FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*****

Chapter Eighty-One

*****

“They built you a house?" Revaramek followed the gryphons down the trail in the grass that led through Mirelle's expansive property. Out beyond a wide gate in the extensive fence that now ringed Mirelle's land, a large building loomed. “They built you a house?"

Chir'raal squawked and glanced back at the dragon, ruffling his feathers. “Of course! We're heroes, Dragon." He stretched a black-barred wing to gesture at his mate. “Kurekka here's a council member! We can't exactly be flying back to Enora's old place every night, can we?"

“Yes…but…a house?" Revaramek waved his paw. “I thought you'd…"

When he trailed off, Kurekka gazed back at him. “You thought we'd want, go snooze in the marsh at night?" He flared up his crimson crown feathers. “We can't all just lounge about in the mud like you dragons."

“I do not lounge in mud!" Revaramek lashed his tail. The webbed spines scythed through a cluster of tulips and left red blossoms toppling through the air. Revaramek gulped. “Oops."

Kurekka gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “She's only just planted those, you know."

Revaramek stared at the fallen flowers, then nudged them aside with a hind paw. “Surely she won't notice a little pruning. You know, it's strange, I don't recall this sort of thing happening to me in the swamp."

“Only because no one would be foolish enough to plant tulips in poison." Chir'raal clacked his beak.

“Not the tulips!" Revaramek nipped at the end of the gryphon's feathered tail. “Just…in general. I had less comedic mishaps, and more-"

“Comedic mishaps?" Chir'raal lowered his head to whisper to his mates. “I think he's come back an even bigger idiot than when he left."

“I'm not sure that's possible."

Revaramek hissed, flaring his spines. “I can hear you two."

“I know!" Kurekka swatted his tail across the dragon's muzzle. “That's why we're calling you an idiot. If we didn't think you could hear us, we'd call you something far worse."

“Nice to see nothing's changed around here. Everyone still picks on the dragon."

“Nonsense!" Kurekka whirled around to poke the dragon in the nose with an unsheathed claw tip. “You always picked on us!"

“That's not how I remember things…" Revaramek pulled his head back, muzzle crinkling.

“Of course not." Chir'raal tossed his head, blue-speckled crown feathers splayed around it. “Your selective memory is second only to your selective hearing!"

“Oooh, you are going to get so much beak torture later. I'm going to sit on your back and tap your silly beak till you're begging to sing my resplendent praises!" Revaramek reached out and tapped a claw tip against Kurekka's beak, making him squawk and pull back. “And Kurekka's going to help or he'll get it too!"

“Oh no." Chir'raal shook his head, tail swishing. “The only one Kurekka's going to be helping is me, to get you off-"

“You want to get me off?" Revaramek burst into rumbling dragon laughter. “I've only just returned, and already you're-"

“That didn't come out the way it should have!" Chir'raal gave the dragon a smoldering glare.

“Then you must be doing it wrong, because it usually comes out just fine." Still laughing, Revaramek thumped Kurekka on the shoulder. “Right, bird?" He lowered his voice, whispering to the red-brown gryphon. “At least I assume it does. Don't worry, Kurekka, if you've trouble getting it out, I'm certain it's his fault, not yours." Cackling, Revaramek tossed his head. “Though I'm afraid I'm taken now, so you're both going to have to keep your paws off me, no matter how drunk you become."

Chir'raal glared at him, grinding his beak. “Yanno, it' funny you say that. I don't seem to recall you complaining at all the last time we had our paws on you."

Revaramek's eyes widened, and he clapped his jaws shut. They hadn't actually…had they?

The gryphon's shared, warbling laughter didn't exactly settle the issue. Chir'raal turned away again, glancing back. “Not like it took you long, anyway."

The dragon snorted, and swatted his paw against the gryphon's rump. Chir'raak squawked in pained surprise, jumping.

“Cut it out!"

“You know, for a gryphon with his balls in easy swatting range, you'd think you'd learn when to keep your beak shut."

“You swat my balls and I'll-"

“Roll around on the ground for a while, just like the rest of us. While we laugh!" Revaramek shook his hind end, memory making him ache a little. “I do seem to recall owing you one."

“Revaramek, as lovely as it is to have you back…" Kurekka cupped the dragon's cheek in a paw, his ears flattened back. “Can we just go one full day without someone getting hit in the balls?"

“You're going to have to clear that with Mirelle, but very well, continue the tour of your house."

“We haven't even gotten to our house yet." Chir'raal padded a few quick steps forward, out of range. “Because someone keeps distracting us."

“You're right, of course." Revaramek lowered his head, then gave Kurekka a sidelong glare, clicking his sharp teeth. “Do try to stay on task, Kurekka."

“Me?" Kurekka puffed up his chest, feathers fluffed. “I'm the only one here who is on task!"

Revaramek only smiled, gazing around Mirelle's back yard. Much of the place still seemed so familiar, even years later. Much of it now looked different. The gap that Asterbury created in her line of pine trees now had several young saplings growing in it. One of the springs was filled in with stone, and the others had terraced layers of rocks forming little waterfalls between the pools. Lilypads with bright pink flowers dotted he surface of the clear water, and fish with vibrant colors darted about beneath them. A spotted frog sat on a mossy stone. Mirelle's vegetable garden was larger than before, with long lines of plants staked up. Her rounded home looked recently repaired, with fresh roofing and new windows. Further in the distance, beyond the trees, The Cathedral was at least twice its former size, and more elaborate and extravagant than ever. Its doors now looked more than large enough for dragons and gryphons, and its two-decked patio had enough room for even the largest of creatures to make themselves at home. Revaramek was already looking forward to getting to know the place.

After his breakdown in the square a few nights earlier, he spent the night in Mirelle's back yard, after dark. She brought him breakfast and sat with him a while, and as thankful for her company as he was, he decided to take a few days to himself, out in the marsh. Much of that time was spent soaring, and lost in thought. He visited a few once-familiar places, including the small cave he called home before Mirelle first came to find him, and the little shrine he made, years earlier, to his mother.

It was a simple thing, a large stone atop an isolated hill in which he carved her name, and words to mark her life, and the great love she had bestowed upon him. After she passed, when he had come to terms with it, he built a great pyre around her, and set flame upon it. Revaramek knew little of loss, back then, only the tales and stories she and the maidens had told him. In those stories, dragons often burned the remains of the loved ones, and so it only seemed fitting. He flew to that place, as well, and was pleased to find a great tangle of vines with beautiful blue, purple and yellow starflowers now covered her last resting place.

With each day that passed, he felt a little more at peace. A great and abiding sorrow still filled him, but he was better able to wall that sorrow off, to keep it from choking him with every passing thought of his family. There was a time when he wandered this swamp, truly alone. In his great loneliness, he filled his head with stories and tales of a great, resplendent dragon, beloved by all. It helped to ease his pain, and the more he immersed himself in the narrative he built around his life, the less lonely he became. There was days he truly believed himself the marsh's benevolent overlord, that he became genuinely confused when his subjects did not seem to recognize him as such.

Those days were long gone, now. It was Mirelle who helped shake him from that waking dream, who helped to pull that veil of false reverie away from his lonely mind. She needed his help, she gave him a real purpose, offered him true friendship, and helped him become the hero he always hoped to be. It was Mirelle who helped him fulfill his promise to his mother, at last.

When Revaramek realized that, he knew he was ready to return to the village. A hole still lingered in his heart, and only Nyramyn and Korakos could fill it. But at least Mirelle and his other friends could help him patch it up for a while. He cared about them, and they cared about him. He was a hero here to this village, and after his family, there was nothing else he was so proud of. He had returned to Refuge only that morning, wanting to begin a new life for himself.

A life that someday, he hoped to share with his family.

“Are you alright?" Chir'raals voice was softer now, drawing Revaramek from his thoughts. The gryphon set his paw atop the dragon's. “Do you want some time alone?"

Revaramek stretched his neck to give the gryphon's soft feathers a gentle nuzzle. “Thank you, but no. I think…I think I've been alone enough."

Chir'raal nodded once, returning the dragon's nuzzle. “If you're certain."

“Why don't you show me this house of yours?"

“Been trying." Mischief glinted in Chir'raal's hazel eyes. “But someone keeps getting distracted."

“Yes, I told you." Revaramek chuckled to himself, drawing back. “It's Kurekka."

“You're right, it's me." Kurekka leaned onto his haunches, waving his forepaws. “I'm the one who keeps distracting us. So sorry! Perhaps if I'm so distracting, I should just leave! I do have other important business to attend, you know. Like running a city!"

Revaramek cocked his head, peering down at Kurekka. “However will they get through an entire council meeting without your incessant preening?"

“I do not spend the council meetings preening!" Kurekka stomped a paw. “Why, just recently I've proposed-"

“Yes, yes." Revaramek swished his wing at the gryphon, cutting him off. “I'm sure you've oodles of important laws to introduce about feather care and grooming rituals and beak waxing."

“Beak waxing? We do not-"

“Are you going to show me this house or not?"

The gray and black gryphon gave a frustrated croon. “I'm going to punch you in the balls, in a minute."

“That's the spirit, Chir'raal!" Revaramek laughed and smacked the gryphon on the shoulder. “But if we're going to rough house, we should do it in your…erm…house. I'd rather break your belongings than Mirelle's."

Revaramek followed the gryphons onward through Mirelle's yard. Where the palisade once edged her property, a new wooden fence now stood in its place. It was tall enough to give her plenty of privacy, without making it seem as if she was trying to wall herself off from the town. A wide gate at the far end lead from her lands into the land now claimed by the two gryphons. The gate was closed, and rather than open it, Kurekka and Chir'raal simply jumped into the air, beat their wings, and flew over the fence. Revaramek did the same, landing on the grass just behind them.

The gryphon's house was a large wooden building that from the outside resembled an elegant barn painted a cheery blue. It had an arched roof with sloped eaves that sheltered broad windows. The shutters could be opened to allow plenty of air flow. At the front of the home, massive double doors were cut from pine were carved with images of familiar gryphons. Chir'raal was depicted on one door, and Kurekka on the other. The front doors were big enough to for the gryphons to pass through without any trouble. The handles and latches were oversized, designed to accommodate the gryphon's paws.

Kurekka pulled open the front doors, and led the dragon inside. He followed his friends, gazing around what the gryphons called their common room. There was nearly as much space as Mirelle's former tavern, with a pleasant breeze flowing through thanks to the open windows. Hints of flowery incense marked the air behind the breeze, with a few copper censers hanging from the walls. Revaramek wondered if the gryphons had to have some human come light the incense or if they kept a fire somewhere. The floor was paneled with dark wood, already marked with scratches and gouges from gryphon claws. Cushions of all shapes and sizes littered it everywhere, the largest of which were nearly as big as the gryphons themselves. One wall was lined with shelves holding ornamental decorations, and oversized books.

A variety of furniture occupied the back half of the room. Several different kinds of chairs sat around a large, round table laden with platters and trays. Based on the sizes of some chairs, and the fact others lacked a back, Revaramek guessed some of them were designed for va'chaak and urd'thin visitors. Near them were pieces of furniture he wasn't familiar with. They looked a bit like long, padded tables, slightly tilted, and made from very sturdy pieces of lumber.

“Look!" Chir'raal trotted towards the odd furniture. “They made us chairs!"

“Those are chairs?" Revaramek followed the two gryphons to the far side of the room. His tail swished and sent a few colorful cushions scattering across the floor. “They don't look like chairs."

“They're not." Kurekka nipped at his mate's ear. “Chairs imply sitting. These are more like…well, we lay on them! I think we should call them loungers."

“That makes us sound lazy." Chir'raal glared at Kurekka.

“You should definitely call them loungers, then." Revaramek circled one of the odd-looking chairs. “Because you are lazy. How does it work?"

“What do you mean, how does it work?" Kurekka gaped at him, then clacked his beak shut. “How do you think it works? You lay on it."

“You don't lay on it." Chir'raal thumped the dragon on the shoulder with a forepaw. “Your fat, scaly ass would break it. We lay on it."

“It works like so." Kurekka clambered up onto the thing, and settled onto his belly atop the recliner's padded surface. His limbs hung all around it till he lifted one and set it across the front pillow. Then he rested his other three paws on cushioned protrusions from the chair's base. “See? It's actually quite comfortable. The humans designed them just for us!"

“Oooh, that does look nice." Revaramek walked towards another one. “Let me try!"

Chir'raal hurried to bar the dragon's way, hissing. “Oh, no. You'll break it! These couldn't handle the weight of your ego, let alone the rest of you."

“But I want to try it!"

“Then you'll have to have one built. Till then, you stay off our nice things."

Revaramek hung his head, frills drooping. “No one ever builds me nice things." He jerked his head right back up. “I'm a hero, you know! I have a-"

“We've all seen your statue, dragon." Chi'raal clicked his beak, lifting his crown feathers. “But we're heroes too! And we've got the medals to prove it."

“Oh, Chir'raal!" Kurekka warbled as he clambered down from the lounger. “Let's show him our medals."

“You have medals?" Revaramek glanced back and forth between the two gryphons. “I want medals."

“You have a statue." Kurekka grasped a latch and pulled open a door in the wall behind all the furniture, revealing another room. “You don't need medals."

“But I want medals, too."

“I suppose I could ask the council about awarding you a medal…" Kurekka ruffled his wings, feathered tail twitching.

“You certainly should!"

“Perhaps, granted for surviving the hardship of living with such an unbearably insufferable ego!" Both gryphons warbled laughter, and Kurekka slipped through the door.

“Oh, you just wait!" Revaramek followed into the next room, with Chir'raal behind him. “I'm going to get Mirelle to award me twice as many medals as you, and I'm going to have a bigger house built, and I'm going to have an immense sign put on my roof proclaiming that gryphons are ugly!"

Kurekka paused, glancing back at the dragon. “You know, maybe it's just the way I remember things, but you used to be better at all this back and forth."

“I'm out of practice." Revaramek licked his muzzle, ducking his head. “Nyra talks circles around me no matter what I say."

“About time someone does." Chir'raal settled down alongside the dragon. “She sounds like a wise female, aside from taking you as her mate. Was she drunk at the time?"

“Now, now, Chir'raal." Kurekka chirruped at his lover. “Everyone makes mistakes."

“Hey!" Revaramek laughed and thumped a forepaw against the floor. “I happened to be the only male dragon she fancied in all the swamp."

