Chapter 12:
The Promise
"Drink. Live. Please, I can save you!"
She was kneeling—whispering desperate pleas at Edward Hampton's side. This was… the past. It had already happened. But her voice sounded different than how she remembered it—each whisper had an echo of a thousand voices, countless tones blending and swelling until the soft words became more like shouts—a crescendo of, "I can save you!"
Warm red lifeblood pumped out under her trembling hands. He was dying, still.
"Drink. Live."
I can save you.
There was a flash of brilliant white—she flinched away and flung an arm over her eyes, shielding them. When the light dimmed, she lowered her arm again—and Mr. Hampton stared in horror at his own silver-lit hands.
"What am I?" he asked, voice soft and unsteady.
She felt pity; thought that perhaps she should apologize. She knew how it felt, after all, to be the one speaking those frightened words. But she had given him the choice, and he'd chosen to live. He could have refused.
When she answered his question, though, it was the echoes speaking—the sentiment was certainly not hers, though it was her lips that formed the words and her breath that breathed them.
"I gave you life. You are mine."
Alys shuddered and opened her eyes.
What was that?
It had felt like one of the strange dreams that she'd been having more and more often recently—the ones full of strange significance and knowledge of things that she had never learned; the ones she suspected were connected to her foreknowledge. This one, though . . . this one was even odder than normal. The event in her dreams were always unsettling—but this one touched a nerve that none of the others had because always before, she had been herself in the dream—untouched by the surreal, impossible happenings. In this one she had been more than that—so much more. A channel—a voice for something so far beyond her limited mortal experience that she could scarcely comprehend its existence.
It had felt like more than just a dream.
It was still far too early for her to get up. The quiet breathing and warm, solid presence of Selendrile beside her was reassuring—felt safe—enough that her rushing pulse slowed and she realized with a yawn that, really, she was far too tired to worry about possible prophetic visions at the moment. She closed her eyes, concentrated on Selendrile's comforting proximity, and allowed herself to drift back into sleep.
She had no more dreams.
::Are all these caves filled?:: Alys inquired the next morning as she and Selendrile flapped across the central cavern on their way to visit Dastar. She was gazing around in astonishment at the myriad of tunnels that scattered the walls of the cavern, thinking that if even half of them were occupied, there were a lot more dragons in the world than she had ever suspected.
::No,:: he snapped.
Alys frowned at the harsh tone, speeding up to fly beside him and look at his expression, which was, predictably, unreadable. But he'd given himself away before, and she wasn't about to let it go—not when he was so obviously upset. ::Hey. What's wrong?::
He stiffened and seemed to gather himself for an off-putting retort, but then looked at her concerned expression and sighed, the fight going out of him. ::A few dozen are occupied, perhaps.:: It sounded like a confession.
Alys was stunned. ::That's all? But . . .::
::We're dying, Alys—the golden dragons.:: He shrugged like it was nothing as she looked on in helpless distress. :: Our population is growing smaller and smaller as the years pass—soon there'll be none left at all.::
For a moment Alys was swamped with grief—more than just pity, more than just the distant horror that she had felt before—the grief of a thousand hearts, a thousand voices behind her, speaking through her, shouting so loud that the roaring in her ears made her blind and dizzy—
WE CAN SAVE YOU!
She gasped, shaking her head violently, and her vision cleared. When she looked around, she saw a group of young dragons on the ground below her, near the base of the Silver Tree, their wings still mostly small and useless, folded against their backs. There were dozens of them; the two adult dragons that seemed to be in charge had their hands full keeping an eye on them all. The little ones frolicked and bounced happily, tumbling about and playfully biting at each other; a few of the older ones used their developing wings to their advantage to gain a few feet of height and tackle their playmates below.
Alys' all-consuming grief retreated at the sight; the voices fell silent, and she sighed in relief, closing her eyes. When they opened again the cavern was empty once more save for herself and Selendrile, but she retained that feeling of contentment and peace. The terrible sadness that she had felt was no more, replaced by an upwelling of hope and quiet gladness. She knew—knew, yes, was absolutely, unnaturally certain—that the slow death that Selendrile spoke of would not come to pass.
::How rare are dragon children, exactly?:: she asked thoughtfully.
::Very,:: Selendrile informed her grimly. He descended to alight on the edge of a cave mouth, Alys close behind. ::My family is an anomaly. These days, to have even five successful births in as many centuries is considered fortunate.::
::It won't always be that way,:: murmured Alys, thinking of a Tree full of life with a multitude of happy dragonets playing at its foot. ::This place will be filled with children again.::
Selendrile looked searchingly at her as he shrank, his scales melting away to be replaced by smooth skin. "What makes you say that?"
