62

The Last Dragon

Candle stood looking out over the calm waters of Adamant Bay and offered up a brief prayer for Belias' soul. The air was still, and the Highway of Souls was reflected in the glassy expanse of the dark ocean. The edge of the water lapped at the shore, sweeping over the beach in lazy ripples and spilling over Candle's toes. The line that marked the boundary between land and sea was clearly visible as a looping trail of luminescent magic. It glowed a brilliant blue against the black sand.

A lump of grief inside Candle's stomach eased as she looked out at the ocean. She felt a deep peace in her soul. Her soul, her soul that was all her own. The soul she had shared since she was too young to remember. There was no longer any need to fear the darkness — no need to fear the demon. There would be no more whispered threats, no more terrible visions. It was a strange thought. She didn't feel any different – a little light-headed maybe, but then she was still giddy from her final fight with Belias. Was this how it felt to be free?

Now, at last, her Ancestors should hear her. Her toes curled in the sand, feelings hovering anxiously between anticipation and worry that even now, she would be unworthy. There was only one way to find out and she was almost too afraid to try. So many times she had been disappointed. Stepping out of the water, she walked up the beach and then sat down in a hollow of sand. With shaking hands, she reached into her battered bag and took out a crumpled drawing. Tightly wrapped in oilcloth and dumped at the bottom of her bag, it had somehow survived the journey through the Night Nation. She gazed at it for a moment. It was a simple sketch, one that she had made many moons ago in Jotham's cave. She remembered the peace and the happiness she had felt when she had created it. Slightly smudged and crumpled it was still recognisable as a drawing of the Enchantments. The cliff face above Hanternos was drawn in fine detail, the little bothy just visible on the slopes below, the ruined castle peeking out of the flat granite peak. It was, despite being a little battered, a fine drawing. It was a fitting Devotion.

With quiet delight, she cast the rune for fire. It sizzled for a second before vanishing into the air. A flame appeared on her fingertip and she touched it to the parchment with a smile. The edges caught and she held it away from her clothing with care, letting the soot drift away over the water as the flame ate the offering.

"Ancestors," she said, "a gift for you." And she named them, one by one. The edges of the parchment blackened and curled, the smoke twining upwards in the still air. The scent of burning paper was pleasant – a warm, homely smell that reminded Candle of being small and watching her parents burn their Devotions on rainy afternoons, before they had banished her from their presence.

The last piece of parchment crumpled into cinders, and she let it go with her fingers, then reached for another. One by one she burned each of the drawings she had brought with her. It didn't take long. Soon they were all cinders on the wind.

Candle concentrated, holding her fingers out. If the Ancestors were satisfied with her gifts, she should be able to call fire without the use of a dragon rune. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the warmth on her finger, the same tickle of heat that she felt when she cast the rune. She felt it almost instantly. Opening her eyes, she stared at the tiny flame that danced on her index finger.

"Well, look at that," she said to herself. She stared at the flickering orange fire for a few moments and then blew it out. Her Ancestors had heard her. With a sigh, Candle stood up, brushing the sand from her knees. Her legs felt a little wobbly. The Ancestors had sent her their blessing and...well the whole business felt rather anti-climatic. She had been waiting to be able to speak to them her whole life. A whisper, a voice, a vision, some kind of visitation - she wasn't sure what she had imagined, but such a simple, mundane procedure had not been it. Not that she was complaining, she thought quickly, just in case the Ancestors were actually listening.

As Candle climbed to the ridge of the dune, the wind picked up. The scent of salt and brine intensified and mist was forming on the mountaintops, spilling down the slopes towards the sea. She stood at the top, looking inland towards the dark bulk of the mountains, the wind whipping her hair out behind her in a tangle of curls. A small part of her was tempted to return to the gate, to return home immediately - after all, she had accomplished what she had set out to do. Jotham had said to hurry. But in her pocket she felt a bump. Drawing out the remains of a crushed mushroom, she turned to look across the isthmus, towards the distant Night Guardians and the Keep that crouched in their shadows. Jotham might be angry with her, but she had promises to keep. She couldn't just abandon Zephi, and there were all those humans locked away in the tombs. She hadn't been able to save Abenathi...but maybe she could help his family. And this time she didn't have to hold back, she thought with some satisfaction. She wouldn't have to stumble around in the dark. And Ancestors help the lightning bird men who got in her way.

Decision made, she turned to go and nearly ran into a person who was standing directly behind her.

"Hello dear," the old weather lady said. Candle stared at her with some shock, doubting her sanity for a moment. Was the old woman a spirit? The old lady's eyes were still milky and filmed over with age but now they were focused on Candle with a clarity she had never seen in all the time they had spent together on the mountains above Hanternos. "It's so nice to finally meet you," the old dear said, reaching out and putting a warm hand on Candle's arm. She was real. Candle could feel the weight of her touch. Solid in a way that she had not been in Havi.