“No doubt because you were the only male dragon in all the swamp!"

“Yes!" Revaramek's smile faded in an instant, and he flared his spines, hissing. “Wait, no! That isn't what I meant!" As both gryphons squawked raucous laughter, he hissed at them. “Well, for your information, she thinks you both sound hideous!"

“What?" Kurekka's crimson crest feathers flared out around his head. “What horrible lies did you feed her about us?"

“I simply described gryphons in general, and she thinks you all sound like grotesquely disfigured abominations!" Revaramek made a show of gazing back and forth at each gryphon a few times. “And now that I'm seeing you both up close again, I'm starting to agree with her. It's a good thing you've both found each other, because no reasonable creature would ever find either of you the least bit attractive."

Chir'raal merely shrugged his wings, gazing up at the dragon, mischief shining in his hazel-green eyes. “Funny you should say that, because that's not at all what you said, the last time we were all together at Enora's and you decided to-"

“So what about those medals then, hmm?" Revaramek pushed between the gryphons and further into the room.

Kurekka nipped at his tail fins. “What happened to all that nonsense about just wanting to know what happened and if you enjoyed yourself?"

“No idea what you're talking about!"

“Wonder if we should tell his mate that we-"

“Did we really?" Revaramek glanced back.

Chir'raal stretched a black barred wing, examining it. “Well, if you want to know, I'm not going to tell you."

“I hate you sometimes, Chir'raal."

“You were quick, anyway." Kurekka rubbed himself against the dragon, teasing feathers against scales. “So, come have a look at our medals! We're both heroes, you know."

“Kurekka almost died." Chir'raal gave his mate a long look, ears drooping.

“You did?" Revaramek sucked in a breath, frills trembling. Mischief was quickly forgotten when overwhelmed by concern. “Mirelle didn't tell me that…"

“She almost died, too." Chir'raal settled alongside Kurekka, and preened his mate's neck.

“What happened?" Revaramek dropped onto his haunches in front of his friends, fear's cold grip tightening on his heart. “She's alright now, though, isn't she? What about you two?"

Kurekka tilted his head into the preening. “It wasn't that bad."

“It was, actually." Chir'raal put a forepaw on the dragon's plated chest. “We're all healed up now, but Kurekka took a spear in the side. Lost a lot of blood, but it missed his vitals, if only just. Held together by stitches a while." He moved his forepaw to set it against his mate, parting some of the soft tan fur along his side to expose the pink scars beneath. Revaramek whimpered, and Chir'raal smoothed Kurekka's fur back down. “Mirelle got knifed in the ribs, and had her wrist broken. Took her a year or so before she could work her hand just like before, but you know her, she was trying long before that, anyway. I made it through alright-"

“You took seven arrows, Chir'raal!" Kurekka glowered at his mate.

Chir'raal chirruped. “None of them hit anything vital. All the stitches were the worst part."

Revaramek licked his nose, and swallowed against a lump threatening to grow in his throat. Though he always had faith his friends would win, he knew nonetheless the dangers they faced. “I'm…I'm glad you've all healed up alright."

“So what about you?" Chir'raal tilted his head, gazing at the dragon. “What sort of war injuries did you end up with? I can't imagine you had an easy time with Asterbury, after what you pulled."

“I gave it to him pretty good, actually." Revaramek laughed, shaking his head, and waving a paw back and forth in the air. “I beat him against the ground, smashed him through a ruin, and then skipped him across the swamp water like a stone."

“Nice!" Kurekka trilled in gryphon laughter, then grit his beak. “Can't imagine that was the end of it though."

“No…" Revaramek stared down at his forepaws, unsheathing black claw tips against the wooden paneling. “He came back and broke just about everything there was in me to break."

The gryphons both bristled, feather ajar. Chir'raal whimpered and stroked the dragon's foreleg scutes. “Yet he let you live."

“Vakaal did, I think." Revaramek managed a little smile. “Asterbury tried to…to drown me, after he nearly beat me to death. But the swamp, my spark…it saved me. And then Asterbury came back to finish me off, and instead…instead he healed me."

“That…sounds like one hell of a story, to tell." Kurekka leaned against Chir'raal and stretched a limb to pat Revaramek's paw. “If you're ever ready to tell it…"

“I think…I should like to tell that story…to everyone." Revaramek lifted his head again, smiling at the gryphon. “Perhaps over ale, in the tavern. But…for now…you've medals to show off, do you not?"

“So we do."

The gryphons got back up, and led Revaramek around the room that sat between their common room and their sleeping chamber. Dark wooden display cases sat along one wall. Each case had a plush cushion inside with a single item atop it. Most of them were medals awarded for bravery and valor and for wounds sustained in battle. Others held important documents. One was an official commutation of any and all punishments for previously committed crimes against the village. Another was a declaration granting them each citizenship in the town of refuge. Revaramek took time to examine each item, commenting on it, and when he'd seen them all, he gave the gryphons a smirk.

“Did you really need to have an individual case built for everyone of them?"

“Certainly." Kurekka puffed out his feathers. “Heroic gryphons deserve the very best, after all."

“No, you deserve the second best. I deserve the best." Revaramek laughed, and then gestured at the other side of the room. “What's over there?"

A variety of cloths, sashes, and what looked like oversized cloaks hung from posts and pegs on the far wall. Most of them were black with blue and red highlights. Others were entirely blue and red, and a few more were green and gold.

“Those are Kurekka's things." Chir'raal swatted his mate on the haunch, making Kurekka yelp. “He likes to play dress up."

“I do not play dress up! I wear them because-"

“The humans won't let him go to the meetings naked." Chir'raal smirked at the other gryphon.

“That has nothing to do with it!" Kurekka squawked, fluffing up. “It simply projects a better official presence to wear a symbol of office during our meetings."

“See?" Chir'raal shrugged his wings. “That old man's rubbing off on him."

Revaramek shook his head. “No, you needn't worry about that sort infidelity, Jekk's probably too old to do that."

“That isn't what he-" Kurekka clacked his beak shut, huffing. “Still the same dragon, aren't you."

“Bawhawkawk!" Chir'raal laughed and thumped a paw against the floor. “That was pretty good."

“What's this one?" Revaramek tugged at one of the green garments, with gold edging. “Looks like a cloak."

“It is!" Kurekka pulled it down in his beak, and with a practiced motion, tossed his head and swung the cloak across his wings. “For when it rains. Or we're going to a formal event that the humans dress up for."

Revaramek cocked his head. Ties hung down around the gryphon that could be bound around his forelegs to help keep the cloak in place. The rest of it sat draped across his wings and halfway down his back. “How do you fly with it?"

“You don't. I hardly need to fly when I'm just going somewhere in town."

Chir'raal lowered his voice to a whisper. “He's gotten lazy."

“I have not gotten-"

“Look!" Chir'raal chirped, and reached out to grasp a large fold of oiled green cloth. He yanked it forward over Kurekka's head, then tugged it all the way down across his beak. “It even has a hood! For when he won't shut the hell up."

“Oooh, that's an important feature."

Kurekka shook himself, trying to toss the hood back. “I hate you both so much right now."

“What was that?" Revaramek tilted his head. “All I can hear is a bunch of muffled beeps and chirps."

“Oh, hilarious!" Kurekka yanked back his hood, then worked the cloak off with his wings. He wriggled free, and picked it up to hung it from the wall again. “So, I suppose that's everything."

“What's back here?" Revaramek padded to another door at the far end of the room.

“That's our bedroom." Chir'raal followed after him. “Wasn't planning on showing it to you, though."

“Bedroom?" Revaramek gave a single, sharp laugh. “What a human word to use. You two really have turned into city birds. Why don't you want me to see it?" He reached for the heavy latch, grasping it in his paw. “Don't tell me you've got another gryphon tied up in here."

“We do, and he's not into dragons." Kurekka chirruped, settling nearby. “You can look if you want."

“It'll make him jealous."

“Jealous?" Revaramek cocked his head, grinning. “Now I really want to know what you've got in here!" He pulled the latch down till it clicked, then eased the door open.

Inside the room was the largest bed Revaramek had ever seen. It was round, with a sturdy frame built to support very heavy creatures. A massive, thick mattress sat atop the frame, layered with very soft looking blankets and cushions, each another shade of blue or purple. The gryphons' shared scent tinted the room, but more flowery incense perfumed it as well.

“Is that a bed?" Revaramek padded into the room, his jaws agape. “They built you a bed?"

“Yes, and stay the hell off of it!" Chir'raal snatched at his tail. “This is why I didn't want-"

“Mirelle never offered to build me a bed!" Revaramek yanked his tail free and walked to the bed. He put a paw atop it, pushing down. The blankets and mattress gave way beneath his weight. “Oooh, and it's so soft!"

“You weren't here long enough to have a bed built." Kurekka stood in the doorway. “I'm sure Mirelle will be happy to help you look into having both a house, and a bed built. Though it isn't free, you're going to have to get some kind of job, and-"

“Hero! That's my job!" Revaramek put his other forepaw on the bed, bouncing against it a little. “Official town hero!"

“That isn't really a job. I'm sure we can find something for you." Kurekka unsheathed a few claws, staring at them. “Perhaps we could start you off as, official latrine digger."

“Don't you even think about getting on that bed!" Chir'raal barged past Kurekka, growling.

“Chir'raal, you're only making him want to do it all the more." Kurekka shook his head.

“He'd better not, or-"

Revaramek jumped onto the bed. The wooden frame creaked under his weight. He bounced on it a few times, and then flopped onto his belly, limbs splayed. It was like dropping onto a cloud, so pillowy and soft. “Oooh, it's even softer than I thought! I want one!"

“Get your damn dirty dragon balls off my pillows!" Chir'raal snarled at the dragon, grabbing at his tail where it hung off the edge.

Revaramek gazed at the gryphon over his wings. “You really have been spending too much time in town. You're starting to talk like Mirelle! Also, watch this!" He wriggled his hind end, laughing.

“Just get off!" Chir'raal clutched the dragon's tail in both forepaws. He leaned onto his haunches, tugging.

“Oh, you'd love to get me off, wouldn't-ACK!" Revaramek yelped when he started sliding across the blankets. He flailed, grabbing for the edges of the bed. His lashing paws sent pillows and cushions flying across the room. “Kurekka, help!"

“Good idea." Kurekka joined Chir'raal at the side of the bed, snatching up Revaramek's hind paw to help pull him across the bed. “Off you go!"

“Not…what…I meant!" Revaramek struggled until the gryphons yanked his hind end off the bed. He braced a hind paw against the floor, then snatched up one of the remaining pillows and twisted around to hurl it into Chir'raal's face. “Counterattack!"

“AWK!" Chir'raal squawked and grabbed at his beak when the pillow bounced off of him.

“Bullseye!" Revaramek cackled and scrambled off the bed, then shook himself. “There, see? I didn't even break your bed."

“No, you just left it a mess and reeking of dragon." Chir'raal rubbed his beak, then pushed himself up to all four paws. “I think your tour is concluded. Just wait till you get a bed. I'll rub myself all over it."

“By all means, Chir'raal, because I'm generous to my friends. And my bed will be so big it'll have plenty of room for all my friends."

“I'm starting to wonder why we're friends." Chir'raal sighed and slunk towards the door. “Come on, Dragon. Let's get some ale or something."

“We're friends because you love your Benevolent Overlord." Revaramek followed Chir'raal back through the house, with Kurekka behind him, closing the doors as he went.

“Oh, kiss my furry balls, dragon." Chir'raal flicked his tail up and waggled his haunches.

“I don't want to make Kurekka jealous. But as long as you're insisting on showing those unimpressive things off, I've just remembered something." Revaramek balled up a forepaw into a fist. “I owe you one!" Revaramek slammed his paw up between the gryphon's hind legs, straight into the gray-furred orbs nestled there. “Revenge at last!"

“AAAWWWWRRRAAAAAAAWWKKK!"

Chir'raal gave a squawk so loud and high it hurt Revaramek's ears. The sound echoed out over the gryphons' lands as Chir'raal's forepaws flew back to grasp his ferociously aching stones. His chest hit the grass but his hind end remained upright, the gryphon's testicles clutched in his forepaws, haunches wobbling. His green-flecked hazel eyes crossed over his beak, and slowly, with a deep groan, he topped over.

“Oooooooooooh, my baaaaaaaalls!"

Next to Revaramek, Kurekka burst out laughing. “Oh, Gods rev, you really nailed him! Aahahahahawwk, look at his face!"

“Stop! Laughing!" Chir'raal rocked back and forth, ears splayed, grinding his beak. He beat his black-barred wings against the air. “Aawwwwwhhh!"

“I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry…" Kurekka padded around to smooth down Chir'raals crown feathers. “But you laughed yourself silly when he got me in mine. It's only fair I get to laugh at you! They'll feel better…eventually."

“That was…" Chir'raal sucked in a wheezing breath, tears brimming in his eyes. “Six…years ago!"

Revaramek danced out of range, cackling in glee. “Yes, and my poor balls never forgot it! So at least, I claim revenge!"

“I only…awwww!" Chir'raal rolled around in the grass, beating his black-barred wings a few times. “Only did it…to avenge…Kurekka!"

“Who had better not even think about avenging you in turn." Revaramek tucked his tail, glaring at Kurekka. “Or he'll be starting a whole vicious cycle because then I'll want to get him back, too."

“Oh, I think I'm content to say we're all even." Kurekka settled alongside Chir'raal, draping a wing over him. He smirked down at his mate. “Not so funny when it happens to you, is it?"

“You…still made…funnier…faces!"

“I rather doubt that."

“Seems as though everything's settled!" Revaramek laughed, watching the gryphon squirm for a few moments before turning away. “Anyway, I'll be in the tavern. When you're done wriggling around and playing with yourself, do spread the word to all our friends."

Kurekka glanced up at the dragon as Revaramek headed for The Cathedral. “Word? What word?"

“That they should all together in The Cathedral tonight. I want to see all my old friends, together again. And I want to make new ones. If I'm to be stuck here without my family a while…I want to have as many friends ready to greet them as possible, on the day they finally arrive." Revaramek smiled as he strode across the grass. “So tonight? Tonight I start a new tradition. Tonight I tell a story."