She waited until his back was turned, then shape-shifted herself and pulled on a dress from her pack, which she then leaned against the tunnel wall. "I just know. Trust me."
He spun around, eyes widened ever-so-slightly in surprise. "You . . . know?"
It seemed a simple question on the surface, but Alys saw the incredulous hope reflected in his eyes and knew what he was really asking. "Yes," she assured him fearlessly, confident that her faith was justified. "I know."
Selendrile, his eyes suddenly wild, took a short, almost violent step in her direction, his arms reaching out towards her before abruptly dropping back to his sides as he turned away. She stood there silently, stunned by the strength of his reaction; this was Selendrile, who hardly smiled, let alone revealed such depth of emotion as this.
After a moment he said simply, "Thank you," astonishing Alys all over again.
Still, she managed a, "You're welcome," in reply, and he nodded acknowledgement, turned, and strode down the tunnel.
The library, with its eerily familiar maze of shelves and redolence of old leather and parchment, brought with it a strong sense of déjà vu. Alys kept close to Selendrile's side as he easily navigated the confusing twists and turns of the place, her eyes darting to and fro as she took everything in. Once, her fingers reached out to brush against the spines of the books they passed. She wondered if perhaps Dastar would mind letting her come in here to read sometimes; she hadn't had the chance to do any reading since her father died, what with her and Selendrile's nomadic lifestyle. She was about to ask Selendrile his opinion when they turned one final corner and came upon a cozy little alcove containing a huge, cluttered oak desk, several squashy red armchairs, and two people. One, a wiry, compact little man with large, bright yellow eyes and wispy, white-specked ginger hair cut short, was seated behind the desk, scowling at the manuscript in his hands, while the other, an older woman with a soft, round face and long dark hair, was curled up in one of the armchairs, apparently asleep. Neither acknowledged the intrusion into their peaceful little domain.
Selendrile cleared his throat softly, and though the male dragon—presumably Dastar—did not appear to react, the female's eyes snapped open immediately and darted towards the source of the noise. Those eyes met Selendrile's first, then moved to Alys, whose first thought was shock at their bright silver shade, like the ceiling; like the bark of the Tree. Then she inhaled sharply, hazel eyes going wide as they stared into silver—and something deep within her snapped into place, connecting her to the other dragon at some level too basic for conscious understanding. The world seemed to blur and grow intangible around her until all she could see was silver; endless, burgeoning silver like she'd only seen before in dreams.
Then the moment ended, the silver eyes slide away, and Alys shuddered and started to collapse, legs suddenly too weak and unsteady to bear her weight. Selendrile was there to catch her, fortunately, and she leaned gratefully into him, closing her eyes and attempting to calm her tumultuous, confused emotions.
"Alys?" he asked, and if she hadn't known him so well she would never have detected the worry in his voice.
"I'm okay," she said, sighing and tentatively testing out her legs again. They seemed to be steadier than before, anyway, but she allowed Selendrile to continue supporting her as she regained her feet.
The silver-eyed woman, sounding nearly as dazed as Alys felt, murmured, "I . . . what just happened?"
"Liadan? Are you alright?" Dastar, unlike Selendrile, appeared unafraid to show his concern. His manuscript was abandoned without a second thought as he rushed to Liadan's side and knelt there, taking her face gently between his hands and looking carefully into her eyes. For a moment she let him, but then she pulled away and straightened, her vaguely stunned expression fading as she looked around at Alys once more.
"You," she said. "What are you?"
Selendrile stiffened slightly, his grip tightening in warning. Alys remembered what he'd said—that humans weren't well-liked here, that she should keep her true origins secret—but for some reason that she didn't care to pinpoint, the idea of lying to this woman was unthinkable. "I . . . I'm not sure. I was human, once, but not anymore."
At once Selendrile tensed, shifting slightly as though preparing to run and keeping his eyes fixed on Liadan, but the silver-eyed dragon only glanced up at him and shook her head.
"Peace, Selendrile," she said quietly. "I don't know how, but she is one of mine—one of ours. I could not harm her even if I wished to."
Selendrile's eyes remained hooded and wary until Alys tugged at his arm and, once she had his attention, whispered, "It's alright." Only then did he finally, reluctantly, relax, giving Liadan a terse nod.
Dastar, his concerns apparently alleviated, now wore an expression of dawning excitement. "You mean she actually formed a Mahyt bond? By the name of the Silver Tree, this is incredible!" He paused, then added thoughtfully, "Not that the Silver Tree actually has a name . . . just a title. If it ever did have one, it's been lost to time. But for the purposes of—" He cut off abruptly as three identical stares of exasperation were leveled at him. "Right, sorry. Alys, since Selendrile actually brought you here I assume that you've learned how to assume dragon shape. When exactly did this happen? Could you describe the experience to me?" As he spoke he moved over to rifle through one of the drawers of his desk, then gave a triumphant exclamation after a moment and pulled out a blank piece of parchment, an inkpot, and a rather sad-looking quill.
