belly that matched the sky. Retractable claws armed each of his four paws. On his back were the tatters of the makeshift saddle and reins she had made from vines and foliage. And though big enough and armed enough to kill her, she smiled. “There you are,” Astria said. “Can you—” Vandrare whipped his head around, and from his jaws, blood from the guts of a wild goat splashed on her face. When she wiped the gore from her eyes, Vandrare gazed at her with crimson eyes and grimaced with exposed fangs. With a flick of his tongue, he swallowed the innards and turned back to crunch on the bones. Astria backed away and spit out the blood that dripped into her mouth. Near him was the safest place she could imagine, and as she watched the monster with a gentle smile, the morning’s tension dissolved. She did not care that blood dripped from her chin onto her clothes. And she did not care that he had threatened her or care that she had come within a few feet of an accidental death. She did not care because he had stayed close when she was ill, and she was just so happy to see him. “I’ll come back.” At a nearby creek, Astria washed the blood from her face and jumper, though stains remained on the linen sleeves and collar. When finished, she nibbled on the bun. Vandrare found her there and lay with his head next to her hand to invite a scratch. Astria pointed to her lips, and Vandrare licked the last drops of blood from his own. When he placed his chin on her hand, she hugged him and left a tear on his forehead. And when she scratched his bumpy brow ridge, his green eyes sparkled. “You’re safe,” she said, though he could not understand her words. My only friend so far from home. “Thank you for bringing me.” New tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “You keep helping me, but I can’t help you back.” After finishing the bun, Astria lay back against Vandrare’s big shoulder and told him of the infirmary and her morning, not because she thought he would understand, but just to sit with him a while longer. When done, she stood and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Now let’s find out who here will kill us.” Vandrare kneeled in the dragons’ way of offering to carry her, and she mounted and gripped the vines she used as reins. With a short run, a big jump, and a quick flap of wings, he was aloft. Using the reins, she guided him back over the compound where she had awakened. To the west side of the three buildings were stables, pig pens, chicken coops, and sheds that might hold farm equipment or hide weapons. To the south and east stood fields and orchards. These were unified by cobble paths radiating from the central fountain in eight directions. The fountain and the widest of the cobbled path marked concentric circles with a line through them. From a thousand feet in the air, it appeared like the symbol on the map the Seer had given her back home in Invernell. She smiled. “No wonder you found it.” And no wonder Merythe did not. Soaring higher, she estimated the compound to be almost a half-mile square. And as she circled high above, workers left breakfast and filtered out into the fields and orchards. Forests surrounded the compound, mixing the green of pine and oak with the yellow and red of stenifer. Just to the west stood a small village, and she smiled at the comforting sight of smoking chimneys from homes and workshops. Along the widest street appeared to be an inn and, on the outskirts of the town, what might be a tavern. Beyond that, in all directions, were forests and open grassland with the occasional small farm connected to the village by dirt paths. Vandrare soared higher for a wider look, with eyes much better than Astria’s. He had his own grudges with their enemies and would growl if he saw evidence she missed. From horizon to horizon, no barbarians, no machines of war, no bivouacs for soldiers. Are we safe? With no threats in sight, Astria steered the dragon to land at the hillock where she had found him. She hugged him around his thick neck and jumped off. “I need to confirm this is our goal,” she said, and Vandrare tipped his head as if trying to understand. She scratched his eye ridge, and his eyes sparkled. “I didn’t spot any daemonberry nearby, so this is as far south as we can fly together.” She hugged him again. “You almost didn’t make it this far with me weighing you down.” She backed away and waved. “I’ll be back tonight.” Astria picked an apple from the orchard as she headed back. The meal bell rang again, and she hurried to the line of cassocks and jumpers leading to a large table in the refectory. The aromas of fried meat and fresh bread made her mouth water, but surrounded by strangers, her shoulders tightened again. Some of those strangers had the open faces of farmers and others the thin fingers and sharp eyes of artists. She had been away from human contact for many months, and her heart ached to speak to them. One turned to her, but she did not understand his words. Nodding, she munched her apple until he turned away. As the diners passed the table, servers gave each a plate with cheese, fried breshk, a bun with sausage, and a mug of mead, after which they sat outside or at long tables inside. In the corner of the room, Astria found a bench. Sitting with her back to the wall where no one could surprise her, she ate like a mouse with its eyes on the doors for a cat. A little man joined the food line a step ahead of the largest man she had ever seen, who bent over to squeeze through the door. As they walked to her with their food, a sunbeam from a skylight flashed off the thin white blade-scars on their forearms. And when they sat across the table from her, she stiffened and checked her escape routes. The small man said something incoherent, and she shook her head. Beside him, the giant pointed to his temple and frowned, but she did not understand. Astria held up a fork with a slice of breshk. “Food. breshk. Eat,” she said and downed it. “Old Imperium,” the little man said and scratched the stubble on his chin. “It won’t take long to speak the dialect here. The structure is similar, just a slightly different pronunciation and alphabet.” “My people once came from there,” she said. He stood and bowed. “I am Ash the Dwarf, and my excessively large companion here is Tor the Giant.” “Pleased to meet you,” she said and took a bite of sausage. “Where am I?” “The College of Singers,” Ash said. “Is this where you intended to be?” Astria nodded and sighed. And Vandrare knew the way. Tor pointed to his temple again. “Your cream missed a spot.” She blushed and rubbed her temple until he nodded. “I presume that blood is not yours,” Ash said. “No. From a goat.” “We worried for you.” Her eyes narrowed.