*****

Chapter Eighty Two

*****

Revaramek sat inside The Cathedral as evening fell. The new building was far larger than the one he remembered. The vaulted arches that spanned its ceiling were so high up he could have stood upon his hind legs and still not reached them. There was enough space on its main floor for at least a half dozen dragons to have fit comfortably, if not for all the tables and chairs. Balconies for second and third levels ringed much of the place, overlooking the elegant, polished maple wood bar that spanned one side of the building. The two longest walls were lined with gorgeous stained glass windows, each depicting the city's heroes. Two expansive, limestone brick hearths on the lower level housed warm fires. Smaller iron stoves on the upper levels exuded extra warmth. Behind the bar, an equally impressive kitchen had enough staff to prepare food for a bustling crowd, night after night. Next to it, a large brewery ensured there was always more ale on the way.

The Cathedral's walls were adorned with all sorts of trinkets and decorations from around the marsh. There were charms and emblems carved from bone, brought by Va'chaak visitors. There were delicate wooden carvings and sculptures brought by urd'thin, and elaborate, colorful beadwork made by gryphons from the far side of the marsh. Banners woven by the town's industrious elders hung from the ceiling. A tapestry depicting a woman and a va'chaak holding hands hung from the back. Though Revaramek knew it was meant to symbolize unity, he could not help but wonder if it also represented Beka and Tavaat.

The dragon was glad to hear they lived together now. They already acted like mates, as far as he could remember, it was damn past time they made it official. He had plenty of stories to tell them, but tonight, his story was for all his friends, and anyone else they wanted to bring. He'd already met with Beka and Tavaat, and caught up with Enora, and was happy to see they were all doing well.

These days, Beka ran the tavern, along with two urd'thin named Lim and Rogma. Revaramek was pleasantly surprised to discover the urd'thin helped finance the tavern's rebuilding. Apparently Mirelle wasn't kidding about all her urd'thin patrons. And thanks to the merchants guild Rogma and Lim were part of, there were more urd'thin than ever visiting the tavern. Gazing around, Revaramek guessed at least one third of all the tables and chairs there were now built for urd'thin, smaller than the other furniture. Plenty more fixtures were meant for va'chaak. There were a higher tables, and inclined loungers made for gryphons, as well. Revaramek did not see anything specifically made for dragons, though, and he planned to complain about soon enough.

From what he had been told, a few other dragons had visited the village now. Those who had lived in far flung areas, well outside what he once considered his lands. Only after hearing from travelers and various other marsh dwellers how welcoming the town had become did some of those dragons risk venturing back. Many, like Aylaryl, had lost family to the humans, long ago, and were unwilling to return. Others were younger, more open minded, and curious to see this new village who welcomed all. Though none of the dragons had chosen to live in the village itself yet, a few now lived within a days flight. Revaramek planned to go and visit them soon, and hoped to make new friends among his own kind. It also sounded as if there was one troublesome dragon, so far. Revaramek planned to visit him too, and ensure he would be troublesome no more.

“Even if I have to grab him by the balls." Revaramek snorted, thumping his tail against the floor.

“Who are you grabbing by the balls, now?"

Revaramek swung his head around to smile at Mirelle. She sat on a padded bar stool, dressed in a flowing green blouse and black breeches, trimmed with good. Mirelle leaned back against the bar, tapped a boot heel against the counter. She took a long pull from a wooden mug of ale, then wiped froth from her mouth with the back of her olive-skinned hand. Black hair spilled down her shoulders and across her back. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and her face bore a few extra creases, but other than that she'd hardly changed at all.

“That dragon you mentioned." Revaramek waved a paw at her. “The one giving you trouble. Whatever his name was. Borgonzola? Burgugla, Burgandy Vulva-"

Mirelle spit beer all over the floor, wide-eyed.

“Mirelle!" Revaramek danced away from her, paws thumping against the wooden floor. “You're making a horrible mess."

“Buralva!" Mirelle set her mug on the counter, laughing. She fetched a towel to wipe up the floor. “It's Buralva. It's definitely not what you said." She glanced up at him, a smile twitching at her lips. “Normally I'd accuse you of saying that just to get to me, but I'm assuming that's a word you don't actually know."

Revaramek cocked his head, furrowing his eye ridges. “What word? Burgundy? That's sort of…a maroon color, right?"

“Not that word." Mirelle chuckled and climbed back onto her stool. “Nor am I going to tell you what-"

“Oh, you mean-"

“It means you're going to have to ask Beka or someone else." She picked up her mug and gestured with it at Revaramek's hind end. “You may want to guard your boys when you ask, though."

“What's this?" Revaramek gave a mock gasp, lifting his frills. “You're trying to protect my balls instead of annihilate them?" He thrust a finger at her, claw tip unsheathed. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Mirelle?"

“I was never trying to annihilate them!" Mirelle laughed again, glancing at her boots. “I was only trying to teach you some respect. And, perhaps, overreacting a time or two." Then she lifted her gaze, smiling at the dragon. “And it must have worked!"

“How do figure that?"

“You've a mate now! Which tells me you must have become a very respectful dragon at some point."

“I have!" Revaramek arched his neck, his bronze-edged spines extended. “But not because you had a habit of kicking me in the balls. It was because-"

“It was not a habit!" Mirelle thrust her mug at the dragon, and ale sloshed over the rim, across her hand. It dropped to the floor in dark golden blotches. “Oh, damn it."

“Twice, Mirelle!" Revaramek unsheathed two claws while she got off her stool again to mop up the ale she'd just spilled. “In the same day! I'd call that a habit!"

“Those were the only times I kicked you!" Mirelle crouched down, wiping the floor. “That's not a habit."

“I also seem to recall you knocking several va'chaak in the-"

“They were trying to kill us!" Mirelle shot the dragon a glare.

“Oh, I think they were only trying to capture you."

“Not really an important difference, under the circumstances." Mirelle returned to her stool, tossing the damp towel into a nearby wash bucket.

Revaramek turned his head, following the towel's arch into the bucket. “You sure you're done with that? Not about you spill more ale, or spit on the floor?"

“I'm fine, dragon."

“Are you sure?" Revaramek cocked his head at her, grinning. “Not going to vomit all over, are you?"

Mirelle gaped at him, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why would I suddenly vomit?"

“How should I know?" Revaramek flexed his wings. “Why did you suddenly vomit all those other times after I first met you? Why, even the first time we met Asterbury!" Revaramek thumped one forepaw against the other. “Why, there I was, trying to conduct negotiations, and you were busy puking your guts out all over the street."

“I was airsick! I told you not to dive like that! Every time you ever saw me vomit, I was-"

“What about the time you were drunk off your ass?"

“That's different!" Mirelle took a drink of her ale, then set the mug back down. She folded her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I was drunk off my ass. Oh, and about your negotiations, the way I remember it is, you weren't so much negotiating with her as getting your ass kicked through that poor village."

“I did not get my ass kicked! I fought her to a draw."

“Until she broke your horn off bashing your head against the street!"

“That was a tactical surrender." Revaramek lifted his head, probing his broken horn with his paw. “Never did get it back."

“You were expecting too?"

“I dunno, I was sort of hoping. You could have tied it back on for me." The dragon scratched his neck with a wingtip, baring his fangs. “You know that little bastard made himself a medallion out of my horn? Then he had the gall to take my other horn!"

“I…was wondering about, that actually." Mirelle swallowed, running a hand through her hair. “Wasn't really sure if I should…"

“No, it's fine. Been years since that happened. I'll tell you about it later." He licked his nose, then tilted his head down towards her. “So, shall I take it then, that you've totally sworn off kicking people in the testicles?"

“Well…" Mirelle shrugged and gave a sheepish laugh. “Not exactly. There's a time and a place for everything. Sometimes even a head councilwoman has to fight dirty."

“So that's how you get your laws passed? I pity poor Kurekka and Tavaat."

“That's not what I meant!" Mirelle giggled, shaking her head.

“And what about old Jekk? Why, if you kick him, they'll probably just crumble into dust."

“Oh, Gods, Rev." Mirelle laughed, rubbing her face.

“You know, I told my mate all about you."

“You did?" Mirelle smiled, a hint of a blush creeping across her face. “Nice things, I hope. I know it's going to be hard for you, but you'll see her again soon, I'm certain. I can't wait to meet her, myself."

“Nor can she wait to meet you, I'm sure!" Revaramek tilted his head back, cackling. “She thinks you're my slave mistress!"

Mirelle's smile vanished in an instant. “She thinks what?"

“Well, you see, I told her how I had to work for the town, after they captured me and beat me, and then I told her how you came and forced me to serve you."

“That's not what…I mean, it is, but…it wasn't as though-"

“And then I told her that whenever we had a disagreement you'd call me names and kick me in the testicles and yell at me until I did your bidding!"

“That isn't…twice! Twice I kicked you! And-"

“And threatened it a thousand fold more times!"

“I wasn't the only one calling names! You used to call me a harpy, and-"

“No matter how much I begged and pleaded you just kept abusing me! Why, you were stomping on my chest!"

“To save your life!" Mirelle gaped at him, her eyes widening. “Please tell me you didn't actually say all that to your mate…"

“Oh, of course not, Mirelle."

“Oh, thank the gods."

“But she does think you were my abusive slave mistress!" Revaramek cackled and clapped his forepaws together.

“Keep it up, Dragon!" Mirelle swung her boot in the air, laughing despite her glare. “And I'm going to kick you one for old times sake!"

“Now, now, Mirelle." Revaramek covered himself with a forepaw, just in case. “If there's one thing I've learned in my time in the marsh, it's that words speak louder than boots. And that female dragons are always right."

“Damn right we are." Mirelle hoisted her mug in mock toast, then drained it.

“You're not a dragon, Mirelle."

“So I'm not." Mirelle eased off the stool and went around behind the bar to refill her mug. “I am, however, big enough to admit that I'm not always right. In fact, I'm often wrong." She glanced over her shoulder, black hair swishing. “I'm just not wrong as often as you are."

“If you ask Nyramyn, I don't think I've ever once been right."

“She sounds like a wise female, indeed." Mirelle topped off her mug. “You sure you don't want anything to drink?"

“Later. If I start now I'll be hammered before I even get to my story." He drummed his clawtips against the floorboards. “You know, I was right about one thing."

“And what's that?"

“How to beat Asterbury."

Mirelle came back around the counter and climbed back up onto her stool. “That you were. And I'd never been prouder of you, or more terrified for you. When I found out just what you'd done? I could not imagine a braver, more valiant, more inspiring and heartbreaking sacrifice. Dare I say, in that moment, you truly were resplendent." Mirelle took a deep breath, then sipped her ale and set the mug down. “Yet somehow I suspect I'm soon going to be absolutely sick of hearing about it."

“Oh, dear Mirelle." Revaramek lowered his voice to a soft, respectful tone. “You've no idea how often I'm going to rub your nose in it."

Mirelle only laughed, glancing at her boots. “Guess I'm going to have to swap these for those pointy ones I bought to keep you in line, years back. Never did get to try them out on you."

“Your kicks may draw my tears, but you'll never dim my bravery and courage or diminish the light of my valiant sacrifice!" Revaramek held his head up high, his neck arched in pride.

“Oh, gods." Mirelle put her face in her hand. “It's already starting."

“And you're loving every moment of it!"

Half a smile cracked Mirelle's dour veneer. “You know, part of me did sort of miss dealing with you, you resplendent idiot. Does your mate ever…yanno."

“Does she what?" Revaramek licked his nose and rumbled. “Banter with me this way? She talks circles around me, truth be told. With you I feel like I'm even ground, but with her, it's like I'm always struggling to catch up."

“I think you're mixing your metaphors, dragon."

“And I think you're mixing-"

“What I meant was, does she ever, you know…hit you in the balls?"

Revaramek flattened back his spines, laughing. “No, she doesn't need to. Because of all the circle-talking." He circled a finger in the air. “She's never really got a reason to get back at me because she's always seven steps ahead! Plus I…" He set his paw down, rubbing the floorboards. “I try to be…respectful, of her. I'd never have survived that swamp without her laughter."

“Her laughter?" Mirelle tilted her head, rolling her mug between her hands. “That sounds like a very personal story."

“It is." Revaramek smiled, licking his muzzle. “And one I will be happy to share, in time." He held up a paw, waggling a single digit at her. “Speaking of Nyramyn, and things to come in time, I shall expect you not to talk her into trying out whacking me in tender places whenever I act up."

Mirelle blinked, giggling. “Why don't you just not act up?"

“Come on, Mirelle, I think we both know that's not going to happen!"

“No promises, then." Mirelle took a swig, then gave the dragon a bright smile. “Tell you what! Whenever she's mad at you, I'll volunteer to kick you in her place. That way she wouldn't have to feel guilty about it."

“That's not sweetening the deal, Mirelle."

Mirelle blinked again. “What deal?"

“Where's Jekk, anyway? I know he's old, but if he has that much trouble getting around, they should get him a bed with wheels and cart him about in it."

“I'm sure he'll be here soon enough." Mirelle tilted her head, staring up at the dragon. “Why did you want us here first, anyway?"

“I've something to tell Jekk. And I think perhaps you should hear it, as well. Whether we tell Enora and the gryphons, I have not decided." He gazed around the tavern, ears perked. The entirely tavern was cleared of visitors, and the staff were all busy in the kitchen, preparing an extravagant feast for the night's event. “I do appreciate you getting the place empty for me, until everyone gathers for story time. That and I…" The dragon fidgeted, curling his tail around his paws, then straightening it out again. “Enjoy spending time with you, now that I'm able."

“Aww." Mirelle hopped off her stool to come and rub the dragon's neck. “I like spending time with you to, Rev. I don't…think I could quite put my relief into words, when I first saw you there, in the plaza." Mirelle sighed, and leaned her head against him, black curls falling across his scales. “A long time to think a friend is dead. I used to…" She swallowed, glancing up. Her eyes shone, wide and wet. “I used to wish I'd known you earlier, that…that we had time for our friendship to grow, and solidify, long before any of…" She trailed off, resting her head against him, again.

“I know, Mirelle." Revaramek circled a foreleg around her to rub her back.

“I just wish I'd known who you really were inside, before I ever trudged out into that swamp to find you. Things would have been…different."

“They can be different now…"

“So they can." Mirelle smiled and kissed his chest plates. “It's good to have you back, Revaramek the Resplendent."

“And it's good to once again be worshipped by the local maidens!" Revaramek rumbled laughter, arching his neck to peer down at her, frills extended in smug display. “But don't get any ideas about anything not so platonic, I'm a taken dragon now!"

