81

(Candle)

Home

Candle broke through the surface of the water, gulping in great greedy mouthfuls of fresh air. She lashed out as light stabbed at her eyes and her fingers grasped something solid. Slick, rough rock grazed her hands and she pulled herself, up and out of the water, her body tingling with magic. Lying on her stomach, panting, she squinted up at cave walls suffused with soft green light. Before she could get her bearings, Zephi's head popped up in the centre of the pool behind her. Candle leaned out and grabbed the gasping girl, towing her, coughing and spluttering to the safety of the rocky ledge. She squeezed her arm reassuringly. With her hair damped down and her eyes pressed together tightly, Zephi looked even smaller than usual and somehow diminished.

After a few moments, Candle's own breathing calmed and her eyes adjusted. While not bright, the light that flooded the cavern was certainly more intense than the starlit glow that permeated the hills and valleys of the Night Nation. Her heart leapt as she hauled herself out of the pool, water dripping off her clothes and hair. She stood in a widening pool of water grinning. Home, she was finally home, and back in Jotham's cave. After all the tension of the last few days, it was a wonderful feeling, and she was bursting to tell Jotham everything that had happened. To show him Belias was gone, to show him the ease of her new magic, to introduce him to Zephi. To tell him about her Ancestors, about his sister.

"Jotham?"

Silence greeted her call. She took a hesitant step forward wondering where he could be. Perhaps he was in the library? Perhaps he was out hunting or swimming? She called his name again, moving through the cave in a slow circle, eyes searching. Her voice sounded weak and muffled to her own ears. While the cave they had just left had been bare of anything except the gate, this cave was so full of things she could barely see the walls. Chests and crates and paintings were stacked up in every available space. Furniture, some fine, some battered, all of it old, was stacked in tottering piles. Jotham had been busy while she had been away.

Candle walked amongst the clutter, trailing a finger over a teetering pile of books. They were thick with dust. A horrible feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. Where was he? How much time had passed, she wondered, as she took in the mess.

"Jotham!" she called. Again, there was no answer, not even an echo. The sheer quantity of furniture, canvas and carpeting dulled the sound of her voice. Pushing aside a pile of ancient quilts and dusty blankets she ran to the library, checking the inner rooms as she went. All of them were full, all of them were dusty. All of them were empty of Jotham. His possessions were dumped in every available space and squeezed into every corner. The cave had the feel of a storage room rather than a home. Maybe he was living somewhere else, she thought, eyeing a wobbling stack of armchairs that were piled ceiling high. Why did a dragon even need so many armchairs?

"Candle!" Zephi's voice carried down the hall, high pitched and thin.

Candle ran back to the main chamber, her heart pounding to find Zephi seated on the edge of the pool, her head in her hands and her pale face pinched into a frown.

"My eyes hurt."

"Oh no," said Candle, pocketing the blade that had found its way to her hand, and wrapping her arms around Zephi. The cave really wasn't that brightly lit, but Candle's own eyes were still adjusting after the long darkness of the Night Nation. For Zephi, who had never seen the sun, who had grown up in perpetual gloom it must be excruciating indeed.

"Give it some time."

Zephi murmured something into Candle's shoulder. The brighter light at the cave entrance signalled it was still some hours from nightfall. Indeed it could be early morning, Candle had no way of knowing till she got outside and marked the position of the sun.

"It hurts."

"I know."

Candle found a strip of material and tore it into strips.

"Here," she said, tying one of the pieces around Zephi's head, covering her eyes. "Does that help?"

"A bit."

"The sun will go down," said Candle, "and night will come. Remember how I told you it only lasts for half of the hours?"

"The sun?"

"Yes, it's a big bright star that hangs in the sky. Brighter than the moon. There are only eight or nine hours of darkness. Sometimes more in the winter." Candle paused. It had been around the time of the spring equinox when she had left the Day Nation. The air in the cave had a dry heat that she associated with the peak of summer. She suspected she had been gone for several months, and the thought filled her with worry – and she had no idea what time of day it was.

She pulled over a battered velvet couch, angling it away from the brightly lit entrance and then went searching for some blankets. Finding some in a corner she dragged them over, wrapped Zephi in one, and draping another around her head to dry her hair.

"Stay here," she said, depositing the blindfolded girl on the couch. "Let your eyes adjust. I'm going to go and find Jotham. You'll be safe here."

