Chapter 16: Chapter 14: Rituals and Incantations

“Why are all shaman huts so smelly?” Azmond scrunched his nose and looked around.

“Az, that’s rude.” Rael chastised him, though they breathed through their mouth to prevent the smell from affecting them. They had to stop when they tasted a noxious combination of burnt herbs and exotic fragrances coating their tongue.

“What would you do if someone told you that you stink?” Rael prodded, noting Bak’s smile as he prepared some tea.

“I’d take a bath.” Az stated matter-of-factly, causing Bak to snort in laughter.

“Shamans need to live closer to nature to better understand it.” Bak brought over three cups of tea. He poured some goat milk in one and squeezed a thick honeycomb into another, pushing the former to Rael and the latter to Azmond. “Just as Arafell gave up an eye for eternal wisdom, so too must shamans abandon comfort in the name of understanding.”

“But there’s two moons?” Azmond blew on his tea, licking his lips as the sweet smell overpowered the miasma inside the hut.

“Correct!” Bak ruffled Azmond’s head, the child giggling at the roughhousing. “The dragons gave Arafell back his eye shortly before they left. A sign that they entrusted him to keep us safe in their absence. Or so the stories say.”

“To attempt to understand the plans of gods and dragons is madness.” Norn Astrid pushed open the door and took a deep breath. “Ah, home sweet home. Alright, start setting up.” She waved in three women in modified shaman garb, their normally colorful clothing dyed white.

The three women silently navigated throughout the messy hut, picking up herbs and tools hidden under piles of dirty pots and cracked masonry with the same practiced ease as Bak finding the tea. One cleared the table, handing the teacups to the three visitors and taking away old hides burned with obscure symbols, ancient parchments, and a few clay tablets. The table, now cleared, had a rounded divot in the center, a pattern swirling out from it in an elaborate mandala. The table was soon cleared, the assistants pouring ground herbs and colorful sand in each of the grooves. Astrid hobbled to the other side of the table, Shaman Bak sitting up and pulling out the chair for her. She grunted as she sat, the chair creaking as she got comfortable. The women kneeled behind her and closed their eyes.

“Before the dragons, we were blind.” Astrid’s tome-staff dissipated slowly as she talked. “We thought, in our hubris, that the gods had given us the land and seas to rule as we saw fit. It took a dragon for us to realize how small we were, how insignificant. Yet this same dragon taught us how everything is connected.” The crone held a gnarled finger to the hole closest to her, decorated with swirls and harsh lines. She ground her digit into it, stuffing the powder deeper inside. “The sun, whose name has been lost to time, ancient and resplendent, harsh and nurturing. The two older women were closing the curtains, cloaking the hut in darkness.

“[Slow Burn Ignition].” One woman called from behind the Norn, and the powder burst into flames. Ash dyed Astrid’s index finger black. The fire traveled slowly along the channels, lighting the largest circle’s outer edge in soft green flames.

“Our world basks in this warmth, which powers the cycles by which our lives are defined.” Blue fire followed Astrid’s fingertips as she traced a circle within the first. “Water rains into our rivers, seeps through stone, and joins the oceans to rise again as a burgeoning storm.” The circle intersected with another, the fire changing to dark amber. From the outside of this circle many more formed to join at the center, almost looking like the petals of a flower.

The Norn’s finger trailed ahead it, seemingly lighting it in her finger’s wake. “The vital essence moves in much the same way. Man and beast alike are born, eat, reproduce, and die within this cycle. Flesh and fiber are consumed for fiber and flesh, death and life perpetually building off one another in an eternal dance.”

In the center of the largest circle, formed by blue and brown ‘eyelids’, was an empty pupil. Tiny rivulets of fire crawled from every other circle in straight lines to the center, igniting the pupil in bright red light, flames spitting out from the center like a miniature volcano. The red light covered the entirety of the stone table, drowning out the other colors.

“At the center is our perception. How we see the world affects how we interact with it. What ideas form, what laws we write, our very sense of right and wrong shape the beliefs formed by observing the world.” The fire grew dimmer and dimmer, but the afterimage was still burned in Rael’s retinas. Shadows danced on Astrid’s gaunt face, making her look like a talking corpse.

“I want you both to remember that symbol. Let it be that which anchors you to this reality, rather than one you’ve created. Destiny or no, there are bigger things at play.” Her gaze shifted between the two before she focused on Rael. “I would like to start with Azmond, but we need to discuss something first.” Her tome reappeared in her hand, waving it over the table. The fire died instantly. The ash moved like water to form a pile in the pupil at the center.

“Bak told me you were interested in alchemy.” The crone tapped her fingers on the table.

“I am.” Rael was still wrapping their head around what they’d seen, Astrid’s statement catching them off guard.

“He also said that you were willful. Enough to be recognized by Derrol and Feldon. Enough to wrest control of your tongue back from the Verita Ring, an ancient relic of the Klamfik Empire.”

‘That magic hula hoop was a relic?’ Rael almost slapped themselves. Of course it was a relic, the Faulk must have amassed a treasury of ancient enchanted items over the past few centuries. They should have been clued in by the reverence the guard had as they brought it over.

“But you also have much rage. A good thing among Faulk fighters.” Norn Astrid frowned, sucking on her dentures. “Detrimental among those studying alchemy. Do you know how to meditate?”

Rael nodded. Thought about it. And then shook their head. They weren’t sure what meditating was, Rael always pictured it as sitting in one place silently for a few minutes without falling asleep.

“Good of you to think about it.” Astrid’s laugh was more akin to a wheeze than anything else. “Perhaps I should teach you before we head over to the Dragonneedle.” She licked a finger and dipped it into the ashes, collecting clumps of the stuff and spreading it in complex patterns over a squeamish Rael’s arms. ‘Old lady spit and ash, ewww.’