“There's the Rev I remember." Mirelle folded her arms. “And that's good! I won't have to worry about you hitting on me, and you won't have to worry about my boots, hitting on you."

Revaramek glanced down at her feet. “Someone should tell your boots that's not how flirting works. Dare I ask if they've missed me as much as you have?"

Mirelle lifted her foot, waggling it. “Would you like me to ask them? They do miss being in the thick of it…"

“Actually, I think the thick of it would be-"

“Head Councilwoman Mirelle!" A gruff, raspy voice called out from the doorway. “I leave you alone for an hour, and you're already threatening the Hero of the Marsh. What would the other Councilmembers think?"

“They'd probably tell me to let him have it." Mirelle hopped off her stool, and went behind the counter. “Rum, Jekk?"

“Ale, I think. I'd rather not have to be carried home later."

“You know Mirelle, as many times as you've hopped off your seat, you may as well just stand for the rest of the night." Revaramek turned his head to regard the old man striding in through the door. Though it wasn't the first time Revaramek had met with the old man since his return, it was the first time he felt in a state to appreciate seeing him alive, and well. He held out a foreleg. “Come give me a hug, old man."

Jekk grunted. “Must I?"

“I promise not to break too many of your brittle old bones."

“As long as you leave me a few of them." Jekk strode over and hugged the dragon's chest. Revaramek returned the gesture with a foreleg, much more gently than he'd hugged Mirelle. “I know I told you already but…it's good to see you, you old lizard." Jekk eased away, a smile further creasing his already wrinkled face. “When the time is right, there's…a lot I feel I should say to you, and-"

“Yes, yes." Revaramek waved him off with a dismissive gesture. “Mirelle and I have already had the 'wish we knew each other better earlier' moment, so the same concept applies. If you want to get sappy, wait till I'm drunk enough to appreciate it."

The grin on Jekk's face widened, and he gave a singular nod, white hair swishing around his head. “As you wish, then. You look good, actually."

Revaramek cocked his head. “Are you flirting with me too, Jekk? I've already told Mirelle I'm a taken dragon now. And despite what Kurekka and Chir'raal may say, I don't think I'm into males."

Jekk turned a half step to stare at Mirelle. She only shrugged, and Jekk returned his gaze to the dragon. “I can see you've changed immeasurably."

Revaramek snorted, and rustled his wings. “I thought that'd get a bigger rise out of you."

“I'm on a council with her…" Jekk jerked his thumb at Mirelle. “And a gryphon. There's not much that gets a rise out of me, these days. And before you say I'm too old for it to be rising anyway, I shall instead say, it's not interested in dragons. So there, I'm completed your banter for you. What else have you got?" Jekk folded his bony arms.

“I see you've been learning from Mirelle."

Mirelle set a mug filled with ale out on the counter for Jekk. “I've been trying to teach him to keep up with Kurekka and I."

“I'll have you both know, I was bantering long before either of you were…" He trailed off, glancing back at Mirelle. “Well, before you were born, anyway." Then he smirked at the elderly man. "You certainly look older than me, anyway. Though if you were, I'd have to insist that you spend the rest of your days in bed. Because your bones couldn't possible take the effort to stand."

Jekk only chuckled. “Somedays, I think you're right. You do look good though, Rev." He held up a hand to silence any reply. “Considering where you've been, I mean. You're lost plenty of weight, and your colors are a bit faded, and you've got more scars than before, and wings look a little ragged, and there's a haggardness to you-"

“Alright, alright." Revaramek snapped his wings open. “I see where we're going with this."

“But aside from all that, you look good!"

“Thank you." Revaramek made a show of looking Jekk over. He had even more wrinkles than the dragon remembered, and somehow, he'd grown even more gaunt. But there was a brightness in his eyes that Revaramek did not recognize, as if he'd been revitalized in the years of peace, running the town alongside Mirelle. Both his tunic and his breeches were a dark gold color, and his hair and beard, whiter than ever. “You look like a stick figure wrapped in worn out leather that someone's playing dress up with."

“I'll take it!" Jekk chuckled and joined Mirelle at the bar. “Now where's that ale?"

Mirelle pointed to his mug, leaning against the counter. “I guess I'll follow Rev's advice and refrain from getting comfortable again since I'm sure someone's going to need something else from me at any moment."

“Wise woman!" Jekk toasted Mirelle with his mug, and then took a long drink. Hints of foam clung to the top of his beard. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk to us alone about?"

“Asterbury."

Jekk froze, his mug hovering near his lips. After a moment, he glanced at Mirelle. “Think I'll take that rum, after all."

“And that's why I didn't bother sitting down." Mirelle went around behind the bar once more, fetching a bottle and a few cups.

“It's nothing bad, Jekk." Revaramek shook his head.

“I was under the impression he..." Jekk swirled a hand in the air. “Wasn't going to be a threat to us, anymore. That you made some sort of…trade with him. Your family, and our world for…"

“Something like that."

Jekk sighed and set his mug down, easing up onto a stool. He leaned his back against the counter and folded his arms. “Suppose it was too much to ask for him to just die out there in the swamp."

“I'm not sure he can die." Revaramek gazed down at his own forepaws. “At least not unless he wants to."

“There's got to be some way." Jekk muttered as much to himself as anyone else. Mirelle passed him a glass of rum, and he took a sip of the golden liquid. “Thank you, dear."

“You're welcome, but I'm not your dear."

“I know, but it wouldn't due for me to thank the Head Councilwoman for alcohol."

“If you say so." Mirelle poured herself a glass, and this time, remained on the other side of the striated maple counter. “The Head Councilwoman is drinking alcohol, after all."

“I knew it, in a way, before I even left this world, Jekk." Revaramek circled a single claw tip against the wooden floor. “That I couldn't beat him in a fight, no matter how well things went for me."

“Still…if it went just right." Jekk gestured with his glass. “If you could damage him enough inside, so he couldn't repair himself in time. Rupture his heart or something."

“I think I did."

“Or, catch him full on in a blast of your fire."

“Did that too."

“You…you did?" Mirelle leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You…you didn't tell me that part."

“It'll spoil tonight's story." The dragon smiled, lifting his head. “I'm going to tell everyone about my climatic final battle with Asterbury, and my miraculous survival…and then the laughter that saved my life." He licked his muzzle, then flexed his wings. “I suppose a little spoiler won't hurt, as it…gets to the heart of what I wanted to talk to Jekk about, and…why I don't think we have to worry about him, anymore."

“So…even severe wounds and incineration weren't enough?" Jekk stared into his rum before he took another sip. “I suppose you and I were never sure they would be."

“That's why I had to strand him, after all. I knew I could never beat him in a fight." Revaramek rumbled a bittersweet chuckle. “When he found out I'd done, when he realized he was stuck there…he was so angry. He hurled me into the swamp, and when I swam back to shore, we fought. He promised not to use his powers, but…some things are simply innate to him, things he cannot…" Revaramek circled a forepaw in the air. “Turn off. He's…immeasurably strong." Revaramek shivered, scales clicking. “Even without consciously using his power, he hit me harder anything I'd ever felt, harder even than another dragon could ever strike me." The dragon gulped, rubbing his chest plates. “He hit me in the chest, and I think he broke my sternum with one blow."

Mirelle and Jekk both cringed, but did not interrupt the dragon.

“He was holding back at first, I think, some…part of him still wanted to know how badly I could really hurt him. So I gave it my all, truly tried to kill the little bastard. Almost thought I did, for a moment. Managed to ram my head into him hard enough to shatter him inside. If he was a real urd'thin…" He trailed off, then shook his head. “No, that's not fair. He is a real urd'thin. If he was a normal urd'thin, he'd have been dead in moments. You remember when I got him at Enora's, Mirelle?"

“Yeah, you mangled his arm. Took him a while to heal it, left him exhausted."

“This was worse than that. This time his body took the brunt of it. Must have shattered his ribs, maybe broken his back, ruptured organs. I went to finish him off right away, hoping to get him before he could heal himself." Revaramek sighed, shaking his head. “Didn't make a difference. He just stood back up, and his body just…snapped back together. It was nothing like before. No effort, no exhaustion. Just fixed, in a breath. I smashed him through a stone wall. I blasted him with my fire, burned the flesh from his hands…and each time, no sooner had it happened than he was whole again. It was as if he…he wanted to be whole, and so he was."

“Dear Gods…" Jekk put his face in his hand, his glass trembling.

“So…at Enora's…" Mirelle took a long drink of ale, then followed it with a shot of rum.

“I'm not sure. Sometimes it's as if he doubts himself. And that…doubt…holds back his healing. Especially when it's someone else, someone he's afraid for. I had to help him save Aylaryl to prevent him from losing control." He tilted his head towards Jekk, softening his voice. “What your people did to him, I think it sowed a deep doubt in his mind, at a very young, vulnerable age. That doubt lingers somewhere inside him, surfaces when someone he…loves is in danger. Like Aylrayl. And that same doubt twists itself into his power. He believes it's harder to heal, and so it is. I also think part of it was always part of his game, never letting on to what he could truly do, wanting us to think healing wore him out, make us think we had an advantage to exploit that wasn't truly there. Because when his life on the line, when there's nothing for him to doubt and no reason to hold back. He's…immortal."

Jekk downed the rest of his rum, and signaled for more. Mirelle passed him the bottle, and he refilled his glass. “Surely, he's not…I mean, perhaps if you…ripped off his head, or…"

Revaramek only laughed, shaking his head, his wings draped at his sides. “How would you propose I do that, without him just erasing me from existence with a thought? He's…infinitely stronger than we realized, and…only when he returned did I truly realize that. Maybe taking off his head would truly kill him. Or maybe the biggest question would be, whether his body would grow a new head, or his head a new body."

Mirelle scrunched her face. “That's an image I could have done without."

“Maybe if I caught him when he was sleeping, put my claws in his brain, crushed his skull in an instant. That might be enough to stop him. Or…maybe not. I'm no longer convinced his body wouldn't just heal itself anyway. Truth is, I don't think even Asterbury knows. He…" Revaramek drummed clawtips against the floor. “He mentioned something about dying before, he thinks. When he gave in, wanted it to end. And he just…" The dragon stretched a wing, waving it. “Woke up somewhere else, alive and whole. So I'm not sure it's even possible to kill him, unless he wants it, unless he talks his body into letting him die."

“It sounds as if you and he did some talking…" Mirelle rolled her mug back and forth between her hands.

“We did a lot of talking, actually." Revaramek swallowed and glanced away from them. He stared at one of the large, arched stained-glass windows. Bright green glass depicted a laughing dragon. He stared at it, focused on that happy image while he spoke. “I shall…avoid talking…too deeply about what he said I had to do to save my family, and why I had to do it, but by the last I saw of him, I believed him. But…before all that, he told me about his life, his imprisonment, and I slowly realized just how powerful he truly was. I think…even now, I think he's still coming to terms with…with what he is."

“So…dare I ask?" Jekk sipped his rum, then swapped it out for his mug of ale.

“Broken, Jekk, he's broken." Revaramek's gaze wandered from the laughing green dragon to another window, stained glass of brown, red and gray depicting two gryphons circling against a blue sky. “And your people broke him. I wouldn't lay what happened next at their feet, they were responsible for their actions against his people, but not his actions against everyone else. And I know it's not your fault, Jekk, but…somewhere in him, there's an innocent pup, only ever meant to be love, happiness, and life, and your people broke that. I know because…I met him. The pup, I mean."

Jekk took a deep breath, and blew it out in a heavy sigh. “How is that even…no, that's not even a question worth asking anymore, is it?"

Revaramek chuckled, glancing back at the old man. “Do you remember him?" He held up a paw. “I don't mean that in an accusatory way, I know you were a child. I'm curious how much you remember. You told me before you saw the end from a distance, but do you remember him? Do you remember Vakaal?"

“I remember him." Jekk set his mug down. He folded his hands in his lap, staring at the floor. “He couldn't have been any old than I was, when they brought him there. I'd never seen a child there, before, only the adults. He wasn't the first urd'thin they brought in with powers. But he was the first child. My father, he…objected. From the beginning. But it wasn't his place to stop what happened, he was overruled by…"

Jekk scrunched his face into a mess of thoughtful wrinkles. “There was a grandmaster historian there. That was…among the highest ranks. Everyone had to follow his orders. I think the whole…concept, the idea of finding someone like The Storyteller, and recruiting their help in fixing our world was..." He waved his hands, only to fold them again. “It wasn't something they all believed in, there was a…schism, in leadership. So once they discovered people like Asterbury, people with the spark the way they believed The Storyteller had it, they basically gave that Grandmaster the run of the world. If he succeeded, he could save us, if he failed, that failure would be contained to a single world. Or so they believed. He had successes, had sent some of his successes off to other worlds to serve. The Grandmaster had these…" He gestured at his neck. “Collars, and shackles. Made from what we called shadowstone. They're…" Jekk pursed his lips. “A kind of magic, I suppose. I remember one theory was, the world where it was found, the shadowstone was a sort of…cystallized magic, an element most worlds didn't possess. That there was some…"

Jekk snorted, shakin his head. “Even among the shadowstone scholars, there was rarely a consensus about its origin. Some believed it naturally occurring, others believed it the byproduct of some great, shall we say, magical apocalypse, that ignited much of the world's elemental magic. The way a flame transforms a stick to ash, or a forge can transmute ore into steel. It exists in more than one world, but in one particular, we found so much of it, as if the world's slow death brought it into existence."

“Jekk…" Mirelle touched his arm, offering him a little smile. “As fascinating as that is, you're drifting further from shore."

The old man snorted, reaching for his ale. “Leave me alone, I'm old." He took a drink, and set the mug back down. “I brought it up because they put Vakaal and his father in collars of the stuff, and shackles too. It had proven a substance very, very good at…shall we say, holding onto magic, onto the spark. We'd uncovered collars, made by…" He trailed off, then glanced at the others. “Sorry, I'll…try not to drift. The point is, our people became good at adapting them, and making our own. We'd used things like that for a long time to suppress the spark on creatures like Asterbury. So by the time we caught Vakaal, the Grandmaster…" Jekk chewed his lip, scowling. “What was his name? I can never remember it. Always wore his golden robe of office. No matter, I suppose. Once we had Vakaal, the Grandmaster had every reason to believe his collars would hold their powers. It wasn't even a matter of strength, it was a matter of suppression, like a dam, I suppose. Even water can cut stone, given time, but a dam can stop it just the same."