Liadan, though, was frowning. "You knew about this, Dastar?"
The hawk-eyed dragon grew abruptly serious, his head bowing apologetically. "Yes. I would have said something, except, well, Selendrile would have been angry with me for sharing his secrets. And he is quite unpleasant when he is angry."
Dastar's expression was so pathetically woebegone that Alys had to hide a smile; apparently it had the same effect on Liadan, for after a moment she sighed and said, "Alright, I forgive you this time." Before he could be too relieved, though, she warned sharply, "But next time something like this comes up, tell me. It might not always be as harmless as this."
When he frowned petulantly, his mouth opening to protest, she added softly, "I need to know that I can trust you," and the words seemed to die on his lips. He nodded wordlessly and she turned away, satisfied. Her gaze landed on Alys, going strangely soft. "Alys?" she said.
"Yes?" replied Alys, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
Liadan smiled, a bit awkward, but reassuring. "I'm sorry if you were frightened earlier, and I want you to know that . . ." she hesitated briefly, "that you are always welcome in my clan. You're one of my people, now—that makes this your home. And I'd like to get to know you better sometime, if you're willing."
Shocked into speechlessness yet again, Alys could only nod. It seemed to please Liadan, though, because her next smile was slightly less awkward; more amused. She dropped a kiss onto Dastar's forehead, gave Selendrile a strangely thoughtful look, and left.
Dastar scratched his head, staring after her. "Well," he said after a moment, "I suppose that now that that's out of the way, I can start on Selendrile's embarrassing childhood stories, yes?"
Alys laughed, surprise and relieved tension making her giddy. "Please do, yes! How did you two meet?"
Dastar grinned widely as Selendrile, not even bothering to be subtle about it, went to sulk in one of the squashy armchairs. "Oh, that's a good one! He'd gotten away from his mother, you see, only he hadn't quite mastered flying yet and ended up crash-landing right into my tunnel. Gave himself quite the lump on his little noggin, did Selendrile . . ."
Later that same day, something terribly unmomentous happened: Alys' stomach growled. She flushed in embarrassment, but Selendrile only glanced over at her curiously.
"I suppose we ought to go hunting," he said.
Alys stared. "Hunting?" she repeated weakly, almost hoping that she'd heard wrong. It had never occurred to her before that here, far from any human settlements, they might have some difficulty procuring human food.
"Yes," he drawled mockingly, "that is what I said. Would you, perhaps, like me to repeat it again?"
"No, no, that's fine," said Alys hastily. "But really—hunting? Like, animals?"
Selendrile's expression was eloquent enough this time that Alys actually flinched, looking down sheepishly. "Okay, okay, sorry," she said. "Rhetorical question. But you know that humans don't eat raw meat. Can we at least cook it first?"
"You aren't human anymore," he pointed out.
She shook her head stubbornly. "Yeah, but I was. That's not just going to go away automatically. Can't you just indulge me this once?"
He looked at her for a long moment, but she met his gaze squarely, and when he finally glanced away, looking faintly irritated, she knew that she had won. "I imagine you'll have become accustomed to the idea in a couple decades," he muttered.
She felt smug, but graciously chose not to show it . . . too much. "Well, we'll see about that in a couple decades, now won't we?"
He just shrugged. The lack of verbal confirmation shouldn't have been important—he was never very verbose, after all—but a terrible thought froze her in her tracks, leaving her staring helplessly at his downturned head as her heart ached.
After a moment, he glanced back up, seeming to noticed her unusual silence. He took in her expression, paused, his brow wrinkling slightly, and asked, "Alys? What is it?"
Unable to ask what she truly wanted to, she just looked at him, searching his eyes for the reassurance she sought. "Selendrile," she said slowly, significantly, "We will see about that in a couple decades . . . won't we?" Her voice shook a little despite her best efforts, shaming her with her own weakness.
His expression remained inscrutable; for a moment she thought that he hadn't understood—but then, miraculously, his gaze softened. She waited nervously for his response.
"Perhaps," he said.
She blinked. Wait, what?
AN: I always felt bad that in the old version, I basically doomed the golden dragons to extinction for no reason. It felt like a loose end, so I decided to tie it up here. Tada, you're alive! Have lots of babies, live happily ever after. The end. C:
Let's see… um… It's been a long time since I've updated, I know, and I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting. Updates should be much more frequent now that it's summer.
Check out the poll on my profile, and don't forget to review!
~Killer Zebra