The next few hours were dedicated to strange rituals and odd exercises. Rael would be made to cross their legs and count their breaths in a measured cadence. ‘In through the nose, out through the mouth.’ The youth closed their eyes and focused on the mantra, trying to ignore Norn Astrid and her assistants' work. The youngest traced ash patterns over Rael’s skin. Her delicate fingers ran across their face, their neck, and their shoulders. The other two busied themselves with grinding things in a mortar or mixing liquids.

They sprinkled Rael in oils and played chimes near their ears. The three women chanted so softly, one might have thought the sound to be whispers of the long dead. A smog of incense clouded the hut, the Norn guiding Rael through different forms of meditation. Counting sheep, discussing old Faulk parables, even washing their hair.

“Spread your awareness from your face…do you feel tension there?” Rael could feel the old woman standing in front of them, even with their eyes closed.

Rael always felt tense.

“You need to let go, child.” Astrid gently ran her fingers down their head. “Relax. You are safe here.”

Rael let the tension in their face dissipate. It was…harder than they liked to admit.

“Good.” The Norn felt Rael’s face soften under her fingers. “Now spread your awareness down to your chest. Do you find the tension here as well?”

Astrid guided Rael throughout their entire body, from the top of their head to the tips of their extremities. Every now and then, she’d hum curiously, or pause and pinch a muscle before continuing. Once Rael had visualized their entire body and driven all the stress out of their body, the crone told them to open their eyes and ask how they felt.

“Better”, Rael said, just as they had for every other exercise before. And it was true. With every meditation technique the crone taught them, Rael felt as if the hand clenched around their heart would loosen somewhat. Only somewhat. It was a far cry from the death grip they lived with every day, but meditation made it…easier. The memories on the slave ship, of Yannis, of Rael’s…blood-related kin, they became easier to bear. It wasn’t enough to please Astrid.

Every time Rael said ‘better’, the Norn shook her head and sighed. This time, she sat down in her chair with a wince, putting her full weight on her tome-staff. She looked over Rael with eyes that could pierce any veil, scrutinizing Rael with such intensity that they did not doubt the old woman had seen the very essence of who they were.

“Bak told me you were a smith.” Astrid finally said. Rael nodded. “Do you think you could forge a weapon that refuses to cool? Or one made of a metal that you know little of?”

“I…don’t think so.” Rael’s mouth was dry, immediately on guard again.

“This is exactly what I mean.” Astrid waved a hand to Rael. “I say the wrong thing, and you clam up tighter than a crocodile’s jaws. As voice of the shamans and fae, I would normally know much more about whomever I was helping. But even with everything, there are secrets you want to keep from me.” Astrid leaned forward in her chair, putting her weight on her staff. Her gray eyes bore into Rael, the youth looking away.

‘I know she wants to help…’ Rael didn’t like feeling exposed, and Astrid was able to rub away at everything they were until their soul was laid bare. Terrifying images of wargs and chains filled Rael’s mind, closing her off from Astrid. ‘I can’t let my status as Meta lead me down the same road as before.’

   “We all have secrets, dearie.” Astrid leaned back in her chair again with a dejected expression, holding up a hand and snapping her fingers.

Rael shivered, fearing it to be some signal to attack or use a spell to pull out their deepest secrets. But the three Norn assistants worked slowly and in tandem to fill a long, willow pipe with earth herbs and light it. Astrid gummed the pipe with practiced ease, blowing rings of earthy smoke into the air.

“If the other Norns knew I smoked kef, even if it helps my eyes, they’d lambast me.” The old woman sighed, twiddling the pipe. “I fear your secret may not be as innocent. You, Dragonward, have seen the opening of the Edge and the resurgence of Yannis.” She held up a hand to stop Rael from opening their mouth. “Do not try to deny the size of this event. In all the accounts, all Faulk history, this is unprecedented.”

         She took a long drag, turning her gaze to Azmond. He had fallen asleep hours ago on a cot that Bak had cleared of Astrid’s mess. A small smile was on his lips, no doubt dreaming of sweets and chasing friends around.

         “You must learn to temper your anger, Rael. If you cannot control your own impulses, how can you protect Azmond?” She blew smoke from her nose. “Hopefully, with the meditation techniques I taught you, you will be better equipped to quench your fire.” She pointed the end of her pipe to Rael. “Beware, for until you confront the root of your anger and your fears, you will be unable to control it. Now, I want you to make a promise.”

         Rael sat straight. They narrowed their eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. I want you to promise that you, Rael Dragonward of Gulass, will never use what I teach you to harm another human being.” Rael’s eyes widened. “Alchemy is hard to learn, but easy to misuse. Once someone uses alchemy to turn the tides of war, this tainted knowledge spreads like a plague. Do you understand?”

Rael swallowed, meeting Norn Astrid’s eyes with steady determination.

“I understand.”

“Swear it.” Norn Astrid punctuated her statement by striking the floor with her staff, which lit up with glowing scripts. “Swear on your name, on the fae, and on the dragons.”

Rael had only heard such a vow once, at a wedding. The woman had been unfaithful and suffered because of it. Her name had disappeared from the minds of everyone she knew and she disappeared into the wilds not much later.

“I, Rael Dragonborn, born Raela Greenthistle of Gulass, swear on my name, on the fae, and on the dragons themselves that I will not use what you teach me to harm another human being without their consent.”

Something changed in the air as Rael finished the vow. As if an unseen audience had turned their heads as one to look at Rael, their expectant silence overpowering all other light and sound in the hut. Quick as it came, the sensation faded, lights growing brighter and sounds becoming clear again. The Norn nodded sagely, taking a deep breath from her pipe.

