Chapter 35

  Syreen wailed. A shriek that shook the cavern walls, chilling Fia to the bone. And fire fell from her lips, splashing greedily through the gold as it burned towards them.

  Her staff was already in hand, raised high as she braced herself. But before her light could shine, she felt the wind against her back. It was a cold and salty breeze, it fought the heat as it swirled around her, filling her senses with the scent of the sea. And the flames were met by a wave.

  There was a hiss of steam, a squeal quickly strangled by the tide. Cari stood beside her, sending volley after volley streaming from the bone staff. The icy waters of the Shivering Deep crashed into Syreen, pushing the dragon back and slamming her against the Forge. A bitter gale screamed out from the trident, and the waters around the winged snake froze, imprisoning her in the ice.

  But it did not hold her for long. Syreen let forth a great screech, raising her head and howling into the cosmos. And the ice burst, shattering into a thousand shards. Her wings beat down, bending the winds to her command and driving the storm back towards them.

  The shards flew at the head of the tempest, needled glass, their pointed edges bearing down upon Cari. But between them stood Ella. With a flash of her golden staff, a wall of light appeared before them, and though the storm passed through it, it came out the other side as only mist.

  “There you are,” whispered Syreen. Her spine curved into an arch, every muscle tightening as her hind legs pressed against the anvil. Then, snarling, she launched herself towards Ella.

  A second flash, and the spears of the magi were let loose. They cut her down, peeling the scales from her flesh and tearing into her hide.

  Ella stepped closer, moving her way to the beast. Syreen lay in a pool of deep crimson. The scales shorn from her scattered in her wake, the last of their starlight fading into black. But the dragon’s head loomed, rising to face her. And the furnace deep within her bellowed as its magma poured from her throat.

  Gold twisted from the Magi’s staff, swallowing the fire and molding to its shape. Ensnared, the flames died. And through the writhing sculpture, walked Ella, unscathed.

  “You came to me feigning ignorance, but your magic betrays you!” Syreen howled. “The hand of the Usurper pulls at your strings!” There was fear in her voice, and Ella walked on.

  In desperation, the pale drake reached deep into the red waters, pulling shards of her scales from the bloody pile, and hurling them at the mage in white.

  The first caught Ella unaware, slicing through the air and burying itself deep in her eye. Ella made no sound, but for a moment she wavered, slumping down, and as her head fell, a splatter of gold fell with it. Splashing down from her wound. Then she steadied herself against her staff and kept walking.

  “See? See! There it is!” the dragon boomed triumphantly, “The taint of gold!” And she screamed with rage, splashing through the muck searching for more scales. But she could find none. And in a moment of wild frenzy, she turned on herself. Taking her curved talons and tearing at her throat in search of the only thing she had that could harm the veil.

  But Ella would not be caught again. With a careless wave, she sent an arc of light flying, turning all it touched to dust.

  In the end, Syreen tore herself bloody, her skin hung in shreds, and her breath grew ragged. But she could not stop Ella.

  She stood before the dragon, conjuring a single spear. An aureate shaft, brilliant and gleaming, and she sent it flying towards Syreen’s heart.

  A roar like thunder, and Syreen slammed her claws into the stone floor. The grey mirror beneath their feet cracked open. Fissures splintered from beneath her hooks as the rock jutted out to block the spear. And from the cracks oozed liquid flames.

  “Ella, Ella, look out!” cried Cari. Fia barely got her arms around the girl in time to keep her from sprinting out to her shadow.

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  “We have to help her!”

  “Ella will be fine,” Fia hissed, “We need to—”

  —The floor beneath the dragon fell away, the stone crumbled, and the forge collapsed. And Ella fell with them. Beneath their feet burned an inferno. A lake of fire. And the dragon, Ella, and the forge sank deep into its melted core.

  Cari gasped.

  “She’ll be fine,” Fia shouted. “Worst case, we’ll see her again when the loop resets.”

  Cari nodded, but the fall had shaken her, and she stared into the molten waters, waiting.

  Ripples raced across the surface, and the magma dimmed as a shadow grew beneath the waves. And a dark shape tore through the surface, exploding up in a spray of liquid rock.

  The dragon, born anew. Adorned in gold, the treasures of the Forge, fused to her flesh by the flame of the mountain. She sparkled with the light of a thousand precious stones.