"Okay–"

"I won't be long," said Candle, tucking her in. "Try and have a nap. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Satisfied that Zephi was comfortable, Candle made her way to the entrance, noting the illusion runes scraped into the rock as she went. They did not look fresh but it was impossible to tell their age. From the outside, the hollow of the cavern would look like just another part of the mountain. The usually clear cave entrance was blocked by a thick screen of vegetation. She pushed her way through the tangle of branches and thick, fighting overhanging creepers, and then nearly fell off the edge when she put her foot through a nest of vines. Whole trees seemed to have grown across the hollow, and she followed a skinny bough looking for a vantage point where she could see out. At last, she found a gap. She scooted along it, and for a second time nearly fell.

The valley lay before her bathed in the bright sunlight of summer. She blinked, her eyes swimming, as she drank in the warm of the sun on her skin. The fell was a blurry brown haze, and she could just make out buildings below. She frowned, squinting down, trying to make out the unfamiliar shapes. As her eyes adjusted a strange sound pulled her eyes skyward and she winced, looking up into the glaring blue void. It was a familiar sound, a mechanical sound, that drew a deep visceral reaction from her gut and filled her with panic.

Instantly, she drew back under the cover of the vegetation, searching for the shape of the airborne Lochlanach ship she knew must be nearby. Spots and shapes danced across her vision, and she cursed under her breath, trying not to look directly into the burning ball of the sun. While her eyes sought the ship, her mind searched for her magic, instinctively wanting to wrap herself in the protection it offered. She pulled at the threads that had been so readily available in the Night Nation, and for a moment she thought her skills had deserted her, thought that somehow everything had reverted to the old way, that somehow Belias was still with her, stealing her prayers. But no, there it was, faint, subtle, hidden. Unlike the star-soaked twilight landscape of the Night Nation, here she had to search for sources of magic. With relief she found it twisting in soft luminous coils, tucked between the doorways behind her, pooling in the hollows under the trees and gliding across the still waters of the gate.

Cloaked in the confidence of her magic she leaned forward once more, peeking through the leaves. The ship was soon in view, so close she had no trouble finding it, and not just one ship but a whole host. A flotilla of warships clove their way through the clear blue sky, at least ten, more than she had ever seen together, more than had attacked the Keep at Gwavas in that fateful battle. She clung to the tree, clutching at the rough bark until the ships passed out of sight. When the sound of the airships had faded she wiggled her way out of the mountainside thicket, preparing to leap into the sky and cloak herself with magic. Before she could do so her eyes were dragged down to the valley floor below widening in shock at the sight of the massive Lochlanach settlement that sprawled across the slopes.

Easily three or four times the size of Hanternos, the buildings were strange and foreign. The architecture was angular and bulky, the walls unpainted and severe. These were no hastily constructed shacks and field fortifications like the ones she had seen on the slopes of the Old Man of Sterlester. These were permanent structures built of stone and wood. Iron gates and shutters filled the openings, and boundary walls ringed what could only be called a town. While the flotilla of warships had passed over the adjacent mountain the air above the settlement was busy with bobbing ships. Most of these were flying low, most of them small. Dirty smoke rose from a score of burning furnaces and when the wind shifted the air rang with the sound of iron and industry. The breeze carried the distant murmur of that guttural foreign tongue.

Candle swallowed and retreated once more into her cocoon of foliage, drawing her knees under her chin. No wonder Jotham had moved. There was no way he would want to live in such close proximity to the barbarians. She could see it all now, he had hidden the gate as best he could, and was perhaps even now, watching from a distant mountain top eerie. But how was she to find him? He could be anywhere, and she couldn't just fly around in her scales with all those airships lurking around.

A cold lump settled in her belly, as she glanced nervously out at the settlement below, buzzing with ships and barbarians. What had happened to the Ancestors Own? To the Mester, and her friends? To Jory, Pasco, Delen and Locryn? She couldn't imagine the Mester casually letting the barbarians set up shop one valley away from the Keep at Gwavas. But she would get no answers sitting in a tree and worrying.

Quickly she went to check on Zephi, finding the small Necromancer fast asleep on the couch. Candle smoothed back her hair and decided she was safe enough, certainly safer than she would be with Candle. After some thought she returned to the edge, pulling gossamer strings of magic towards herself, wrapping herself in a glamour exactly the colour of the cerulean sky above. It took considerably more effort than it had in the Night Nation, and for a moment she panicked, thinking she would have to leap out into the sky as she was. But then the magic came and she managed to cocoon herself in threads of summer sky blue. From the ground at least, she would appear as a passing flicker, one with the sky.

