Gasping, the warrior flung herself back skyward, straining against the wind. Every muscle in her neck and shoulders and wings struggled for it, pushing her up, defying the rain. So she could not see the dragon in the storm.
Delyth would find her above it.
For an age, the warrior fought upwards, her face and neck streaming with the torrents of water, her clothing soaked to the skin. She was blind, a tortured thing struggling towards the light.
And then she was breathing in vapor. Thick and mountain-snow cold, it formed stalagmites of ice on all the lining of her lungs. She choked on it, gasping for real air, for oxygen to fuel the frantic pumping of her wings.
And then she was through. All the world was still. Frigid and dark and lined with stars so close that Delyth could swim among them. She crowed for the sheer joy of it.
And Llu’draig roared back.
Together, they rose, the black dragon stretched out from nose to tail, reaching up to the moon above. She seemed endless, her edges fading into the dark around them, and Delyth so tiny beside her. So small. Holding her hand out to catch moon rays even as ice formed on her eyelashes.
Just woman and dragon and starlight.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
At dawn, Delyth approached the cave for the final time, her eyes red-rimmed and tired above smiling lips.
She had done it.
She had passed both of the dragon’s tests. Proved herself worthy of being bargained with.
Like an equal.
Ral’draig arranged herself before the cave much as she had been when the warrior had first seen her. Again her gaze was appraising. Though this time, the great serpent seemed to approve of what she found. She blew hot air gently over Delyth’s hands, where they proffered up the twin scales. One light. One dark.
“You have passed our tests, little sister. Now, what would you like to trade?”
Delyth reached into the satchel at her side and pulled out a crown, bejeweled and glittering. It was heavy in her palm.
“I offer the crown of an Ingolan King, lost in Thloegr during the Great War.” Delyth was glad, then, she had asked Enyo for some object to trade. When the Goddess had ordered her to retrieve something from the sky dragons, she had known she would not steal into their layer in the night as Tristan had once done. “In exchange for the twin seed to Ruyaa’s tree.”
Ral’draig considered this for a long moment, then nodded. Though the seed was rare, neither she nor her sister were particularly interested in so dull a treasure. She shifted so that Delyth might enter and exchange the two items, watching closely the entire time. When the warrior had finished, she again arranged herself before the cave.
“A good bargain, little sister. Now, I have one to ask of you. Llu’draig and I know that Maoz walks this land again, but despite that moons have passed since his return, he has not come to us.
“We chafe beneath the compulsion he has laid on us, the oath we took to wake only one at a time. If you will find him and tell him we long to speak to him again, then you may wear our scales until the day you return them in exchange for a boon.
“Well, little sister? I long to fly with the Dusk Dragon again.”
Delyth was already nodding, her chest pinched with feeling. How lonely it must be to be near someone you loved but not able to truly speak. Almost like it had been with Alphonse in the beginning while Enyo controlled her body. And even then, Delyth had still gotten to see her lover periodically. She cleared her throat. “I swear, Dawn Dragon, that I will speak to Maoz on your behalf.”
Ral’draig bent her great, pearlescent head until the warm scales of her snout bumped Delyth’s chest.“I accept your oath.”
Thunder rent the sky, and that same terrible weight pressed Delyth down into the earth as when she had taken her oath to Enyo. Then it was over, and the great serpent had pulled away to look down on her. “Go now, little sister. May your talons stay sharp, and the wind always fly at your back.”
And so Delyth left with more family than she had known before.
Silvie, Margot, Ines, Lilou, and Bram
1822, Fourth Moon, Waning Crescent: Nyth’draig Village
Alphonse picked up another speckled egg from beneath the blooming laurel bush, brushing off a few purple flower petals and setting it gently amongst the other eggs in her basket. The healer sighed as she glanced towards Sylvie, who was giving her the reproachful look of someone deeply offended.
Of course, it was Sylvie, the fickle hen. She was the most easily affronted. She’d cackle all night if a storm was coming in and was never pleased with Alphonse’s treatment of her precious eggs.
“Don’t look at me that way, Sylvie! I will have none of your guff today.”
Sylvie fluffed out her golden feathers and squawked, waddling away like a great lady walking off in a huff.
Despite herself, the healer smiled and looked around her garden with some satisfaction. With spring well underway, many of the plants were blooming. The apple tree was shedding white blossoms, and her bean plants were poking through the earth near their trellis, ready any day to climb up.
Alphonse stepped onto the stone path she and Delyth had laid so carefully last summer to keep the way from becoming so muddy during winter rains. Now her hens strutted across it, certain the stones had been laid for their benefit. Sylvie still ignored Alphonse, and Ines, Lilou, and Bram contentedly pecked away at the feed she had scattered earlier.
Margot was perched by the back door, waiting for Alphonse to allow the silly chicken entrance to the cottage. She had aspirations; she was stoic and determined. Brave.
Like Delyth.
Alphonse had said as much to her paramour, and the warrior had seemed not