  “Fools!” She spat, as rivers of fire spilled down her side, “This is my home. The mountain is mine to command, as its power is mine to wield.”

  She stalked along the banks, the ground trembling beneath her feet. The hall shook with every thunderous step, and the foundations slipped deeper into the lake.

  Fia took Cari’s hand, pulling her away from the lake and towards the cavern's edge. They needed to find higher ground and surer footing.

  “I am the Moonborn Flame. My song is eternal. Diminished, even as I am, what chance does the shadow of a false king stand against me?”

  Her words rang hollow. Emboldened by the yellow light of her newfound scales, but also under their curse. The treasures of the forge, melted down and splashed across her face, hardened over her slitted eyes until all that could be seen was the gold that blinded her.

  They ran along the wall, dodging falling rocks and splashing waves of fire, until they found a ledge, protected by a fallen boulder. And above them, the way out.

  “We’ll wait until the time is right. When she has moved far away from here.”

  Cari nodded.

  Syreen scoured the ruins of the hall, swinging wildly, flailing desperately in search of them. Like a feral hound, nose to the ground chasing the scent of her prey. But soon she had completely lost herself, chasing ghosts.

  “You cannot hide from me!” she screeched. “I hear your steps, smell the stench of your corruption.”

  Fia placed her hand on Cari’s shoulder, “Now,” and they stepped off the ledge. But before their feet could fall, the crumbling remains of the basalt rose to catch them. They floated up, forming a path to the wind tunnel and the stairs that would lead them out, and as the dragon raged, they walked up to its black door.

  “There is no escape from here!” Syreen roared. “All paths lead to Orikal, but the way is shut!”

  The way was shut. The stone doors had collapsed, blocking the path.

  Below, Syreen began to sing, a frenetic chant, a jumbled chorus that rose and fell in wild turns. She pulled the fire from the lake, its light pooling in her lifted palms as she raised her voice to the heavens.

  The hall grew dark. On its roof, the mote of starlight twinkled into view. And she tore them from their perch, casting them down upon the rock in bursts of brilliant azure. With each star that fell, there followed a flash as bright as day. And in it, the burning images of the dragon’s descent.

  They watched, safe in the recess of the shattered doors, as the lake turned to stone and a tomb was built.

  At last, the final star fell, and only the cold moon remained. But Syreen was not satiated; she would finish what she started. With both hands, she took it, pulling it down to the earth, and the roof fell with it, burying her in stone.

  “Is she dead?” Cari whispered, looking down as the dust cleared.

  “Only one way to find out.” Fia cast a light, sending it into the crater. “Stay here.”

  The fire of the mountain had gone out. The lake turned grey in undulating waves of ash and soot. In its center, the glimmer of gold revealed the dragon’s head. All that remained of Syreen. The rest of her drowned in a sea of fallen stars.

  “I hear you, traitor,” she whispered as they approached. “Come to finish the job?”

  “It didn’t have to be like this…We didn’t want to fight.”

  “It was always going to end like this,” Syreen coughed. Her face was savaged, and bleeding heavily, but the gold would not let it out, trapping it in her skin and forcing it through her nostrils and back into her throat.

  “We were not your enemies.”

  “All that serve the false king are enemies of the moon.”

  “We serve no king.”

  “Only one of you does not stink of his gold.”

  “Was not this hall adorned in gold?”

  Syreen chuckled, a wheezing groan as the blood bubbled to her lips. “And see what it has done to me? It is a sorrowful fate. The moon is forever destined to be a cold reflection of its mate. But at least I got the other one. If you are truly no enemy of mine, then forget whatever promises led you here, take your girl, protect her. And do not return. The way to Orikal is shut, and the ruby will not reform. All you will find here is bone and ash.” Her voice was faint, growing weaker with every word, but she was telling the truth.

  “I—”

  —There was a crack, and the air burned around them, tearing itself open. And through the tear, stepped Ella. Unscarred, her eye remade. She floated coldly in the dark, just above the dragon’s nape.

  “Remember,” Syreen wheezed, “A gift of gold is no gift at all.”

  The mage raised her staff, her face shrouded in the shadows of her hood.

  “Ella, wait!”

  But she did not listen. Her staff swung through the air, as the golden blade of an axe grew from its head. It was an execution.

  The dragon let out a deep sigh as her head fell. And Syreen was returned to the moon, reunited with her children once more.

  Cycle: Cari 19-2