 

Once Rael had made their promise, Astrid woke up Azmond gently and ran him through a series of tests. She was far more respectful than she was with Rael, saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ every time Azmond followed her directions. At first, she tried to get him to sit down and answer questions, but Azmond just kicked his feet and allowed himself to get distracted. Once Bak suggested that she should treat him as a child, Norn Astrid made much quicker progress. She played games with him to see how quick his reflexes were, how fast he could move, how much strength he had. She tossed him candied fruits every time he completed a task, his sharp teeth snapping the sweets out of the air. It took until dusk for the old woman to be satisfied, and even then, she had to stop herself from asking more from Azmond.

She led Azmond and Rael outside, standing under the stone arch. The massive stones loomed overhead, one of the most ancient man-made constructions in the world. It awed Rael that humans could move such stones without any help from dragons, fae, or even magic. The path extended beyond the archway, outside the Stone Circle and into the rocky wilds beyond. If one looked through it, they would be curious on why the paved path looked so much cleaner past the arch rather than within the Stone Circle. Indeed, the winding path was pristine, untouched by the vegetation that almost burst from its sides. No blade of grass dared grow between the stones, no leaf settled on the path. Even so, the path twisted and turned in a manner that caused the observer's eyes to blink in confusion. Rael blinked, trying to follow where their eyes led them on the trail, but finding the path unfamiliar every time they started again.

The path ended at the foot of a great obelisk with a hole near the top. Another Dragonneedle, framed within the arch, bigger than the one Rael had seen before. The grass and small hills obscured some parts of it, but it stretched high over it all, the eye of the needle staring directly back through the archway.

Norn Astrid struck her staff to the ground, a sapling growing and bending to make a bench for her to sit on right outside the arch.

“You’ve seen a few of the relics ancient Faulk had ‘acquired’ from other kingdoms. The Veritas Ring, the Chancellor’s Bell, maybe even the Drunkard’s Amphora.” Astrid stretched, her brittle bones crackling. “None of those artifacts are as ancient or as important as the Stone Circle itself. The art of enchantments has been mostly lost to time, the Audye grandmasters a pale imitation of what humanity achieved with the dragon’s aid. The Stone Circle was not built on enchantments and lost knowledge, but a promise. One between fae and Faulk, to protect one another from outsiders. What do you see on the edge of the Circle?”

It was easy to find the difference in and out of the circle. The vegetation bustled and moved with unseen life, thick and resplendent flora almost fighting each other for space. Rael noted the grass was greener, but also a distinct oddness just outside the edge. As if they were looking at a mirage on a hot day, everything shimmered slightly. Azmond’s eyes were more accurate, scouring differences until they lit up in excitement.

“Mushrooms!” He pointed and hopped in place. He almost ran outside the Circle, Rael’s hand jerking to grab him by the shoulder. Azmond looked back sheepishly, trying to avoid Rael’s stare.

True enough, Rael was right. A line of mushrooms peeked beneath the thickest tufts of grass, disappearing into the distance, and reappearing on the other side. Another circle, one of mushrooms. A giant fairy ring.

“Humans and fae living side by side.” Rael breathed out in awe. “Two circles meeting.”

For fae to live side by side with humans was unheard of. There was a fundamental difficulty to communicate between the two. Rael’s own experiences cemented that notion. The symbol Astrid showed them flashed in their mind. Rael realized that even if everything they knew suggested something to be impossible, didn’t mean it was. The symbol of the two circles meeting…it wasn’t just a way to conceptualize human understanding, but a basic map of Stone Circle and its neighbor.

“Correct.” Astrid smiled and threw a bony hand into Shaman Bak’s gut. “Didn’t it take you a couple days to get?”

“I guess she had a better teacher.” Bak rubbed where the Norn hit him and ignored her glare.

“Every shaman walks the path, Dragonward.” Astrid’s glare softened as she turned back to Rael and Azmond. She spoke somberly, the twilight hour hiding her features. “To walk it is to invite others to explore the life you’ve lived. They will dig through your memories as roots dig through the earth. They will learn from you, as you will learn from your own experiences.” Rael bit their knuckle at that.

‘What is it with fae and memories?’

“These fae are unlike the ones you’ve met before. They have experience with humans and have organized themselves in ways they deem similar. Yet they are not aware of concepts such as shame and discrimination. Questions will be asked: childish ones, silly ones, fearsome ones. The answers you give will be important. Do not stray from the path without asking for permission, no matter what the memories you see or what temptations lie beyond. Many shaman apprentices have never returned. You two will go together. Are you ready to follow the path?”

Rael wanted to say no. What they went through with fae the first time was more than enough for them to give up on meeting fae for a lifetime. They felt as if every Faulk had been pushing them further and further along a set path under the guise of tradition. Where the Faulk pushed…

The Dragonward looked at Az, his gaze focused on the Dragonneedle in the distance. Every time he tore his eyes from it, his attention would be drawn back to it. His own body pulled at Rael, trying to walk past the archway. Despite himself, Azmond was attracted to the needle, like a moth to the flame. Rael couldn’t let him go alone. They grabbed his hand, the child looking up at Rael with a confused frown.

“Do you want to?” Rael knelt to meet him in the eyes, clasping his small hands in their own.

“No.” Azmond shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “But…I feel like I have to.”

“Then you won’t be alone.” Rael frowned and held his hand tighter. They stood up again and nodded in Astrid’s direction. Azmond pulled them towards the archway.

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Passing the threshold of the stone archway alone would have terrified Azmond. His legs almost moved without him telling them to, as if he was one of those magnets Smith Gault had shown him. Rael’s comforting presence was behind him though, their rough hand enveloping his own. The prickling in his horns that he’d begun to associate with magic grew into a low buzz. Not as obvious, but the feeling surrounded him completely. He tightened his grip on Rael’s hand.

When they reached the other side, the two let out a breath. Nothing had changed. Until they turned around. They could not see beyond the fog that closed behind them. Rael waved a hand through the fog, hands passing through nothing.

“You can leave any time.” A deep voice said from in front of them.