"You were such a sweet little baby." A gentle smile spread across the old lady's face as she regarded Candle.

"You're talking to me," said Candle, "I mean, not just about the weather."

The old dear's eyes brightened, and she turned her head, sniffing the air.

"Warm and fine," she said, "not much change for the next few days. Wind from the south-east." She gestured out to the thunderheads lining up on the distant horizon. "Those beauties will stay out to sea, don't worry. I loved your cloud drawings, by the way. I can tell you love them almost as much as I do. Thank you so much for sending them to me."

"I – I don't understand."

"Child, I'm your grandmother Meraud. You've been sending me paintings your whole life. Poems and music too, although you should probably stick to drawing. I love the pictures so much, but I've never been able to find you before. There was always something hiding you."

"I know you, though! We met - at home, on the slopes above Hanternos-"

"I always did enjoy the high meadows, child. I go there whenever I can. But it's always difficult to see the living people. It's easier in the Night Nation, of course."

Candle looked at the old lady, at her sweet smile, trying to work out what was happening.

"You're dead? You are my grandmother?" she said wonderingly. "You saw them? You got all my Devotions? You are my Ancestor?"

"Of course, dear! Who else would I be? I've been so worried. When we couldn't find you, we knew a demon must have got his hands on you, and there was nothing we could do. And then when your parents died, they told us what happened. I have never been so angry, Old Gods help me, but you are here now." She held Candle at arm's length, looking her up and down. Her cheeks went red as apples. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, young one. Such a fine young woman."

The old lady wrapped Candle in a hug – not the old lady – her grandmother. Her grandmother wrapped her in a hug. Grandmother Meraud who smelled like the fell on a wild stormy night, with just a hint of brandy. Candle thought her heart might burst, feeling the warmth of those arms around her.

"And here's my good for nothing son, come to make amends, so he might travel the Highway in peace," Grandmother Meraud muttered into the top of Candle's head. "It's up to you if you want to forgive him, dear. I know I wouldn't."

Candle turned as the old lady released her from her embrace. A crowd of figures were walking towards her out of the mists. Two of them were familiar while the rest unknown. They were unknown but their features... the slope of a nose, the sweep of a brow were familiar. Candle's Ancestors walked towards her, her sister and her father leading the way. She swallowed, tears starting in her eyes as she stared at the throng. Some of them she recognised from the paintings that cluttered her family's shrines. Most, she did not. Several wore Sage's green; some were richly dressed, others in peasant attire. Young and old, men and women, they all strode towards her. Some of them had very strange clothing that looked foreign. As they came nearer, Candle saw that several of them had blue eyes, like a dream she had once had. Her mother's barbarian Ancestor's she realised with a shock.

From this close Candle could see their bodies were not completely solid, unlike Grandmother Meraud. Candle could see the starlight through her sister's face. They did not look like the wretched shades atop the Dawn Watch Redoubt, nor did they have the unhappy, tortured look of those that haunted the catacombs. They looked as they had in life, only... more transparent.

The shade of Ishbel stopped in front of Candle and reached out one delicate hand to brush a tear from her cheek. Ishbel was just as beautiful in death as she had been in life. The touch was like a whisper on her skin, and Candle realised with a pang just how much she had missed her sister. She looked up into her sister's tawny brown eyes and then over at the austere figure of her father.

"I'll be off then," said Grandmother Meraud, leaning over and squeezing her arm. "I'll see you around, child."

She vanished in a swirl of mists, leaving Candle alone with the shades of her family.

"Candle, I'm so sorry," whispered Ishbel. "Sorry that I didn't listen. Sorry that I wasn't a better sister."

"I'm sorry I didn't protect you," said Lord Enys, his face forlorn, and his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Your mother is sorry too."

"Where is – where is Mama?"

"She is gone," said Ishbel, looking unhappy. "She travelled the Highway of Souls. We waited–"

"We had to see you," interrupted her father. "To try and make it right. I wanted to tell you," he gulped and looked down at his youngest child. The child he had neglected and chastised her whole life for reasons she had never understood. "I wanted to tell you that I am proud of you. Death has brought me clarity. I can see now how badly I treated you. I want you to know, despite what I told you, that you do all of your Ancestors proud. Your mother – your mother was ashamed of her barbarian heritage, and when you were born, without magic, looking so wild and fey – it was too much for her."

"I didn't ask for it," said Candle, "I never asked to be born like that. All I ever wanted was your love." But she found she was not angry. She didn't need her parents love. Not anymore. It was her father who asked for her forgiveness, not the other way around. She had other people who cared about her, people who had earned her trust and love. Before Lord Enys could respond, another woman pushed her way forward, her eyes blue and her back straight as a rod. Her clothes were strange and foreign-looking. One of her barbarian relatives, Candle realised with great interest. This woman was Lochlanach.