“Unless the water just keeps flowing till it overtops the dam."

“Indeed. I don't think they…thought of it, in the right way. The others, their shaping was like…a finite resource, something they could build a wall around. Vakaal and his father were stronger than any they'd ever seen, but they still thought they could wall it off. Arrogance had much to do with it, I am certain. We could pierce worlds, rewrite history, why shouldn't we be able to control them? We'd controlled all the others, and though they were stronger, we till thought we could…just build a bigger a dam. That even their shaping was something we could grasp, and control, to use to help fix our own worlds. But if they others were a stream, a lake, Vakaal and his Father were…"

“The ocean?" Mirelle squeezed Jekk's shoulder.

“More than that, I think." Revaramek gazed at Mirelle, licking his muzzle. “Even the ocean has a limit. Vakaal was like…the rain. They were meant to bring life to that world." He lifted his paw, and unsheathed a single claw, gesturing with it at Jekk. “They're limitless. Even the ocean, deep as it is, is fed by the rain, is it not? Their shaping, their power, it is not like a stream, or a lake, or an ocean. It is the source. Think about it, Jekk. You told me yourself you came to realize that they were The Storyteller's children."

“What we realized far too late. That was why his people-"

“Not his people, Jekk. Him."

“Vakaal? You mean…directly?" Jekk sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. “You…you think his father…"

“Maybe they both are. Maybe they don't know it. But you said it yourself, when you told me those two had the full flame. I just don't think you realized how right you were."

“But that's…I mean….they had his powers, but they weren't…" Jekk reached for his rum with a shaking hand. Mirelle grasped his arm to help steady him. “That would make them…"

“What do you remember, from the day he destroyed that place?"

Jekk sipped his rum, hissing through grit teeth. “Fear. We knew something was happening, my father locked me in room. Vakaal came for us…through the door, I could hear him speak to my father. Told him that…that I needed a father more than he needed revenge, and that he was going to set his own father free. He…he left us a figure, of a happy looking urd'thin. Told my father to teach me better…then he was gone, and we were running, and soon we were in the city, and the whole citadel was…coming apart. We thought he did, and…my father got rid of the figurine. I think he wanted me to forget as much of that day as possible."

“You said before that your castle was destroyed, and then built up again, different than before."

“That's how I remember it, anyway. Might have just been the way it seemed to a frightened youth."

“No, Jekk. I've been there. What you saw was a glimpse of his true powers. His anger, his grief, his fear and his desperate need to protect his father, they were…tearing holes in the story, and…pulling things through. Through his tears, he told me what happened at the end, and I think…after all these years, he was finally coming to terms with it himself. With what he is."

“So…" Mirelle squeezed Jekk's shoulder, then leaned forward. “You…really think he's…"

“I can't be certain, and…in the end, I don't think it matters. But that world, that swamp, all the ruins I discovered there…so many of those came about in those final moments. When he solved the riddle, as he put it, leapt the chasm…and realized it was all his story. It was his story. They could only keep him collared if he allowed it, if he believed it. Because his power was…everything. It was so far beyond their rules, their natures…beyond that single world."

“What do you mean?"

“When he went to free his father, when he removed his collar, that was the first time he not only saw across the timelines, saw across all the parallel worlds, but understood what he was seeing. And in those worlds, he saw himself and his father, captured again and again, a spiral of anguish he so desperately wanted to break. He told me once that Vakaal was life, and now I understand what that means. He wanted to save not only his father, but all of them. So he did. All at once."

“Dear Gods…" Jekk ran a trembling hand down his face.

“He set them all free at once, and they all reacted, and…none of those worlds could take so much change, all at once…and they all started to break. So…Vakaal tried to fix them, all at once…tried to heal everything all at once…and in so doing, he pulled the four stories of his life together, and merged them onto his. That castle? What's left of it? It's built from four castles, now, each a little different. You saw it merging with another. The ruins that dot that swamp? Most of them are from other worlds. Other urd'thin, other storyteller colonies, all brought together in an instant."

“He…he made it…he made a goddamn nexus…"

“Maybe. I don't really know what he made, but that place, it has become its very own world, sustaining its own life now. It's poisoned beyond measure to us, but to the creatures who call it home, it's the only place they can survive. Without ever meaning it…Vakaal made life all over again. He brought four worlds together, and with them, he forced something new. His people's story ended there, in that world…and from its ashes, new stories were born. Between him and his father, they brought the world back to life, after all, in a way that ensured you'd never get it."

“That's…" Mirelle drained her ale, and stared into her empty mug. “I don't even know where to begin…"

“You see what I'm getting at here, don't you Jekk?"

“I'm…increasingly afraid I do."

“There's more." Revaramek rubbed his foreleg scutes with his other paw.

“Of course, there is."

“It wasn't just the worlds he merged, I don't think. It was their stories, it was…all of it. All the other versions of him, of his father...all their memories, all pulled into one mind. It's…it's why he's so scrambled, up there. He doesn't just see across timelines, doesn't just see himself as it could have been…he remembers it. And in one of those stories, it must…it must have all ended happily. He survived it with his father, and one day, raised his own family…He remembers it like it happened to him, even as he knows it didn't. And it…it haunts him. They all haunt him. That's…what's why, Mirelle…" He turned his attention back to his friend, his frills drooping. “That's why when he first showed us the four stories…he told us they all led to him. He meant it literally, we just didn't know it. I'm…not even sure if he knew it, at the time."

Mirelle eased around the counter to get herself some more ale. Without asking, she refilled Jekk's mug, too. “Poor crazy bastard. Almost makes me feel sorry for him." She glanced up at the dragon. “Almost."

“I'm not excusing anything he did, Mirelle. Those were his choices, and that blood will always stain his hands." Revaramek sighed, his head hanging lower. “Just trying to help you understand him, as I think I have come to understand him. He said something else to me, at the end, right before he just…broke down." The dragon licked his muzzle, gazing again at the stained glass. The setting sun beyond left it ablaze with fiery color. “It registered with me, and the meaning of it…it left my head spinning, but…I was already processing so much it slipped my mind before long. When I went to hug the little shit."

“You hugged him?" Mirelle lifted her head, eyes wide.

“Yes. It just…he was sobbing, and he just looked like…like a lost little pup. It seemed the right thing to do at the time." Revaramek allowed himself a smile. “I am a hero, after all."

“So you are." Mirelle smiled at him. “What…what did he say, right before that?"

“He said…" The dragon tilted his head, thinking back. “He just wanted to build his father a family out of sand, so he wouldn't be alone." In the days he spent flying above the marsh, trying to collect himself, he often returned to that idea, ruminating on what it might mean. “The rest of his tribe, Jekk…I think Vakaal made them. Blocked the idea out of his head, maybe even out of his father's head, so they'd…they'd always feel like they were part of something. That they were not…gazing down at the world from…some lonely mount, but instead were part of it, lived among its people, felt…loved. Maybe those two really descended from another tribe…or maybe…maybe the father once built a tribe himself, made himself a son."

“Revaramek, I think that's-"

“You said it yourself, Jekk, when you told me about The Storyteller." Revaramek's voice rose, hints of fire growing within in. “When they first met him, stories in their heads sprang to life all around them. That he was some…child-like entity. What if he still is? What if he fled your people, seeing what they did…and built himself a family out of sand? Made himself forget it, made himself a father…or a son, passed his power on, not in part but all…and in time, that son, seeing his father's loneliness when their mortal tribe faded…made his father a new one, just to make him happy? He's life, Jekk, he was always life…they exist to bring that world back…if it was truly dead when they started, where did the other urd'thin come from? Is it not possible?"

“It's…I mean…it's possible, but…that would make him…"

Revaramek took a slow breath, unsheathing his claws one at a time. “He does not age, simply because he does not want to. He alters reality around himself at a whim. His body shrugs off fatal injuries in an instant…he reached across four timelines, four worlds, and he changed them all at once. He may have built a people, Jekk, breathed life into sand." A chill ran through the dragon, made him shiver. His scales clicked and his spines flared up. “Jekk, what would you call such a creature?"

Jekk put his face in both shaking hands. “But…his father, he used to…talk about the gods, and…"

“Because he knew what he was…what his son was. And he knew what that power could do, if abused, if unchecked…so he tried to raise his son right. Tried to tell him, the gods forbid abusing such power, because…he knew. Maybe he'd even done it all before, and it never worked, so he tried again…tried to raise a son to live his life right…and it might well have worked, until…" He waved his paw at Jekk. “Your people came. And try as he might, Vakaal's father could not protect his son forever, feared to ruin the world he had created by using his power to free them…until he could take no more, could not stand seeing his son witness his pain any longer, knew there was no other way out… and at last, told Vakaal how to save them. And so Vakaal tried, and their beautiful world was reborn again. And…the cycle started…it started over."

“What?" Jekk leaned forward, white eyebrows furrowed. “What cycle?"

“Vakaal…no, Asterbury, he…" Revaramek rubbed the base of a horn, his head aching. He felt as though he'd just stumbled across some immense puzzle, and the riddle he thought he'd finally solved was but a small piece of something far grander. “He talked a lot about cycles…said…I had to complete one to save my son…and then…Oh." Revaramek sucked in a breath, a much greater shudder than before wracking him. His tail spines rattled. “I think I know where Vakaal's sending him."

“Where Vakaal is sending him?" Mirelle glanced back and forth between the dragon and Jekk. “Did I zone out for a moment? How is Vakaal…I mean, aren't they…"

“It's…difficult to explain." Revaramek set his paw back down. “I have to…try and put this together, but…tonight isn't the time. When I made the deal with Asterbury, to open the gate for him…I told him I'd only do it if Vakaal got to pick the destination."

“How the hell-"

“I met him. I think." The dragon scratched at his side with a hind paw, muzzle twisting up. “I'm…not exactly clear on how it works, but…Vakaal is still in there. Or…some version of him. In Asterbury's head. He can put images in your head, make you see his memories, or read your own…By then, his powers were…leagues beyond what we saw him do. He cast us across the whole world in a blink, didn't even faze him. It's like…every time we saw him, he only showed a fraction more, and then…then he didn't have to, anymore. He'd been…I dunno, practicing maybe. How to use all his power without tearing things apart."

The dragon waved his forepaw. “Sorry, I'm rambling like the old man. The important part is, Vakaal still exists, in some way. It was if he'd been asleep for decades, but hearing me calling his name, just to piss off Asterbury…it woke him up. It was him who stopped Asterbury from killing me in his rage. He healed me, instead. I think Vakaal brought the rain that kept me alive, I think he helped guide me to Nyramyn, and after that…he was in my dreams.

“I settled my forepaw on Asterbury's head, and…Vakaal drew me in. I was…I was in the desert. I could…feel the sand, smell the water from the oasis, feel the hot breeze…I was there. In…what little…frozen pocket of existence that pup's carved out for himself. He was…building, sandcastles, I think. He…he wanted Asterbury to come and…and build them with him. Said he…he knew just where to send him…and through me, I let him tell the gate which world to go to."

“And…which…which world was it?" Jekk leaned forward so far Revaramek was half-afraid the old man was going to fall off his chair.

“Wouldn't you love to know?" Revaramek tilted his head, smiling. “I think…for now…I'll keep that between Vakaal and I. But suffice to say, I don't think you have to worry about him ever returning."

Jekk slapped his hand on the bar counter. “That's precisely what I am worried about! Years back, when you and I made our plan to stop him, we were operating on the principal that he cannot activate gateways. And that if Aylaryl was with him, he'd never dare let his emotions grow out of hand and tear a hole in the sky, because it would kill her. But if he's not just…some descendant, if he's…he could…" The old man threw up his hands. “What stops him from traveling at will?"

“Vakaal." Revaramek flattened back his ears, scowling. “At that's my theory. The gates are keyed to a specific spark, right? A spark I have because my mother was likely descended from your slave dragons. Dragons either some of your people gave the spark, or inherited it when Vakaal's powers erupted. It's specifically keyed not to function with a spark like his, right? We believed it was because the one thing The Storyteller didn't give his people was the power to transition between worlds. That might well be true, but…we already know that in his own way, Asterbury can travel between worlds. Even if it only happens when he's furious, or terrified, and he tears a space between existences. A space no mortal creature could survive transitioning through."

The dragon took a slow, thoughtful breath. “The gates are also designed to make that travel survivable, right? If he's what I think he is…it's possible he could…find a way to activate the gates himself. I hoped he'd never find another one in that swamp, but he did. Yet he still needed me to activate it. Either I'm wrong, or Vakaal won't let him use gates, won't let him find a way make his own gateway, because he knows what Asterbury is doing. Vakaal…Vakaal doesn't want revenge, doesn't want Asterbury to risk ruining worlds. So no matter what…we don't have to worry about him, because Vakaal won't let him come back."

“That's an awful lot to leave hanging on a theory, Dragon."

Revaramek shrugged. “It's all I've got. Don't worry, if he comes back, I'll have a chat with him and set him straight. I am a hero, after all. And so is Mirelle. So you've nothing to fear, Jekk."

The old man folded his arms, grimacing. “Yes, that sets me at ease."

“Glad to hear it." The dragon eased back onto his haunches, spreading his forepaws. “Those are my theories, anyway. You don't have to believe me, but…I thought you two should know the truth, as I have come to believe it. I may tell Enora and the gryphons, as they were friends of Asterbury, and deserve to know. But…Let me tell them. Aside from them I…I think it's best we…keep the rest of it to ourselves, for now."

“Thanks for telling me, Rev." Mirelle approached the dragon and hugged him around the neck. “That's…scary as hell, frankly, but…I'm glad to know, just the same. I guess…I guess I hope wherever he went, that little pup inside him finds some peace."

“I think he will." Revaramek smiled, returning her hug. “Now…if you two drunks haven't finished off all the booze, I think I'd like to take you up on your offer."

“Certainly, Rev!" Mirelle stepped back, smiling. “What would you like?"

“I should like your largest soup pot filled with your finest ale, barkeep." He thumped his tail against the floor, spines scratching at the wood.

Mirelle made her way around the bar. “You know, I've had actual drinking bowls made for gryphons and dragons. You don't need to use a soup pot anymore." She rattled around beneath the counter, and then set an immense iron pot atop it. “But I'll make an exception for old times' sake." She glanced at Jekk, and as soon as the older man was taking a drink, she added, “Just keep keep your balls out of it, this time."