Rael pulled Azmond behind them, ready to defend him against…a rabbit wearing spectacles. The rabbit cocked its head to the side.

“I am no danger to Scaled or Dragonward.” The deep voice came from the rabbit, but its mouth did not move.

“Sorry, I wasn’t…sure who’d be here.” Rael slowly eased away from Azmond.

“You are Dragonward, protecting Scaled.” The rabbit stated matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything. He spoke as if they were more than titles, but rather, names. Rael’s eyes widened.

‘Those are the names Az and I went by with the other fae. Can they somehow communicate?’

“You have us at a disadvantage. Who are you?” Rael got on one knee to speak more evenly to the fae.

“I am Rabbit.” The fae’s ears bent in the approximation of a curtsey.

Rael and Azmond looked at each other, then at Rabbit, waiting for him to continue. He did not. He continued to stare at them with his beady black eyes. The more the pair looked at him, the stranger he became. He was…too perfect. No dirt in his fur, no signs of weakness, and every one of his movements was specifically paced. Every breath lasted the same amount of time, his snout twitched every two seconds on the dot, and even his back legs shuddered like a real rabbit’s would, only at ten second intervals. Rabbit was not actually a rabbit but pretended to be one so perfectly that he fundamentally could not be mistaken for one.

“Why are you here?” Rael clarified, more than a little disturbed.

“I am curious.” Rabbit answered.

Rael wanted to throw their arms in the air in exasperation. At least this place wasn’t hurting Azmond. They took a few deep breaths, clearing their mind as Norn Astrid taught them. They shouldn’t be angry, Rabbit had answered every question Rael had posed. Fae could never lie and were often led around by impulses and feelings. Rael was too used to dealing with human intelligences.

“Want to follow us?” Azmond gave a nervous smile to Rabbit. Rabbit hopped around in circles.

“May I?” His deep voice was hopeful and innocent.

Azmond faced Rael, wide eyes practically sparkling. Rael sighed and rubbed their forehead. Maybe they could use this to their advantage?

“I am curious too, Rabbit.” Rael started. “Do you mind if we ask questions?”

“A question answered in exchange for a question answered.” Rabbit’s ears straightened attentively.

Rael nodded and got up. The path looked straight, but the more they focused further along the path, the more their eyes grew confused. The path would twist through itself, or upside down, or even go back the way it came. They wanted to ask Rabbit about it, but then the fae would be the one to set the next question. Rael just settled the strangeness of the path to another peculiarity of the feywilds.

Azmond took the first step and the world around them changed. The stone path remained unchanged, but the wilderness had morphed into a familiar scene. Hewn wood replaced dirt and grass, a nearby boulder flattened out to become a platform. Faulkie men and women cheered as two people fought each other atop the dais. A fit young woman was fighting a man riddled with scars. ‘Not a woman.’ Rael corrected. ‘Me. This was the fight I had with Klai.’

Rael watched with rapt attention, cringing at the openings they’d left open, frowning at every missed opportunity. The Rael on stage fought well, but their spells were largely ineffective. They’d wasted a lot of energy generating water to attack Klai with, which he easily broke apart. Too much focus spent on sharpening blades of water that would be ineffective. Rael shook themselves out of the fight, trying to find Azmond in the memory.

He tugged at their hand, towards the other side. Rael turned their attention to the other side of the road, where a lone Azmond was struggling against a shaman. Rael’s heart sank. This was Azmond’s most vulnerable moments, being manhandled by an aggressive shaman when Rael was too busy to save him. Rael pulled the real Az closer to themselves and held him tight. Together, they watched past-Azmond struggle away from the shaman’s grip.

“Can’t we help?” Az looked at Rael with teary eyes. Rael shook their head.

“I think it’s a memory.”

Past-Azmond threw punches into the shaman’s side and bolted.

“Did you really hit him that well?” Rael tousled Azmond’s hair, the youth’s swelling pride distracting him from the event. He nodded with a smile. “Great job.”

Pain blasted through their bodies, Rael and Azmond wincing at the surprise. Past-Azmond writhed in pain from the shaman’s spell, struggling to break free of his grip. The pair were less affected by the pain. But the memory affected Azmond deeply, the child crying out in pain. As quickly as it came, the pain disappeared, the memory dissipating back into wilderness the second a thick arm grabbed the shaman.

   “Are you okay?” Rael checked on Az, who was burying his head in the crook of their neck.

The boy nodded softly, but the wetness Rael felt on their chest spoke a different story. The Dragonward held onto him, burning the image of the shaman in their mind.

“Why did the man hurt Scaled?” Rabbit’s question broke the two out of their moment. Rael kept the sniffling child close, but he pushed himself away.

What could Rael say? How could Rael explain cruelty to something that may not understand it, or worse, should not understand it? Even Az had cocked his head to listen closely to Rael’s answer.

“I don’t know why some people enjoy inflicting pain on others.” Rael admitted, looking at their own fists. Fists that have broken bone and bruised skin in their childhood.

‘Am I any different? Just because I was in pain did not mean I should have acted that way.’ The people they hurt in their violent youth, did Rael have a choice? At some point, they’d leave a young Raela and her brother alone, but Raela sometimes went out looking for fights were there were none. Maybe because they liked fighting. Maybe because they had no other way of being in control. Or maybe it was because they could not hold all the pain in themselves, choking their heart on the bile and hate that came their way.

“Then I will ask another question.” Rabbit stood up on his hind legs. “Why were you not protecting Scaled?”

Its question was like the others before it. No accusation in its voice, just curiosity. Rael bit their lip. If all the fae’s questions would be so hard hitting, they might have a harder time treading this path.

“Among the Faulk, I need to prove I am strong to be recognized as worthy.” The Dragonward avoided the rabbit’s inquisitive gaze. Rael stood up and took a step forwards.