"Granddaughter," said the woman, turning Candle around with ghostly hands. She smiled down at her, and Candle could see a softer version of the expression her mother had sometimes worn. "You take after our side of the family."

"No, she doesn't," called Grandmother Meraud, her voice drifting over the heads of the crowd.

"You should visit your grandfather in Stonehafen sometime," said the barbarian woman, ignoring her.

"Stonehafen?"

"Our family seat," she said.

"Grandmother Blackbright?"

"Inga, dear. Call me Inga. When your mother ran away, she was only twenty. Oh, it nearly broke my heart and your grandfathers." She turned to glare at the ghost of Lord Enys who glared right back. She sniffed at him and then turned her attention back to Candle. "My husband and all your cousins would love to meet you, I'm sure, and I can see you've inherited Oto's talent–"

"Oto?"

"Your grandfather, he would love to teach you how–"

A tremor went through the sand and Candle clutched at her Lochlanach Grandmother to steady herself. It didn't work as there was nothing physical to touch, and she almost toppled over. As she righted herself, the crowds of jostling relatives parted. A glorious dragon with scales the colour of the sea came to a stop in front of Candle, settling the expanse of his wings. The starlight reflected off the silver of his eyes as he looked down at Candle with sharp intelligence.

The dragon too was a shade, but he seemed more solid than the rest, almost as solid as Grandmother Meraud. The mountains were just visible through the arch of his back but he seemed able to affect the physical world. When he lowered his sinuous neck to sniff at Candle, his breath blew back her hair.

"Candle," he said, his voice deep and formal. "Great-granddaughter of my heart. It gladdens me to see you clearly at last. I am Cai of the Morning Star. I am your great-grandfather, many generations removed."

Candle stared up at him, her mouth slightly open, too flabbergasted to speak. After a long moment, she recovered herself and remembered her manners. She inclined her head politely, curtseying into the sand and doing her best not to gape. Cai regarded her with solemn eyes.

"I was the last dragon," he said. "I remained in the Twilight Kingdom while the others sacrificed themselves for the rest of us, and for our descendants." Candle bowed her head, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. "I died many years ago, defending the sacred Gate at Hanternos – before we faded from memory and were forgotten. You, child, are the last of your line, the last remaining blood of the Guardians who have kept the Gate safe for centuries."

"I am?"

"Hardly," muttered Granny Inga, folding her arms across her chest.

"The last of the Hanternos Guardians," said Cai, turning his head and snarling at Inga. The family members around her stumbled back, but Inga merely turned her head away and hummed a tuneless melody under her breath. "My children chose to live as humans only," the great dragon continued, swinging his head back to face Candle, "turning their back on their wings. However, they kept up the protection of the Gate and maintained the enchantments that kept it safe. Their children did the same, and while the reasons for the spells were eventually forgotten they were kept alive out of tradition and respect. Your father maintained the Gate without knowing what he did, as did his father before him. Having travelled here, you know the dangers of the Night as well as anyone."

Candle nodded.

"You know the Gates must be kept secret, must be kept hidden and as a last option, they must be defended. If the Gates fall the Night Nation will merge once again with the Twilight. Humans will not survive. This must be prevented at all costs."

Cai's giant silver cat's eyes glowed in the starlight.

"I'm sure you understand the importance of this, Candle Enys. As the last remaining descendant you must become the Gate's Guardian. Do you understand?"

"Surely - surely there must be someone better suited for the job?"

"There is no one else," said Cai. "You are the last. You must not let us down."

The crowds of Ancestors stared at Candle solemnly, and she blinked back tears as she looked at them. The ghost of Ishbel touched her arm briefly. Her fingers were soft against her skin.

"I will do it," said Candle. "I will protect the Gate."

Cai's face split into a toothy grin, his eyes flashing.

"You won't be alone," he said. "We will be there. I will be there – to guide you if you need it."

"Will I be able to speak to you in the Twilight Kingdom?"

"Not as clearly," he admitted. "But call, and we will do our best to answer — all of us. Go now," he said, "make haste back to the Twilight Kingdom. Live a good life, grand-daughter of my heart. Protect the Gate. Know that we are watching over you and we are glad you have finally come home to us."

There was a murmur of assent and one by one the shades lifted their arms in farewell. She stared in wonder as her Ancestors left her, ghost-like fingers caressing her face one last time before evaporating into the night. Those closest to Candle touched her cheek with loving fingers before winking out of existence one at a time. They left, whispering words of love and assurance until only one was left. Ishbel stood in front of her, the stars clearly visible through her wavering form.

"I loved you," whispered the shade of her sister. Ishbel put her arms around Candle, but her hands passed through her skin. "I always loved you, even if I didn't treat you well."

"I know you did," said Candle. "I loved you too."

Ishbel's shade faded, growing more insubstantial by the minute.

"Go in peace," said Candle. "Travel the Highway, I will pray for you. I will pray for you all..."