Jekk spat ale on the floor.

“Oooh, is that the same pot?" He scrunched his muzzle. “I should have thought you'd upgraded by now. Nonetheless, I shan't need to protect my valuables with as long as you're not threatening them! Now. Chop chop!" Revaramek clapped his paws twice, then a third time when he remembered how Asterbury used to use that gesture. “I've a great thirst for ale, and our guests will be here soon. I should like to be properly lubricated."

Jekk spat his ale on the floor again.

Mirelle laughed, carrying over a pot of ale, ignoring the fact a little of sloshed on the floor. “I don't think that came out the way you meant it."

“Oh, Mirelle." The dragon shook his head. “Surely you remember that things rarely come out of me the way I intend them too."

“That…" Mirelle shook her head as she turned around. “You did that one on purpose."

“Of course, you don't stumble upon genius by accident! Now, both of you, drink! Soon, our friends will arrive, and I've much catching up to do before then."

“What do you mean?"

Revaramek only smiled. “Well I can't very well tell a story sober, can I?"

*****

Chapter Eighty Three

*****

When evening rolled around, everyone Revaramek knew gathered in the tavern. With Mirelle's help, he wanted to make it a very special for all his old friends, and those he just met. Mirelle had the full kitchen staff working, save for Beka, to prepare meals and food for everyone to enjoy as the evening started. Workers ferried food and drink back and forth, with portions and meals all sized for different creatures. By now Mirelle had dinnerware for every possible visitor, from little bowls and cups for urd'thin, up to immense platters and vessels for dragons and gryphons.

Revaramek himself ate with his drink, before everyone else arrived. The tavern made him a special meal of his own, fire-roasted lamb rubbed with garlic and herbs. After years of eating poison-wallowing prey, Revaramek could hardly imagine something more immeasurably delicious. When his beloved and his son finally rejoined him, he was going to have it made again, just for them.

Once the crowd had assembled, more food was passed around to everyone else. There was plenty more lamb to go around, if in smaller quantities. Along with the lamb came grilled vegetables, spiced rice dishes, whole skewered fowl cooked over coals, and an assortment of pastries and baked fruits to follow. Platters of sliced breads, cured meats and rich cheeses were left upon tables for everyone to snack on throughout the evening.

As everyone ate, Revaramek made his way around the tavern, wanting to greet as many of his friends individually as he could. The bustling din of voices and echoing laughter was strangely warming, despite its chaos. Though he'd grown accustomed to the sounds of the swamp, to the calls of bizarre creatures cutting through the dead of night, hearing so many happy voices all at once was somehow soothing. It helped him to know that even though his heart would bear an unfillable hole until he saw his family again, at least he was not alone.

Revaramek strode the tavern carefully. He kept watch on his tail and his wings, not wanting to knock anything over or hit anyone inadvertently. Chir'raal and Kurekka sat together near one of the limestone brick hearths, alongside a table perfectly sized for gryphons sitting on their haunches. They were feeding each other bites of food, and then commenting on the deliciousness of such rare delicacies.

“That little bit of char on the lamb skin, it's incredible."

“A little crunchy in your beak, and with…it's almost a sweetness, I think."

“Gods!" Revaramek tossed his head in playful disdain as he approached them. “It's as though you two country birds have never eaten cooked food before!"

“Shut your snout, lizard." Chir'raal glared at the dragon, clacking his beak.

“Just how much experience with cooked food like this do you have lately, Dragon?" Kurekka lowered his head, sniffing at a bowl of fragrantly spiced rice, studied with little bits of meat. “Do a lot of cooking, out there in your swamp? Roast a lot of slime and moss with your fire?" Kurekka warbled laughter, then sampled some of the rice, cooking in delight. “Oooh, this is lovely."

“You look like a pigeon pecking at seed from a feeder."

Kurekka tilted his head, glaring at the dragon. Bites of rice clung to his beak.

“That's not helping." Revaramek flicked a bit of rice off the gryphon's beak. “Be sure to complement Beka's staff, they've worked awfully hard on this."

From the gryphons, the dragon made his way further around the tavern, to a table where Beka and Tavaat sat together. Both were dressed nicely for the occasional, with Beka in a flowing dress the color of the evening sky, hemmed in silver, and Tavaat in a formal cut golden tunic, with dark breeches hemmed just around his knees. Revaramek bowed his head to his friends, and they returned the gesture, smiling.

“You didn't have to dress up, Beka." Revaramek tilted his head, his bronze edged frills lifting. “But you do look lovely this evening."

“Thank you." Beka kept smiling as she tucked some red-brown hair behind an ear. “I don't get many occasions to dress nicely, thought I'd best make the most of it."

“A shame your mate couldn't be bothered to follow suit." Revaramek gave Tavaat a mock glare.

“Hey!" Tavaat folded his arms, the miniature crimson frills around his head displayed. “I am dressed up!"

“Oh, please." Revaramek waved at the va'chaak's feet. “You're not even wearing shoes."

“I never wear shoes."

“Come now, Tavaat." The dragon slapped a paw against their table, rattling all the plates and glasses. “You're a councilman, now, you should look the part."

“Va'chaak feet aren't made to be imprisoned in shoes. Even custom ones don't feel right." Tavaat thrust a finger towards the gryphons. “Kurekka's a council member too, and he never wears shoes."

Kurekka warbled across the room. “What are you pointing at us for?"

“Tavaat says you're ugly!" Revaramek rumbled laughter that was soon shared by many of the tavern's guests. “Of course he doesn't wear shoes, he's a gryphon. They've terrible manners."

The va'chaak gestured at Revaramek, and mimed endless talking with his hand. Kurekka chirruped and returned to his food. Tavaat poked Revaramek's paw, still on the table. “So you're saying if you were a council member, you'd wear shoes?"

“If he was a council member…" Beka gestured with a mug full of ale. A little of it sloshed onto the table. “We've have to buy him pants."

“Dragons do not wear pants!"

“Exactly." Beka made a show of glancing down between the dragon's hind legs. “Which is why you'd need to buy you some if you ever joined the council." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “To hide your balls."

“Oh, please." Revaramek curled his tail. He speared a bit of meat from Tavaat's plate with a claw, and waved it around. “They're a natural part of me. It's not my fault if you bipeds are so used to hiding your own bodies you can't help but stare when you see them." He popped the stolen meat into his muzzle, stretching his wing towards the gryphons. “I'd wager Kurekka doesn't wear pants to his council meetings." He paused, blinking. “Does he? Ooh, now I want to see that, I bet it looks hilarious!"

“No, he doesn't." Beka pushed Tavaat's plate out of the dragon's reach. “But he's got all that fur, and a feathery tail. His are more…discrete."

“Oh, so you've been looking at them?" Revaramek shook his head.

“I haven't been looking-"

“Tavaat!" Revaramek dropped his voice into the same sort of whisper Beka used a moment earlier. “Keep an eye on your mate, she's interested in the gryphon."

The va'chaak only shrugged. “That's fine."

“Hey!" Beka punched him on the arm.

“Ow!" Tavaat rubbed his shoulder. “Not so damn hard."

“You're not supposed to be okay with me looking at other males!" Beka folded her arms, glaring.

“I don't care if you look." Tavaat huffed, and reached for his mug. “Look all you want." He took a drink of ale, then wiped the froth from his muzzle with the back of his other hand. “Just don't touch." He snorted, glancing at the gryphons. “Besides, I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure he prefers males."

“Oh shut up, the both of you!" Beka laughed and signaled one of her workers over to refill her ale.

“In all seriousness, it is lovely to see you both, by the way." Revaramek gave them each a smile and patted them with a forepaw. “I look forward to telling you many more stories, and receiving many more personalized baths."

Beka passed her mug off to the server, grinning. “Oh, I wouldn't get your hopes up about that happening again, that may have been-"

“I'm afraid you'll have to keep your sponges above the equator this time, though!" Revaramek held up a paw as if to ward her off. “I'm a taken dragon now."

“My sponges never went lower than your belly last time."

“Yes, because that prude Mirelle interrupted us!" He tilted his head up to glare at Mirelle as she leaned over the upper floor's balcony railing, alongside Jekk.

When Mirelle saw him glaring, she gave him an impressive rude gesture. “I don't know why you're looking at me that way, but I suspect this is an appropriate response!"

That drew another round of raucous laughter from the tavern.

“Well I see when I'm not wanted!" Revaramek stole another bite of food from Tavaat's plate, and then made his way to another table where Enora sat. When he neared her, she rose up and smoothed out her crimson dress, with a black-hemmed skirt and sleeves. “Hello my dear, you look lovely tonight."

“Thank you, Rev." Enora wrapped her arms around his head when he lowered it, hugging him. “It's wonderful to see you in high spirits, again." She stroked the scales of his neck, then eased back to kiss his nose. “It's the best way for you to move forward, as difficult a time as this is for you."

“I know. I'm doing what I can." Revaramek nosed at her cheek, and returned her kiss with a little lick. “I'm just as glad to hear how well you're doing. Sounds as if Mirelle's kept you quite busy. Ambassador to the Va'chaak Nations, that sounds so formal."

Enora laughed, nodding. She rubbed the dragon's jawline. “It does, doesn't it? But you're right, it keeps me busy. Though I still sneak in time to visit some of my taverns in the far villages to play music now and then. Did you know…" She turned away long enough to pick up her wine glass and take a long drink. “That one of those villages had made a pact with a dragon? A female, younger than you, but she keeps them safe in return for gifts and food and…well if I know anything about dragons, she's more interested in feeling like she runs the town than anything else. A bit like what could have happened here, with you, if only…well the important thing is things are better all-around now."

“That's all excellent to hear!" Revaramek glanced at the upper levels. “Mirelle was telling me about some grumpy male dragon causing trouble. Perhaps if you get him together with this female, they'll hit it off, she can teach him humans can be nice, and after he gets to mate regularly, he won't be so grumpy anymore."

“I don't think that's quite how it works." Enora sipped her wine, giggling. “But I'll see what I can do."

“I'm sure you will." Revaramek gazed around, his frills drooping. “You know, I extended an invitation to Rekrek, but I don't see him."

“I think he's busy with…well I wouldn't call her his mate, exactly, but…he has been trying to reconcile things, for the sake of his child."

“Ah!" Revaramek nodded a few times. “That is far more important than hearing some old dragon tell a story. Though…before I begin, I should…forewarn you. Asterbury is involved, and…if you don't want to listen, I understand. I should tell the gryphons, too."

Enora only smiled and kissed his nose again, her breath scented with wine. “That's sweet of you to consider. But that was…a long time ago for us. I think…I think we've long since come to terms with what he'd become. I just hope that…" She lifted her free hand, and trailed her fingers across the pebbly scales of his cheek. “At some point, you got a glimpse of the person he once was, just like we did."

“More than a glimpse, in fact." Smiling, Revaramek leaned into her touch. He cupped her hand in his paw, then eased back. “I'll let you return your dinner."

Revaramek moved on to the last guest he wanted to visit with personally. Knight High Commander Elrind sat at table with a group of urd'thin. He practically towered over the shorter creatures. Until his return, Revaramek didn't' think he'd ever seen the man out of his armor before. He wore a silver vest over a black tunic, with matching breeches. Each article of clothing was crisp and immaculate. His almost inconceivably massive mustache was now woven directly his equally enormous mutton chops, with long, crimson locks flowing over his shoulders.

“So you see, a proper bow should reach a minimum of forty five degrees." Elrind waggled a finger at the gathered urd'thin. “And not a degree less. Why, even forty four degrees is less than completely respectable."

A brown furred female urd'thin with colorful clothes, and braids in her fur, tilted her head. Her big ears perked. “What means this?"

“Ah! Allow me to demonstrate." The knight pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He placed one arm over his stomach, and the other behind his back, then bent forward sharply at the waist. “To at least forty-five degrees. Now, if you wish to bow further, that is of course, at your discretion. But anything else? Why, you may as well be slapping her across the face with your undergarments!"

“This is normal in human culture?" The male urd'thin with darker fur glanced at the female. “Slap with underwear?"

“What?" The knight straightened, red hair falling around his face. “No, certainly not." He tossed his head, crimson locks flying about, then falling back over his shoulders.

“Gods, but you're magnificent!" Revaramek cackled and leaned onto his haunches, clapping his paws. “I'd recognize that mustache anywhere, but this…" He circled a paw around the knight's head. “All together now? Someone should write ballads about you from the neck up!"

“Oh, well, why thank you, Sir Revaramek." Elrind ran a hand back over his hair, his face reddening in the lamplight. “I just thought if I'm not to be wearing my helmet so often I…I could let it grow a bit…"

“Let it grow a lot! Then your hair can join up with my moustache and mutton chops, your..." Revaramek waved his paw at the knight's face. “Your…moustache chops? Your muttonstache? They can all band together and go on adventures across the land!" Revaramek clapped his paws again. “That can be your next children's book! The Adventures of Muttonstache and the Ever-Flowing Locks!"

“What, ho? Someone already told you'd I'd taken to penning children's tales?" Elrind gazed around the room, knitting his bushy crimson brows. “That was to be a surprise! What villainous cad did told you? I've a right mind to give them a right bullswoggling!" He lowered his hand, sighing. “No, no, that's a bit extreme. I'll settle for a hornswaddle and a piece of my mind."

“You're insane." Revaramek tilted his head. “You know that, right?" He swept his gaze across the urd'thin, smiling. Mirelle had introduced him to two of them earlier. “Rogma and Lim, right?"

“Yes!" The male urd'thin perked his oversized ears, grinning up at the dragon. “That us! Is nice see you again!"

“Yes, is nice!" Lim spoke up, then waved her hand around. “You like new Cathedral?"

“It's beautiful." Revaramek lowered his voice. “Don't tell Mirelle, but I think it's even better now then it was before. You've done a wonderful job here."

“Thank you!" Rogma laughed, bouncing in his seat. “We not do work, but help make plans!"

“Everyone do work!" Lim ticked off her little clawed fingers. “Human, urd'thin, va'chaak, gryphon…is place for everyone, now!"

“I do like the sound of that." Revamarek licked his muzzle. “I should let you get back to…whatever it was the Tea Kettle was doing."