The scenery shifted again. A more recent event manifested around them. Darkness crept in all around them until all they saw were the Norns under a spotlight on one side of the path and Rael under another on the opposite side. The interview—or interrogation, in Rael’s view— went just as they remembered. Rael couldn’t help but have their attention drawn to the ring that floated around past-Rael. The Ring of Veritas could compel someone to speak the truth. It would stand to reason there are relics that could control people. Maybe make them open to influence, or more directly subjugate their minds. Rael shivered, looking away from the ring. Azmond took the next step, and their surroundings changed once more. Another memory, one of Azmond playing with a girl from Greem’s village.

“Does every step replay our memories?” Rael wondered aloud.

“Only the first few.” Rabbit hopped forwards.

“And after that?” Rael kept a sidelong glance at the rabbit. It said nothing.

Past-Azmond and Past-Bleffy chased each other around, Azmond even holding a warg skull over his head as he played tag. Bleffy would squeal in delight, giggling as she ran away. Present-Azmond watched from the path, almost leaning over it. He liked being with Rael, but he didn’t play as much with them as he could with others. Rael would get tired after a few hours, but a bunch of kids could keep up with Azmond for most of the day! Real put their hand on his shoulder and rubbed it.

“Once we’re out, we’ll go find Bleffy.” Azmond beamed at his amused ward. “You deserve some fun after following me around a bunch for boring adult stuff.”

You are reading story Dragon’s Legacy at novel35.com

   Every step each took brought back a memory, each further in the past from the last. Rael’s were mostly fights. Spars, but also the battle with the demon. That one was messy enough for Rael to cover Azmond’s eyes. Even so, Rael watched the battle, noting all the obvious mistakes they made. Again, they found that their offensive spells were intensive on their body; they could see their frame shrink as the fight went on, the spell’s continuous toll too great for their body.

‘All my magical methods of attacking are too weak. Only by casting several spells at once do I become a threat.’ Rael bit their lip as they went over the spells they used in their past duels. [Hydro-kinesis] would be their base spell, to summon and move water to act as a medium for other spells. True, they could use water to bat around other opponents. If they were cruel, they could even put a bubble of water around an opponent’s head. But once the construct was broken, it took more energy to reform it. Worse yet, it took some time for rushing water to gain enough momentum to be used as a weapon, more time than most fights lasted. Rael thought they’d be able to shortcut this process by using blades of water and adding multiple instances of [Minor Cut] to amplify their danger potential. These blades were hard to control and fragile.

Rael noted as much when they watched the memory of the fight with the demon. It was inefficient and wild, the blades slipping off the monster’s hide or outright spiraling away and out of range. Rael pursed their lips; they shouldn’t have let the Faulk call them demonslayer. To Rael, this fight was a desperate struggle to maintain an advantage over the demon with too many losses to be called a victory. Rael was lucky the demon was out of tricks.

“What’s all that noise, Rael?” Azmond’s eyes were still covered, but his ears were still open to battle cries and rending flesh.

“Nothing more than a bad memory.” Rael marched onwards.

Together, Rael and Azmond witnesses the feasts they shared together and the friends they’d made in Feldon. Rael found too many scenes of themselves brooding in some corner, keeping a watchful eye on Az.  When Rael wasn’t watching over Azmond, they were forging, or fighting, or tying ropes on sails. Azmond however, had a plethora of recollections involving the kids he’d had fun with, odd conversations with Gault that seemed to start and stop randomly, and more than a few involving Azmond’s mischievous misadventures. Az had been in a lot of places where, had he not been a Child of Dragons, he would have upset quite a few people.

“Why were you hiding in Captain Derrol’s rowboat?” Azmond avoided Rael’s pointed gaze.

“…I wanted to spook him.” Azmond finally said. “Like how he scared me when he jumped out of the big chest in his longhouse.”

“And when he brought that lady friend, you just kept hiding?” Despite Rael’s stern tone, mirth filled their eyes. Finally, they had something over Derrol’s head!

“I didn’t want to scare her, only Captain Derrol!” Azmond squirmed and crossed him arms stubbornly.

“Makes sense.” Rael nodded sagely and took the next step.

The surrounding changed again, to a swamp with a Dragonneedle peering from a small pile of mud. This was where Azmond collapsed. Rael was confused, though, because the Dragonneedle was blurry. Its indistinct form emitted a hazy glow that made it impossible to see if it was the same one. The fae who’d happily trailed along quietly this whole time spoke up.

“What is that?”

“A Dragonneedle.” Rael answered as they watched a canoe with Ulric and Kip glide in by one with Rael, Azmond, and Derrol. Just as they remembered. Why was this one different?

“Why can’t we see what the Dragonneedle looks like?” Rael asked, focusing on Rabbit.

“Some objects made by the Dragons cannot be perceived by fae.” Rabbit hopped along unbothered. ‘Why?’ danced on the tip of Rael’s tongue, but they got a feeling Rabbit didn’t know either.

It took a bit long for Rael to realize that Azmond was stock-still. He stood there, clenching Rael as if he’d been frozen.

“What’s wrong?”

Rael barely had a chance to ask anything before the scenery melted away, Azmond’s eyes rolling back as he collapsed to the ground. Rael caught him before he hit the ground, their heart beating rapidly. They felt his pulse and let out a sigh of relief. If not that, then…Rael cringed when they felt his forehead. Hot.

‘A fever? Now? Didn’t this happen—’

It happened before. At the Dragonneedle. Was this place too dangerous for Azmond? Were Dragonneedles traps for the Children of Dragons? Why else would Azmond collapse every time he saw one? Rael shook themselves from the paranoia. This was like before. Was it because of the other fae did something? Rael didn’t know enough, and they hated it.

“Worry not, Dragonward.” A new voice said from behind them.

