74

Blood and Chocolate

Zephi scampered from stall to stall sticking her nose into everything she could find, while Candle followed behind at a more leisurely pace.

"Have you had something to eat?" She asked.

"Murmux bought me some fried imp toes," Zephi said, a small finger reaching out to poke a jar that was labelled scale shine and talon polish. "They were dipped in chocolate."

"Sounds... tasty," Candle replied, a little doubtfully.

"They were sold by imps," said Zephi. "Where did they get the toes?"

Candle shuddered.

"I don't think I want to know."

"No touching, please," said the merchant to Zephi who retracted her finger with a grimace.

"And where did he get the money?" Candle wondered aloud. She couldn't imagine Murmux carrying a wallet, and he had fled the keep in nothing but his feathers. Did lightning birds have pockets? She shook her head and turned her attention back to the market.

"He said Asher gave it to him." Zephi reached out a hand towards a jar labelled "powdered frog's teeth", but thought better of it as the merchant glowered. She smiled up at him, her face as innocent as a summer flower, the effect slightly spoiled by the prominence of her incisors.

Asher and Murmux arrived moments later, wearing twin scowls and radiating animosity. Asher's lips were pressed together in a thin line and Murmux's brows were heavy as a thunderstorm. The storm lifted, however, when he felt Candle's eyes on him. As he flashed her a grin Candle decided that it was very likely he had stolen the money from Asher. She couldn’t imagine Asher handing over anything to Murmux willingly. There was little love lost between the pair. She grinned back before she could help herself. His expression was as infectious as it was annoying.

"Having fun?" he asked, raising one dark eyebrow.

"Something else to eat?" asked Asher, as she opened her mouth to reply. "It's getting late. We should eat before the party."

"I haven't had any cake yet," said Zephi, and Asher looked down at her as if he had forgotten her existence. Which maybe he had. It was fairly obvious Asher did not approve of Candle's association with what he called her waifs and strays.

"I think the chocolate cake is at a stall over there," said Candle. Zephi squealed and ran ahead, while the three of them trailed behind her in an awkward group. Or rather Candle and Asher were awkward, while Murmux sauntered along with not a care in the world. "There is a party later?" asked Candle.

"At moonrise," Asher said, "Down by the cove. You're coming, of course?"

Candle felt an odd sensation in her stomach. She had never been to anything even remotely resembling a party, but looking around at the bright lights and the colourful festivities of the Night Market, she just felt hollow. How could she even consider spending her time so frivolously, when she should be on her way home? She had wasted enough time already. Who knew what was happening in her absence? The Lochlanach had barely been beaten off at great sacrifice and she knew Jotham was unlikely to lift a finger, or a talon, in the realm's defence. Moreover, it would be the utmost foolishness to attend the Gathering the following morning. She had been lucky so far, but somewhere amongst the older dragons was the wily serpent who she had met on her arrival. The dragon who had known instantly that she was not from the Night Nation. No, now was not the time for parties.

"Candle?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm feeling a little tired. I think I must retire early tonight." Asher's face fell, and she felt a moment's regret.

"I'll go and get us something more substantial to eat," he said. "I feel like I've eaten air. This cake nonsense does not agree with me."

Candle nodded her thanks and he stalked off, his back as stiff as a board.

"Good riddance," said Murmux, but then the smile slipped off his face as quickly as it had come.

"What is it?" asked Candle. Murmux didn't answer but strode over to the other side of the walkway and stopped in front of a stall that was shrouded in black velvet. Candle hurried after him and peered around his broad back to see what had caught his attention.

The owner of the stall was a lightning bird. His chest was bare except for an apron tied about his neck and his long hair was the same chestnut brown as Murmux's – although the ends were tipped in black rather than gold. Next to the merchant stood a large imp dressed in ragged, filthy clothes and a foul expression.

"Can I interest you in my wares," the merchant asked, with exaggerated politeness. He looked down his long aquiline nose at Murmux who glared back without moving. A spark pinged off his brow and bounced into the grass to die. Candle looked from one to the other, aware of the tension thrumming in the air, but not understanding the source. Did they know each other? Both of the lightning birds were similarly tattooed, and both of their scripts were moving in agitated motion, belying the stillness of the men.

"Looking a little peaky there, brother," said the merchant. His eyes drifted to Murmux's bare arms, watching the progression of his tattoos as they crawled around Murmux's bicep. "When did you last eat?"

"I'm fine," said Murmux, through gritted teeth. He glanced at Candle and flushed.

"Sure," said the merchant, looking unconvinced. He leaned back. "You should drink something, at least. My assistant might have something suitable if you like?"

Everyone looked down at the large, angry imp that was standing beside the lightning bird. It picked up a cage covered in a cloth and held it out in mute obsequience.

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Murmux, his voice hard. A vein throbbed in his forehead.

"You should eat if you need to," Candle said, trying to think back to remember if she had ever seen the lightning bird consume anything. She frowned, not being able to recall an instance in the several days of their travel across the isthmus.

"You are no good to anyone if you are as weak as a hatchling," said the merchant, and Murmux's lip curled.

"I'm fine," he said. Candle stared at him in concern and he sighed, a shower of emotions crossing his face. He took her hand, squeezing it gently. His fingers were very warm. "I drink blood, Candle. I don't want you to see me drinking blood."

She felt a little sick to her stomach.

"Whose blood?"

"Not whose," said the merchant, laughing. "It's no different to what you dragons eat. We just... prefer to leave the fleshy bits. Keeps us lean!" He slapped his chest. The imp opened the cage and pulled out a plump hyrax. The poor creature wriggled in the imp's bony grasp and Candle's heart constricted a bit. Murmux stared at it with hungry eyes.