“Tea Kettle?" Lim scrunched her muzzle, lifting her glass. “Is not tea. Is wine!"

“No, I call him the Tea Kettle." Revaramek swished a swing towards the knight.

“Why?" Rogma stared at Elrind.

“I never could figure that out, myself." Elrind settled back into his chair. “That was back when I thought Sir Revaramek here was a right villainous cad. Why, back then-"

“The armor." Revaramek took a step back. “It was the armor."

“Yes, I used to wear armor, but what's that have to do with-"

“I don't want to play this game." Revaramek laughed, gesturing at the moustached man with a forepaw. “Just get back to…whatever were you doing?"

“Why, I was teaching Rogma here the proper way to bow for a lady that you fancy." He shook a finger at the group of urd'thin. “Or any lady, for that matter. Whether or not you fancy her shouldn't impinge upon committing to a proper bow!"

Revaramek smiled to himself as he made his way to the back of the tavern, where the stage was. Normally, the stage was for musicians and minstrels, or actors putting on plays and other performances. But tonight, the stage was all Revaramek's. A hearth nearby cast warm, orange light upon him as he climbed atop it. The creaked, but it was built to allow people of any size to have a chance to perform, should they wish it. He settled on his haunches and curled his tail around his paws, gazing out across the ground. Though he'd only taken time to individually greet all his old friends, there were plenty more gathered he hoped to call friend soon enough. There were more urd'thin and gryphons than he'd ever sene in one place, scattered va'chaak, and humans he vaguely recognized from before.

One by one, all the gathered guests grew silent. They turned all turned to see the dragon. Some shifted chairs around, some rose up and resettled on their haunches. Silence fell over The Cathedral, broken only by the crackling of flames and the clinking of glasses and silverware. When everyone was watching him, quiet and waiting, Revaramek took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, and cleared his throat with a growl.

“Thank you all so much for coming! I hope…I hope you're all ready for a story." People cheered, applauded, whistled and warbled. Revaramek could not stop the smile that broke out across his face. For the first time since he returned to the marsh, he felt like he was home again. It not close the hole in his heart, but their friendship would help him bear it until at last his family returned, to fill that hole once more.

“So…you all know who I am, I'm sure."

“Three cheers for Revaramek the Resplendent!" Elrind rose to his feet, hosting the cheers and raising his glass.

Everyone cheered his name three times. Revaramek put a paw to his chest and bowed his head. “Yes…that's me. Revaramek the Resplendent, Hero of the Marsh, and your most Benevolent Overlord. You all know that…I tried to sacrifice myself to save your wonderful little town. As you can see…" He tilted his head to make a sure of gazing at himself. “The sacrifice didn't take."

That brought laughter that warmed him, through and through.

“You also know that I put myself through that gate, into another world, the same poisoned world where my life began. I did so to save you from an unimaginable threat. All of you know that story by now, but…but none of you what happened to me on the other side of that gate." Revaramek took another deep breath. He licked his muzzle, gesturing with unsheathed claws for effect. “So there I was, face to face with a god in the flesh. A god who was furious beyond all measure. I had saved your world, but now I faced the wrath of a being with unfathomable power? But was I scared?"

“Terrified!" Jekk shouted down from above, laughing.

“Damn right I was, old man!" Revaramek laughed with him, holding his head high. “But I knew in my heart that I was the hero, and he was the villain, and our stories could not end until final confrontation…"

With the whole gathered crowd hanging on his every word, Revaramek found himself at peace. For the first time since he returned to the marsh, alone and afraid, he knew he was going to be alright. He was the hero.

Revaramek knew then that one day, his story would end happily, with his family at his side.

All he had to do was wait.

*****

Chapter Eighty Four

*****

The beauty of the stars was mesmerizing. The hatchling had never seen anything like them. Through the hole in the swirling clouds, the sky was impossibly black, and strewn with uncountable glittering stars. The moon had yet to rise, and each tiny, wavering light held its own unknowable mysteries. What were they? Why did they shine? Could mother reach them? Could she fly into the night and return with a handful of shining lights to surround him with?

“What are they?" The hatchling's question came after a long, awed silence.

“I don't know, Love." Mother sounded almost as awed as he was. “They're the stars. They're always there, at night, above the clouds. You cannot reach them, but they're always shining. I've…I've never seen them like this, before. Not…not from the ground. They're beautiful."

The hatchling shifted against his mother, snuggled between her chest and the crook of her foreleg. Mother lay on the stone floor of one of the towers rooms, where a long-collapsed wall gave them a clear view out across the swamp, and into the night sky. The edges of the maelstrom that surrounded this place churned in the distance, but in the middle of the clouds' unblinking eye, the sky and all its myriad points of glimmering light lay bared above them.

“I want to see the stars more!" The hatchling swatted his mother's shoulder for emphasis.

Mother laughed, a happy, joyful sound. “What do you mean?"

Her laughter made him smile. Until they came to this place, it seemed such a rarity lately. Part of him thought he remembered her laughing more often, but he could never be sure. It was almost like the memory of his father, the ghost of a smile and a laugh he clung to, missing him as much for his mother as for himself. But here, seeing the stars, talking about going home, Mother seemed happy again. And when she was happy, her laughter was like music.

“Every night!" The hatchling curled his tail against her foreleg. “I wanna see the stars every night!"

“And soon, you can." Mother curled her neck to lick him. “After tomorrow, you can see the stars any time you want. After we've reached our new home-"

“During the day?"

Mother faltered, only to erupt into more happy, musical laughter. The hatchling didn't know what was so funny. “No, dear, not during the day. But every night! At least, every night it's clear."

He tilted his head. That didn't sound like any time he wanted, to him. “Is it a clear a lot there? Where the clean water is?"

“I don't know." Mother's frills drooped a little and a hint of uncertainty crept into her voice. “I think so. I've…I've never been there. But…your father used to tell me stories from his home." She tilted her head back, her dark, copper-bronze eyes shining in the starlight. “So many stories. If it's even half as beautiful as he claimed, it will be…" She worked her jaw a few times, then swallowed. “Gods." Mother slapped a forepaw against the stone, snarling. “If you can drink the water, if you can swim, your whole life will change. You can live the life we didn't. You can…" She sniffed, then wiped her eyes with a paw. “You can find your joy there, without…without your body withering away. You could have a child of your own, and know…know you'll live enough to watch him grow up…that alone, will make it more beautiful than I…than I could even find words for…"

The hatchling whined, pinning back his ears. Mother didn't cry often in front of him. Most times he saw her tears, she didn't know he was watching. If she knew, she tried to hide them. Usually she cried when she thought about his father, but this was different. He stretched his neck to lick at her, purring in hopes of soothing her sadness.

“Don't cry, Momma!" He wriggled free to put his forepaws against her chest, to stretch even higher, licking at her neck. “Don't be sad! You're gonna like our new home!"

Despite his best efforts, that only made Mother cry harder. She stopped trying to hide it, and sat up onto her haunches to hug him tight against her chest. Her tears wet his scales as she nuzzled him, licked him. “He's right, you know. Your father was always right about you. You're perfect. I…I wish he was still with us. I hope…" She took the hatchling in her paws, and lifted him up to her face, staring into his eyes. “I hope I'm doing the right thing for you. I fear…I fear this place is getting worse, and it's…eating me, inside. I wonder if I've…betrayed you, somehow, if I was…more careful, with the way I lived before you, maybe I could…live to care for you longer, Now I…don't know how much longer I have here, and…you deserve…a full life. That's why I have to take you out of this place. That's all I have left to offer you, my last chance to give you the life you deserve. Your father would be…so happy, to see you get to swim…"

The little dragon whimpered. Mother was rambling now, and he wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about. He licked her nose, nuzzled her, and reached out to hug her muzzle. “Its okay, Momma! Don't cry!" Tears filled his own eyes, streaked down his pebbly scales. It made him sad when she cried. “You're a good momma to me! And…and…maybe Father will be there, too!"

“Father's gone!" Mother's words came in a wracking sob. She hugged the hatchling against her muzzle. “He's gone, Love. The swamp took him from us! It's taken everything. I fought, my whole life, to be happy here in this wretched place, but it's taken him from us, it's taken my joy. And if we stay, it's going to take me from you, and someday, it will take you, too. But I won't let it. I won't let it have you! That's why we're leaving." She took a ragged breath, her voice falling into a drifting whisper, as if talking only to herself. “That's why we're leaving."

The hatchling sniffed and cried against his mother's muzzle. He didn't know what else to say. “I love you, Momma…"

Mother stiffened, her hug tightening around him. “I love you too, more than you'll ever know. Where ever we're going, it has to be better than this place. I promise you, I'll fight as long as I can, to make sure you have a good life." She eased her head back, blinking away tears as she forced strength back into her voice. “Your father would be so proud of you."

“The swamp took him?" The hatchling tilted his head. She'd never said that before.

A deep, lingering sigh escaped her. Her body sagged, and her wings drooped. She eased the hatchling back down, and wrapped her foreleg around him. “Yes. It must have. He took you out to play, one day. While I slept. When I woke, you were back, and sleeping with me, but he was gone. I don't know if he…went to hunt or look for treasures for you or what but…he must have gotten lost. Or ill or…I don't know. I called for him, searched for him, but…he was gone. Sunken, to the bottom of the swamp, I am sure…this wretched place at last found its way to break me, after trying my whole life. But you…" She smiled, running her paws down his wings. “My perfect, beautiful son, are my joy now. And tomorrow…tomorrow we leave this horrible place behind, and if the sky falls, then it falls, and whatever happens…" Mother lowered his muzzle, licking his face. “We will be together."

“Maybe…maybe Father will be there!" The hatchling leaned into her tongue, purring. “Maybe he just went home! Maybe he's waiting for us, like in the stories."

“Maybe." Mother's voice broke again, and she blinked away from tears. Somehow, she managed a smile as she nuzzled her son. “You're so much like him. You have his spirit, his optimism. It shines in you as a beacon of hope, something warm and bright to cling too even when times are darkest. You father had that, and it…it is wondrous to see it grow in you anew. Like a spark to follow, a guiding light. Wherever he is, I know he's proud of you."

“I'm proud of you, Momma!" The hatchling pet his paw atop his mother's nose, smiling at her. “So don't cry!"

Mother wiped away her tears, curling her other foreleg around him. “Thank you, Love. I shall try. I'm…sorry, though. It isn't fair of me to let you see me this way. Why don't we go back to watching the stars? We can watch them until we fall asleep, and before you know it, we'll be going home."

For a while, they lay together, watching the stars twinkle and shine. Mother cradled him in her forelegs, told him stories of his father, tales of happy times. She told him the names father had for the stars, and how they were different than the names the rest of their people had. And how once, long, long ago, there was so much more to the world than the poisoned swamp and the blasted wastelands.

In time, Mother dozed off. Though it was late, the hatchling had trouble falling asleep with her. Even listening to her breathing, and the steady, even pulse of her heartbeat did not lull him into slumber. He was too excited to see his new home, too worried about his mother, and too curious about this strange tower and its many caves and oddities. Though he knew Mother might be angry at him for slipping away, he wriggled free of her grasp just the same. He padded a few steps away, then turned to watch her. She was still fast asleep. He was glad, because Mother needed her sleep.

Quiet as could be, the hatchling crept away. There were places here he wanted to explore, things he wanted to see, that Mother didn't wish him too. What better time to go and see them than while she was soundly sleeping? She couldn't be mad at him if she didn't know. He made his way back towards the stairs, climbing them one at a time.

Away from the sounds of his mother's breathing, the other sounds of the swamp and tower were more noticeable. Insects chirped and buzzed, while other small creatures croaked from within damp crevices. The wind whistled and groaned where it blew through holes in the broken stone. Dark water lapped up against the rock, a gentle, repeating cascade. The scents of the water that came with the breeze were a little different here than back home, a little less bitter. It was another scent that the hatchling followed now, the smell of decay.

Back in the first of several cave-rooms Mother forbid him from exploring lay the dead human he saw earlier. Even feasted upon by insects, screech birds, and other things, the human's body retained its bizarre shape. Four slender limbs, but no wings, no tail. A rounded head, and a flat face, with hints of rotting skin still clinging to it. Much of the creature lay obscured beneath a large piece of black cloth, affixed around its neck. Near it lay the weapon he saw before. A long, sharp piece of metal, like an oversized claw. Reddish brown blood stains clung to it.

The hatchling crept forward, towards the corpse. The day mother returned from her journeys and told him she found a way out, she bore a large wound, near her belly. He had wondered ever since what sort of creature could hurt her that way. Though he thought he had his answer when he first glimpsed the dead human earlier in the day, he wanted to be certain. When he was as close as he dared, he lowered his head and sniffed at the bloodied weapon. Though the dried blood was weeks old, at least, the scent that clung to it was familiar.

It was his mother's blood.

A hiss escaped the hatchling before he could bottle it up. This creature hurt his mother. He clamped his jaws shut, not wanting her to hear him hissing. If she woke and he was gone, he was going to be in trouble. Mother was sad enough already, he didn't want to make her angry on top of it. Yet his curiosity was not so easily quelled. Earlier, mother said “them" when talking about the dead human. There must have been more of them.

Were the others dead, too?

The smell of rot and old blood in the air told him they were. His mother must have killed them. He wondered though, if this was their home, and mother had to slay them to make it safe for him? Or had they attacked her to try and keep her here, in this place? He could ask his mother, when morning came, but then she might know he snuck away. For now, he continued his exploration.

A large, arched opening in the stone lead him to another big room. There, he found two more dead humans. Like the first, each was starting to decay, and had proved a feast for scavenging creatures. Both were covered in pieces of cloth, one dark, the other colorful. The colorful one's body was twisted at an odd angle, laying against the bottom of a wall. The one draped in darker cloth lay face down on the floor. One of its limbs was missing. Large stains of dried blood coated the floor, splattered the walls.

Just as intriguing as the dead humans were the contents of the room. Where the wooden things downstairs were falling apart and rotten, here the wood looked newer, as if the humans put it together to hold their belongings. A stack of books sat upon one wooden frame, while large pieces of vellum were stretched out upon another. Mother once told him vellum was what stories were scribed upon. But this vellum had pictures and shapes upon it, circles and lines. Several large bags made from animal hide sat in the corner. They looked just like the bag mother brought home, and now carried their things in. Soft looking mats and animal furs were draped across the floor. The hatchling tilted his head back, staring up at the books. He'd never seen so many of them before. This must have been where mother found the one she brought him, as a present.