Rael blinked, feeling their anxieties melt away with the woman’s words. When they turned around, Rabbit was bowing to a woman in a dress made of frozen tears. Her face was of unnatural beauty, too symmetrical to be human. Her blue eyes were like the sky on a clear morning, smiling bright. Her hair was white and fluffy, bouncing with every step. It was as if the most beautiful day had woven itself a human body out of the elements and walked right off the grass.

“Scaled is merely resting. He should have been given time to recuperate.” The woman’s sweet voice danced into Rael’s ears.

“Time to recuperate? From what?” Rael blinked a few times, trying to keep their eyes off the woman.

“Meeting wild fae and ‘communicating’ with the Dragonneedle.” The woman’s mouth moved out of sync with her words, as if the concepts she used were incongruent with Rael’s capacity to understand. “He should not have relied on the knowledge so much.”

“When? What knowledge?” Rael took a few deep breaths, focusing on the feeling they got by meditating.

“That which one refers to as ‘Insight of the Dragons’.” The woman waved her hands, and scenes played out before them. Azmond’s memories of his conversations with Gault, cut short or skipping entire sections as if something had ripped the memories from Azmond. “His mind needs time to adjust, to digest the great sum of information imparted onto him.”

“Gault.” Rael grit their teeth.

“Why would your friend hurt him?” Rabbit bounded in with a question.

“Another tough one.” Rael muttered as they tried to come up with an answer. “Gault probably didn’t realize it was hurting him. Or what he gained made him blind to what he was doing. I should have known the allure would have been too much for him.” The Dragonward shook their head.

“Then calm your anger, Dragonward.” The woman got on both knees and offered a comforting hand to Rael. “For although Scaled cannot yet walk the path, you can.”

“I’m not sure that’s on my list of priorities.” Rael caressed the unconscious Azmond’s face, thundering heart slowing pace as his face relaxed. “I need to make sure Az can recover from this.”

“This is a delicate matter.” The woman nodded. “One beyond even my powers to heal immediately. But I can put a lock on the Insight, allow it time to settle. He will recover.”

Rael looked over the woman again. Her beauty was unlike Rael had ever seen, one that no human could possibly emulate. She was fae. Her mercy would not be free.

“What do you want in exchange?” Rael frowned at the woman, barely reacting when her bright smile morphed into a predator’s, sharp teeth salivating with hunger.

“I enjoy firsts. Your first child, your first love, your first kiss, your first memory…” The fae’s eyes gleamed dangerously. But they dimmed somewhat. She did want those things, but Rael could tell she needed something else.

“What do you need in exchange?” Rael repeated the question, beginning to understand how the fae worked. Everything was literal to them. Sometimes word choice made all the difference. As Rael thought, the woman’s face returned to a state of serene beauty. What she wanted and what she needed were different things, though Rael failed to understand how a fae could need something.

“You are bound to this child.” The woman sat up, snow sliding away from her sparkling dress in a cloud, strange lights dancing in her shadows. “Not just by name. Your fates have entwined themselves into a thick cord. Scaled is a Child of Dragons, he is involved with the Breach. You must get him to open the Breach again.”

‘Breach? What are they on about?’ Rael’s expression of confusion must have been enough for the fae to keep explaining.

“The Dragon’s Firewall must be breached, as it was a few seasons ago. It is necessary.”

Rael gaped. ‘She wants the Edge of the World gone.’

“You want the Edge-sorry, the Firewall gone.”  Rael kept their tone measured.

“Not gone.” The fae shook her head. “Too dangerous. The Dragons specified it must be breached for the Inheritor to complete their duties.”

The Dragonward rubbed their forehead in confusion. Every time the fae answered, it’d throw out some new term that Rael knew nothing about. They were getting nowhere. Rael had to cut to the root of the issue.

“Who or what is the Inheritor?”

The fae woman paused, her features flickering on her face. For the first time since Rael had seen her, the fae blinked. Several times in quick succession. When she looked back at Rael, her face was stiff and her eyes lacked the life they once had.

“The Inheritor is whomever inherits the Dragon’s Legacy, the sum total of magic, resources, and responsibilities necessary to achieve the Solution.” Her expression was glazed over and her voice monotone. ‘Just like Az when he did his ‘insight of the dragons’ thing.’ She blinked a few more times and shook herself from her daze. “You can see why I am interested in finishing the final duty given to us. We lose ourselves to the duties assigned to us more often now that many of the parameters are fulfilled.”

Rael’s head was buzzing with all the information the fae just dropped on them. Why would the Dragons separate Galladia from the rest of the world, only to get the fae to push people to go through the Edge? What was the Dragon’s Legacy exactly? And how did that lead to the ‘Solution’, whatever that was? ‘Why in the hells can’t the overgrown lizards do it themselves?’ Rael was putting together a puzzle with missing pieces. From what they could tell, whatever the Dragon’s Legacy was, it would be bad if it got into the wrong hands. What were the right hands, though? This was too much for Rael to deal with by themselves.

Rael picked up a catatonic Azmond and made to leave. They stopped, focusing on the staring fae woman and Rabbit. Rael was tempted to keep going, as there were bound to be more revelations the more they walked. Curiosity tugged at Rael, but Azmond’s well-being was more important. Rael felt the need to ask one more question.

“How would one find the Dragon’s Legacy?” Rael turned around but kept their eyes locked on the fae.

“Follow the Dragon’s gaze and connect the nodes.” The woman bowed and waved. Rael had no time to ask what she meant by such a cryptic phrase. They blinked and they were underneath the stone archway again, facing the hill in the center of the Stone Circle.

“Dragonward Rael, you’re back.”  Norn Astrid gestured them forwards, frowning wen she saw Azmond. She was about to open her mouth to comment when Rael explained.

“A fae told me that Azmond has to wait a while before he can go back.” Rael walked ahead, Azmond drooling on their shoulder.

“Intriguing.” Astrid rubbed her chin. “Did you learn anything?”