"Can I have one too?" Zephi piped up. "I'm hungry again."

"You're always hungry," said Candle. She turned back to Murmux. "Drink, if you need to drink. I– I won't watch."

He looked at her gratefully, and dove for the hyrax. True to her word, Candle looked away, but the sounds were almost worse. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried not to listen as the hyrax's high pitched squeal was cut off. After all, she had hunted. As a dragon, she had eaten fresh kills. She had enjoyed stewed meat with her team at the Ancestor's Own. It wasn't any different. Except it was.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to stare up at Murmux's warm brown eyes. They crinkled as he looked down at her and he wiped his lips. He did indeed look like the meal had done him good. His eyes were sparkling, and the brown of his skin shone with vitality.

"It didn't suffer," he said. "I promise."

She nodded, not knowing exactly how to feel, and busied herself instead with an examination of the lightning bird merchant's wares.

The whole table was swathed in padded black velvet and seemed to be covered with a wide assortment of jars and more strangely, eggs. Big eggs, small eggs, eggs of all sizes and colours, set out with great reverence on soft cushions of velvet and all of them glowing with subtle magics. There were tiny speckled blue eggs the size of a thumbnail and smooth brown hen's eggs that looked completely mundane. Turning one over in her hand she could see nothing special about it. It was heavier than she expected and cool to the touch. She looked up at the merchant in confusion. He was watching her from beneath heavy-lidded brows.

"What are they?" she asked, lowering it back towards the table.

"Gently," said Murmux.

"Careful," warned the merchant. She gulped and set the egg back down on its velvet nest.

"What are they?"

"Spells," said Murmux, tapping his fingers. "Trapped things."

"Breezes and winds," said the merchant, gesturing to the assortment of eggs. He moved his hands towards the motley assortment of bottles that shone with an almost incandescent light. "A little bottled lightning. A little impundela speciality" He smiled, showing his teeth, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Candle and Zephi looked back at the wares with renewed interest.

"What do people buy them for?" asked Zephi. The merchant looked down at her with his twisted smile.

"It is not for me to know the minds of my betters," he shrugged, "but I imagine the winds are used to blow away unwanted rain, to provide relief from a hot night, to–"

Someone screamed behind them. The lightning bird merchant paused, his eyes bulging and they all turned in alarm. Something was happening down on the beach. The edge of the water started to bubble and churn. With a rush of energy, all the water swept out of the cove leaving the bottom exposed and naked. Sand, shells, and rocks covered in seaweed lay limp and damp. Surprised fish flipped and flopped, gasping for breath.

Candle stared in alarm while all around her people started to run, knocking over stalls in their flight, pushing and shoving each other to get away. Candle turned away in confusion, trying to locate Zephi in the chaos when she felt a firm, damp hand on her arm.

A woman stood before her. Or, at least, she looked like a woman but her skin had a strange dappled quality that made Candle sure that she was not human. Like blades of kelp under a lazy current, verdigris mottles undulated lazily across her skin. Her eyes were a deep, vivid blue – the kind of blue Candle associated with demons and the undead. She was small, shorter even than Candle, with a pointed chin, and lean, well-formed muscles. Her fingernails were silver and the scent of iodine was overwhelming.

"Candle," she said, and her voice was low and surprisingly deep, like rocks tumbling in the surf. The cadence was unexpected coming from such a small woman. "Why are you still here?"

"I'm sorry," said Candle, "do I know you? How do you know my name? Who are you?"

"Morwagr," said the woman, the syllables of her name a low growl. "I am Morwagr." The name tickled Candle's memory, but she could not stop looking at those silver fingernails. "Why are you still here? The years pass."

"What do you mean?" Candle looked around hurriedly, but no one was standing close by. Everyone had fled, leaving her alone with Morwagr in the centre of the abandoned market. "I've only been here a few days," she whispered.

"Jotham told you to hurry!" Morwagr squeezed her arm and shook her a little for emphasis. The woman, whatever she was, was incredibly strong. "You will regret this! Time is not your friend. Time does not wait for foolish girls. The years slip by as you idle, and once they pass they are gone forever."

"Years?"

"Years," said Morwagr.

"How many?" Candle was gripped by panic. "How many years?" Would Locryn and Delen be old and grey? Would she return to find all her friends dead and gone?

Morwagr shook her head, the dark of her hair wet and gleaming in the night air. Salty droplets splattered Candle's face.

"How much time remains to be seen. Perhaps it will be days or months only. The flow of time between the Twilight Kingdom and the Night Nation is irregular and unpredictable. But the sooner you return home the better."

Morwagr turned to go and it was Candle's turn to grab her arm. Morwagr stopped in her tracks and looked down at Candle's hand. She let go immediately.

"Jotham sent you?" she asked, desperate for news of him.

"No one sent me. I go where I will."

"But you know Jotham?"

"I do."

"And you can travel...between the gates?"

That was where Candle had heard the name, she realised suddenly, as she looked at the mysterious woman before her. Morwagr was the guardian of the ocean gate, one of the seven Jotham had told her about. And she was the goddess Asher's family went out of their way to appease. And Candle had just grabbed her arm.

"I go where I will," said Morwagr. "Go home, Candle." She smiled a dark, humourless smile and strode down the path to the beach without looking back. Candle watched as the woman walked across the sand with light steps, and made her way out across the rocky bottom of the exposed seabed. The sea water whooshed back into the cove in a violent torrent, swirling around the woman's slight figure. It crashed high against the rocks drenching the hillside, and Candle in spray. Morwagr disappeared beneath the turbulent waves and did not resurface.