What stories must lay in those books?

The book his mother brought him as a present before their journey had many stories in it. Each story was made of words and each word was made of squiggly lines. He couldn't read them, but mother could some of them. She said her parents taught her how, from an old book they had when she was young, but she didn't know all the words or all the squiggly lines. At least the book also had lots of pictures and images he could look at with her.

The hatchling wondered if these books had pictures, too. He skirted around the nearest dead human, heading towards the wooden platforms set against the wall. After a moment of appraising the stone, the hatchling scrabbled up the wall, little claws unsheathed and braced against whatever footholds they could find. From the wall, he leapt onto the wooden surface with all the books on it. It wobbled beneath his weight, and the whole thing toppled over. The hatchling yowled as he fell with the rest of it, stomach lurching. He beat his little wings and landed roughly on the floor, tumbling over stone. When he butted up against one of the dead humans, he scrambled back to his feet and away from the corpse as quickly as possible. The fall left his body aching, but the pain faded quickly.

For a moment, the young dragon waited in nervous silence. He tilted his head, ears perked, listening intently. Any moment now, Momma would barge in, awoken by the clatter, and yell at him for wandering off. As the seconds passed, and the frantic beating of his heart eased, the hatchling realized Mother wasn't coming. All the stone around him most have muffled the noise. That was good, Mother needed her sleep.

With crisis averted, the hatchling turned his attention to all the books now scattered across the floor. Though mother bade him to be cautious with the book she brought home, these books did not look as delicate or fragile. They also did not look as interesting. Those that lay open on the floor looked filled with squiggles. He huffed his frustration, hoping someday Momma would teach him to understand the squigglies.

Maybe some of the other books had pictures.

The hatchling turned over few other books, pulling some of them open. He tossed through the pages, increasingly frustrated. The books all seemed filled with stories he couldn't understand. The little dragon didn't think it was fair at all. Finally, one book with a golden-colored cover drew his attention. He opened it and used his claw tips to flick through the pages until he found a picture.

The image took up the whole page, depicting a spire of stone jutting up over the swamp. Clouds swirled around it in the distance. The little dragon squeaked his surprise when he realized it was a drawing of the tower he and his mother were in. Only, in the drawing the tower wasn't broken it, or full of holes. The other page was filled with more squiggles, but he hoped he'd find more pictures soon.

A few pages later, he found more drawings. The first one was also familiar. It was a drawing of the big ring thing upstairs, that mother showed him after they arrived. Only in the picture, the room containing the big ring was undamaged, just like the image of the tower. The crystalline dome was completely intact, not in pieces strewn about on the floor. The hatchling whined, hoping that their way home wasn't broken.

On the page across from the ring thing was an image similar to the ones he saw on the large pieces of vellum. There were lots and lots of circles, with lines stretching between them. Some of them were arranged together in a sort of swirly shape. More squiggles were written in around the circles and lines, as if someone had written a story across the picture.

Turning the page again, the hatchling came upon another depiction of the ring thing. This time, it looked different. The two rings were separate, and floating in the air. Unlike the last images, this one had colors, too. There was lots of pretty blue light drawn around the black and silver rings. More squiggles spanned the outside of the page.

One page later was a similar picture. It too, showed the rings floating amidst blue light. But it also showed the swamp beyond, rising in a frothing wave all around the tower. This page had different writing on it, all in an angry red color. Lots of it too, with red arrows pointing from the rings, out to the water of the swamp. The hatchling scrunched his muzzle, wishing he could read the writing.

The following page had a different set of circles and lines, and that too, had red squiggles. It almost looked like someone else had drawn on a picture that was already there. In the corner, there was another little drawing, this one in black. A tiny little creature's furry face, with horns and large ears, smiling. Squiggles sat under it. The hatchling giggled. Whatever that thing was, it was cute.

Despite knowing he'd been away long from Momma too long already, the pictures left the young dragon curious. He wanted to go look at that ring thing, again. Mother said it would take them home, but how? And why had the humans drawn so many pictures of it? What did the red lines mean? He wondered if they were trying to use it to get home too. If so, it was sad that mother killed them, but they should not have tried to hurt her.

Climbing the stairs up to the top floor left his limbs aching and rubbery. Once he'd finished his ascent he shook his legs one at a time till their burning subsided. The hatchling wasn't used to having to climb that way. Usually he just scaled up rocks and trees, and didn't have to clamber up stairs clearly intended for creatures larger than himself.

After he caught his breath, the hatchling gazed around the room. Shafts of silver light shone through the holes in the crystalline dome. Shards of broken crystal glittered like stars scattered across the floor. Black stone encompassed the room. It looked as though a piece of the night sky had fallen to the floor, right before him. Were the stars made of crystal too?

The little dragon padded forward, peering up through one of the holes in the ceiling. He could see the moon through the opening. He sucked in his breath, eyes wide. He'd never seen the moon before. Mother told him about it, but when they stared at the stars earlier in the night, it was hidden behind the storm's shroud. Now, it was higher in the sky, peering down at him as a silver eye. The way it shone through the cracked crystalline dome made it look as if the moon too, was cracked, and falling apart.

Focused on the moon's ethereal beauty, the hatchling paid little attention to where he was going. He stared up through the skylight as he walked across the room, and over broken crystal shards. Pain sliced into his right forepaw when jagged crystal cut through soft pad. The hatchling squealed in startled pain, stumbling back. He clutched his paw to his chest, whining. When he pulled it away, it left a bloody smear on his scales. Whimpering, he licked the blood from his paw pad, and examined his wound.

It was not a bad injury, a shallow cut that stretched across most of his central paw pad. Still, pads were tender, and it stung like mad. Blood ran from it and dripped to the floor. He licked it again, muzzle filled with the coppery taste of his own blood. Suddenly the hatchling was torn between going back to his momma for care and sympathy, and trying to hide the wound so he wouldn't get in trouble.

He glanced back at the stairs, grimacing. It was going to hurt to climb back down, and he'd leave bloody paw prints everywhere if he didn't wait till it stopped bleeding. Now he wasn't sure he could keep Mother from knowing he went out exploring on his own. At least she might have something in that bag to help with his injury. The last time he cut himself, she bade him to wait in their cave while she ventured into the swamp to gather flowers. Later she ground them up and pressed them into his cuts. It hurt worse at first, but soon soothed the pain. And surely she wouldn't be that mad at him. This place was begging to be explored! In the end, he decided to tell her. She'd be less mad than if she found the blood stains. Still, he wanted to wait until the worst of the pain faded.

After licking his paw a few more times, the young dragon limped towards the big ring things. As long as he was waiting up here, he may as well examine it like he first intended. He drew closer, careful not to step on any more crystalline fragments. The rings towered over him, they were larger even than his mother was. They were two rings, set into a larger arch of gray stone. Symbols of books and odd paws were cut into the stone, along with squiggle words. The smaller of the rings was made from black rock, just like that lined the room. It was shiny and smooth, and yet it did not catch any of the moonlight flooding the room. The bigger ring around it as constructed of many silver rocks, each cut into strange angles with myriad flat surfaces. More squiggle marks were carved in each and every flat spot.

The hatchling scrunched his muzzle. How was this thing supposed to take them to their new home? He tilted his head back, gazing up at it. Earlier, mother said it pieced the sky, to send them across the chasm that lay beyond it. None of that made any sense to him. And the roof was broken, now. Maybe it was broken because those humans came through it? The little dragon wondered if he jumped through the rings, would he end up somewhere else? But how would that work? Wouldn't he just be on the other side?

His paw throbbed. He lifted it and licked his wound again. Blood still welled up from his cut. It wasn't bleeding as fast now, but it still marked the ground with sticky red paw prints, coated his pad. Maybe he'd cut himself a little deeper than he realized. He limped closer to the rings. If not for his injury, he might try a running start to see if he could jump through the rings. He wasn't sure he could jump high enough, though.

Hobbling closer, the hatchling felt something tickling at his brain. The feeling made him scrunch his muzzle and shake his head. It was almost like a bug crawled in his ear, and now wriggled around inside his brain. The closer he got, the more the sensation changed, something curious, like ghosts asking him questions he couldn't understand. That hadn't happened when he came up here earlier, with momma. Maybe the thing was magic, like from some of the stories. The hatchling hoped it still works. Oh, he wanted it to work, so badly. He wanted it to send him and mother home in the morning. Surely, a little broken ceiling wasn't enough to break the whole ring thing.

Something tugged at his mind, at his heart. In all his young life, he'd never felt anything like that before. It was like when mother dragged him back by his tail and left him scrabbling at the ground. Only this…this was pulling at his consciousness, his thoughts. Maybe it was broken. If it was, he hoped he could fix it for Mother. She was so sad, lately. He just wanted to make her happy.

The hatchling just wanted his mother to be happy, to make it to her new home. Something twitched in his head. The place with the clean water.

Blue wisps fluttered in the air, around the rings. The almost looked like butterflies made of indigo embers. The hatchling gasped and stumbled back, but whatever they were, they didn't look dangerous. They just drifted around the silvery part of the ring thing. They were awfully pretty, though. He knew his mother would love them. Maybe he could catch one, and bring it back to her. Unless they burned him. But they didn't look like fire. In fact he'd never see anything quite like that. Maybe he could catch one and bring it back to Mother. First, though, he knew he should see if they were dangerous first.

Ignoring the odd feeling in his head, and the pain in his paw, the hatchling crept closer to the rings. He stalked the odd blue flutteries, trying to figure out what they were. They paid him no attention, drifting and circling some of the silver stones. He could try and leap to grab one, but he wasn't totally certain they wouldn't sear his paw. Plus, with the way it was still bleeding a little, he didn't want to jump and have to land on it.

After watching the strange blue spark things flying around, the hatchling decided the best way to catch one would be to climb up the rings. The silver stones looked easy enough to climb. That way, if he drew near the azure lights and they seemed too dangerous to touch, he could just climb back down. The hatchling clambered up onto the stone arch that housed the dual rings. He stretched his forelegs, reaching for the nearest silver stone. Blood from his wounded paw smeared across it.

The rings sprang to life. They separated not just from the archway, but from each other, suspended in the air by a sudden cascade of bright blue light. The hatchling yowled and toppled backwards as the hovering silver stones detached from one another. He landed on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs and bruising his wings. The pain brought tears to his eyes, and as he blinked them away, all the silver stones began to spin, each in another direction. Then the black ring started rotating as well, and inside it, a spiral of purest blue light formed.

Oh no.

He broke it.

More and more blue lights appeared, and soon, the myriad azure sparks whirled around the thing in frantic waves. He rolled onto his back, and scrambled away, gasping for breath. All the blue light emanating was intense enough to make his eyes ache. He wasn't used to anything so bright. He scrambled away from it, even as some unseen force reached for his brain, brushed his scales. It wanted something.

The hatchling screamed.

Forgetting his injuries, he hurtled back across the room, hopping down the stairs as fast as he could. “MOMMA!" Each hop sent another little jolt of pain through his paw, but he ignored them. “MOMMA!"

Before he'd even made it halfway down the stairs, Mother was charging up to meet him. She snatched him by the neck in her jaws, backing down the stairway. She rushed him to the alcove where they watched the stars, and set him down. Fear shone in her eyes, trembled in her voice as she looked him over, and saw the blood.

“What happened? Where are you hurt?" She curled around him, her wings flared and brushing stone. Mother hissed, baring her fangs at unseen foes. “Who did this?"

The little dragon didn't even know where to begin. “Momma, I stepped on a sharp, and then I tried to catch the blue sparks for you and then the rings was alive!"

“The rings?" Confusion etched itself across her pebbly scaled face. She nosed at him, then licked at his paw. “What rings?" She sucked in a startled breath, her spines shooting up. “Upstairs?!"

“Yes, Momma!" The hatchling whined, trying not to cry. “I'm sorry! I just wanted to go exploring, and I wanted to see the rings and if it was broken I wanted to fix it…"

He trailed off when his mother's gaze lifted to focus on something beyond him. A strange sound drifted with the breeze, a sort of rushing, hissing, splashing noise. Mother pulled him tight against her body, her voice taut. “What…is that…"

Whining, the little dragon strained to twist around in his mother's grasp, and see what she was looking at. She stared out across the swamp, through the hole in the wall. Far beyond the tower, the water churned. It rose and boiled and fell back upon itself, foam and waves washing in all directions. Lightning flashed in the walls of the storm clouds, ever-swirling around this singular point. Nearer the tower, creatures splashed in the water, tendrils reached from the depths to cling to trees, or drag bulbous, misshapen beasts up to the summit of the flat stones littering the water.

“What's happening, Momma?" The hatching whined, nuzzling at her neck.

“They're…they're trying to...find something to cling to. Or get higher…"

At the edges of the swamp, where coils of toxic clouds twisted against the surface, the water kept churning. It rose, higher and higher, only to crash back down in tremendous waves. Dark foam spilled everywhere as the churning spread. Behind, the angry swamp grew, the waters rising, as if the storm itself was pulling in the rest of the swamp, a great surge building, waiting to be unleashed.

“Is it a big wave?" The hatchling pressed himself to his mother, his belly twisted into a knot. “Like in the book?"

“What?" Mother glanced down at him. A strange, haunted look flickered in her eyes, as if she didn't even know who was talking to her anymore. “What book?"

“Upstairs…"

“It knows…" Mother swallowed, her voice cracking. Tears ran down her scales. “He used to say there were four, and he…he died…in the others. That it…is like a living thing. It's…it's a tragedy. It knows…"

“Knows what, Momma?" He hugged himself against her, fear rolling through him now like the rising waves out on the swamp.

“That I'm trying to save you from it." Mother pushed herself to her feet, panting. “It won't let you leave…" She shook her head, a snarl rising in her throat. “But I won't let it have you." Then Mother roared to the swamp, her voice was loud as he had ever imagined it could be. “NO! I won't let you have him!"

The sound echoed across the water, colliding with the crashing waves.

“We're going. We're going now!" Mother turned towards the archway that led to the stairs. “It has to work. It must work. I won't let you die here, Korakos!"

Mother snatched him in her jaws, and ran for the stairs.

*****

That's all for now! As always, thank you so much for reading! Please click the FAVE button, and leave a comment with your thoughts! See you all real soon.