<><><> 

“Too much. Have you ever heard of the ‘Dragon’s Legacy’?”

As it turned out, neither Astrid nor Bak had heard of such a thing. Bak insisted on taking Azmond to rest, opening his mouth several times to ask questions. Thankfully, he noticed Rael’s sour expression and let them be. Astrid was more stubborn, but Rael had to insist that the old woman stay behind. Rael explained through grit teeth that Smith Gault was using Azmond’s strange gift from the first Dragonneedle and fae to answer a bunch of questions of his own, to Azmond’s detriment. Rael needed to confront him about it. Nevertheless, the Norn followed Rael as they pushed through the noon crowds towards the crafter’s district. Rael pointedly ignored the crone, even when the throngs of people made way for her. Astrid hid a smile and followed Rael quietly.

Rael asked around the district for Smith Gault, and after a few tries, someone pointed them in the right direction. People filled the streets, bustling over each other to get a view of the larger forges.

“What the Hells is going on?” Rael heard someone ask as they shoved themselves between pointy elbows and smelly cuirasses.

“You haven’t heard? The Jarls are competing by having their smiths forge the best piece they can. There’s only about an hour left.”

Rael grunted, pushing themselves through people bullheadedly. They couldn’t fight against so many people, though. One of their shoves was repaid by a stronger push, pressing their faced against the wall of a building. Grumbling, the Dragonward gripped the cobblestone wall and pulled themselves above the crowd. There were a few slim Faulk on the roof sharing small barrel of mead, riggers like Rael who’d climbed above the streets to get a better look. One of them offered Rael a flagon, but Rael shook their head politely. They found Gault easily enough.

He was among the many blacksmiths at the large smithy that had garnered so much attention, the only man without a beard. Twelve of the eighteen forges were lit bright, worked by sweaty men and women beating metal into shape. Gault hammered metal precisely and hurriedly, glancing every few moments to the giant hourglass stationed right outside the smithy. There was a garrison of Faulk puffing the bellows to keep the fires hot. Each time they pushed down on the bellows, a wave of hot air would wash over the audience, embers pirouetting out of hearths and over their heads. Analyzing the people below, Rael grimaced at the sight of Norn Astrid casually making her way towards the smithy, a bubble of space opening for her. She shot Rael a mischievous smile.

There wasn’t much of an option for Rael. They could continue back down and try to push through the crowd, join Astrid and allow her to ask all sorts of questions Rael wasn’t sure about answering…or jump from building to building.

The Dragonward looked down into the crowd of bustling people, small lines of pedestrians shuffling through the mire at a glacial pace. They took a few steps back. The riggers on the roof with them poked each other and pointed at Rael. They took a running start. With a mighty leap, Rael soared across the road…

“Ooomph!”

And caught the lip of the roof in their gut. They slowly slid down, their arms waving wildly for any purchase on the roof. They grabbed a solid frond and slowly pulled themselves up, the cheering of the riggers ringing in their ears. Rael stood up, nursing the bruise that was no doubt forming on their stomach. They smiled and winced, waving at the riggers…and the roof fell underneath them. A shower of splintered wood and dried fronds rained on the people below. A few of them had a chance to look up before Rael landed on them.

Rael blinked woozily, resting uncomfortably on a tangle of limbs. The area around them cleared, a silhouette looming over them. Astrid leaned on her staff, a tight smile on her thin lips.

“Always in a rush, dearie.” She tutted, poking at Rael’s bruise. “Always so eager to rely on no one but yourself.”

 “What can I say?” Rael groaned as they sat up. “I’ve never let myself down before.”

Astrid prodded at Rael’s bruise again, harder this time.

“It seems you ‘let yourself down’ after all.” She pointedly looked at the broken roof.

Rael grumbled and dusted themselves off. They helped one of the Faulk they landed on get back up, the woman shaking herself from her confusion as she was pulled to her feet. Her eyes widened when she saw Norn Astrid and bowed deeply. The others got up quickly, a mixture of scowls and confused expressions disappearing the second they noticed the Norn. Soon, Astrid and Rael had more than enough room to move around.

“Come along, Dragonward. Smith Gault is just a hop away.” Her dry laughter caused Rael’s ears to burn in embarrassment. “Go with the flow.”

The old woman hobbled through the dense crowd far easier than Rael had, leading them to the smithy. Gault, ever focused on his work, did not notice Rael until they were standing right by the hourglass.

“Rael!” He dropped his tools, leaving a glowing metal rod on the anvil, to hug the Dragonward in a deceptively strong embrace. “Thank Xythael you’re here! I need all the help I can get!”

“Actually, I need to talk to you about something.” Rael tried to say as the smith pulled them into the smithy.

“We can talk while we forge.” Gault shoved a hammer in Rael’s hand and held the metal rod with the tongs over the anvil. “The others have apprentices or assistants, but I’ve been doing most of the work myself. Help me flatten the blade.”

“Hey, you can’t conscript someone to help!” One of the smiths yelled over the din.

“Shaddap Prug!” Gault snarled with a ferocity Rael had never seen before, whipping his head towards the massive blacksmith and waving his tome-hammer wildly. “You clearly have three apprentices doing all the work for you, you moss-bearded goat prolapse!”

The smith wisely backed away and continued ‘working’. Gault returned to his anvil, a spark of madness dancing wildly in his eyes.

“Sorry about that, Rael. I can get competitive when it comes to smithing.” His gaze darted between the competing smiths, the hourglass, Rael, and the metal he was working.  

He held the metal steady and slammed his hammer on the rod, flattening it slightly. Rael paused under his expectant stare. ‘Go with the flow.’ The youth swung their hammer onto the rod, the dissonant ‘clang!’ chasing away their thoughts. The two worked together in practiced tandem, one pummeling the steel as the other readied their strike. The blade cooled under their ferocious strikes, Gault putting it back in the forge and pulling out another. Rael cocked their head in confusion, curious as to why he was forging two blades at once. Gault smiled knowingly, striking while the metal was still glowing yellow. Rael followed along, intent on finding out what Gault was doing. After a few minutes of continuous hammering, Gault pulled the other blade out of the forge, laying both rods parallel to each other on the anvil. A glance at the hourglass made him frown.

“What are you trying to do?” Rael crossed their arms. “Trying to impress the judges with your speed by making two weapons?”

“Azmond has helped me determine what makes the best steel.” He continued, oblivious to Rael’s glare. “By using the subpar steel as a flexible spine, I can fold the higher quality steel around it to retain a sharp edge. If we can work together, we may have enough time to make the hilt.” He was quiet, waiting for Rael to give their input as they usually did while smithing together. He looked up, finally noticing Rael’s glare. “What?”

“You need to stop that.” Rael growled, surprising Gault. Before he could ask Rael why, they continued. “Az may have been hurt because you kept using him for information. About making swords, no less.” The Dragonward shook their head angrily.

“Az is hurt?” To his credit, Gault was mortified, his attention completely driven away from his work.

“He fainted when we tried to visit the Dragonneedle. Apparently, someone’s been using the ‘insight of the dragons’ too much.” Rael’s pointed jab made the smith deflate. He collapsed onto the stool by his forge.

“But…how?” He cradled his head in his arms. “No, I should have realized. All magic has a price, and the bounty of information seemed so easy to get…”

Rael would have been content to let him stew in his misery, but…Gault was a friend. He never intentionally hurt Azmond, and Rael was equally responsible in the matter. Neither Rael nor Gault could have known about the consequences, and any strangeness on Azmond’s part was explained away as another one of his quirks. ‘This would be so much easier with a book about parenting scaled children. Something like ‘How to train your Dragonborn.’’ It was an easy mistake, since Azmond tended to bounce back from things easily and hid his negative emotions well. He hated making Rael worry.

The blades were cooling quickly on the anvil, not yet completely flat. The sand in the hourglass trickled down. There wasn’t much time left.

“He’s okay, Gault.” Rael sighed. They didn’t want to ruin Gault’s chances in the contest, even if he was mostly responsible for Azmond’s condition. “Shaman Bak is taking care of him.”

“Really?” Gault peeked an eye, reddened by dust or tears, Rael could not know.

“Yeah.” Rael said in a voice far more confident than they felt. “Now do you want to kick some ass or sit there, wallowing in your past mistakes?”

“I dunno…” Gault sniffled. “We won’t have enough time to sharpen the blade after folding the two pieces together.”

“For goodness’s sake.” The Dragonward summoned their dagger in one hand and held the tongs in another. They pushed the two pieces of cooling metal together. “Which one is the hard steel?”

“The one on my left but—”

“[Synthesis].” The spell pulled the two blades together, melding them together.

Rael felt like the spell ‘wanted’ to finish there, but the result would have been a hunk of fused metal rather than the complicated structure Gault described. The Meta pushed the spell to continue, mixing layers of the two metals together in such a way that the softer metal stayed inside the blade whereas the harder steel stayed outside. ‘Then again, I could keep making rolled layers, like a billet.’ The spell kept going, starting to drain Rael’s reserves. They kept focusing on mixing layer after layer of the metals until they were nearly homogenous.

“Rael!” Someone shook their shoulder. “That’s enough, more than enough.”

Gault shook Rael out of their concentration, breaking their spell. The steel they worked glimmered oddly in the light of the smithy. Wavy patterns like fingerprints twirled up the steel.

“Wow.” Gault whistled, running his hand down the hot blade, his sweat sizzling off his finger. “This is quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Now we just need to temper it properly, sharpen it, and hilt it.” Rael wiped the sweat from their brow with a smile.

“That’s a weird bit of steel!” A smith jeered from behind them. “Is it for decoration?”

“Shut your trap, Mostruk!” Gault jumped up, hammer at the ready. “There’s a reason your husband only warms your bed after finishing a whole barrel of mead!”

The rest of the process went well, the pair sharpening the blade after Gault quenched it using magic. They carved a decently sized hilt, making sure the pommel wasn’t too heavy so that the sword was more balanced towards the blade. They had enough time to joke with each other as they pressed the edge into the grindstone, finishing the sword with a few grains of sand to spare.

Other smiths were not as lucky, groaning dejectedly when one of the Norn guards slammed their weapon into a large cymbal. A table was brought before the smithy, at which sat Norn Thurid. Whereas Astrid was long and willowy, Thurid was much like Thorgrim and Halbrand in that she still had a lot of muscle despite her advanced age. Every time a weapon was brought before her, she bade her Tome-warrior to take it.

“Will it cut?!” She roared to the audience, holding a thick log of wood in front of her tome.

The throngs of Faulk cheered. The tome swung and one of two things would happen. The weapon would dig into the log, cutting through wood before stopping partway through. The audience would scream in excitement.

“It cuts! It cuts!”

Thurid would break the rest of the log over her knee and toss the two pieces in a pile, picking out another and starting again.

The other happened rarely, the metal shattering into pieces once it hit the wood, sending bits of metal shrapnel everywhere. Some fragments would shear into the crowd, causing small injuries among any unfortunate enough to be close. The Faulk being Faulk, loved it even more when a weapon failed.

“It broke! It broke!” They’d holder, the (un)fortunate injured picking out shrapnel from their wounds and showing it off to their friends.

It turns out the ‘splash zone’ was a coveted spot in these competitions. There were only three weapons left. An axe made by Jarl Erikar’s personal blacksmith, a greatsword made by Jarl Moryn’s team of craftsmen, and Gault’s strangely-patterned sword.

 Norn Thurid’s hands hovered over the last three weapons, tantalizingly close to the sword Gault and Rael made together.

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