Launching herself awkwardly off the protruding tree limb she soared out into the sunlight and caught a rising plume of hot air that pushed up the mountain face. It was Candle's favourite kind of day – bright and windy, the air gushing with movement. After the dark, stuffy warmth of the Night Nation, it was a delight to be soaring high over the mountains of her home once more. Her joy was short-lived however, marred by the appearance of more Lochlanach settlements beneath her wings. The next valley yielded more small clusters – squat oblong houses perched on the brown slopes of the fell like so many uncomfortable toads. The buildings were numerous, far more than she would have thought possible to build in six months. And there were so many barbarians. Where had they all come from?

She banked and glided on thoughtful wings back to Jotham's cave, finding it much as she had left it, empty of life save for the sleeping child. Candle wandered about, poking at the curious piles of Jotham's possessions, and trying to think of a plan of action, or failing that something to do while she waited for Jotham to return. Eventually, she found herself in the library. She browsed the shelves, laughing at the surprisingly large collection of racy and very dated romantic fiction. Choosing a book from the vast collection took some time, and then she settled with it into a plump, cushioned chair but nothing could capture her concentration.

At every little sound, imagined or otherwise, she jumped up, expecting to see Jotham walking down the passage. In her mind, she rehearsed the tale of her travels over and over, practising the tale. Wondering how she would introduce Zephi, and trying to imagine just how upset Jotham would be at her presence and how she could placate him.

After a while, Zephi woke and Candle abandoned the book. They spent a while playing amongst the curiosities, admiring the paintings and poking through the statues and furniture. In a hidden corner, Zephi found a chest filled with jewellery and they spent an entertaining hour dressing themselves up in everything sparkling piece they could find. This, thought Candle, as she and Zephi admired each other as they stood dripping in sapphires and diamonds, would be the perfect moment for Jotham to return. But he did not come, so they packed the sparkling pieces back in their chest and moved on looking for other objects to amuse. At length, the shadows grew, and both girls became hungry.

Candle ventured out once more, flying through the purple twilight to the sea, where she hunted, returning a short while later with some large fish. She dared not light a fire to cook the meal but Zephi did not seem to mind.

After the meal, they lay side by side on one of the couches and listened to the quiet of the cave. It was warm enought that they didn't need more than a light blanket, and both girls were soon drowsy. Zephi chattered for a while, and Candle listened with one ear, on the edge of dreaming herself. She had thought sleep would elude her, but her body and mind were so tired after the events of the last few weeks that she was soon fast asleep, soothed by the gentle familiarity of the surroundings. The next morning she awoke refreshed but to a cave containing once more only herself and Zephi.

Instructing Zephi not to wreak too much havoc on Jotham's belonging, Candle set forth again, determined to find him. If she could not find Jotham then perhaps she could find evidence of the Ancestors Own or some answers, but she was too anxious to wait around in the cave waiting any longer. Cloaking herself once more in threads of blue once more she set off, soaring out over the mountains of the Reaches beneath the hot summer sun.

Her eyes searched the landscape below for any clues, keeping a wary eye out for any nearby barbarian airships. The fell was dry and brown, the streams and waterfalls barely a trickle coming off the mountains. The Bleujen was a barely visible trickle at the very bottom of the valley. Nowhere was there any evidence of the Havi, of her friends, or of Jotham. She widened the field of her search, swooping around in an ever-widening circle, taking care to keep high, almost at cloud height.

Her path soon took her over the once familiar sight of Gwavas. The stone keep was clearly uninhabited - a tumbled down ruin in the grass, with nothing remaining of the Own, nothing but a few old stones and decaying outbuildings. Frowning she flew on, passing over the remains of Hanternos – still devastated, and slowly being reclaimed by nature. The ashes of her family had long since blown away, as well as those of the rest of the villagers. She blinked away tears as she stared down at the place of her birth. Unhappy though her childhood had been, she had loved the village, loved the gardens, and loved some of the people. Steren's and Ishbel's ashes had long since blown away, the rites were long since spoken, but she had never said goodbye to Steren, never said a prayer to guide her childhood friend. Swallowing her fear and sadness, Candle flew on, desperately seeking answers.

Just as her mind was giving way to scenarios where she was the last of her nation, the last of her kind, and despair pooled like acid in her stomach, a telltale glimmer of magic caught her eye. Far below, hidden between the dull browns and greens of the fell and the harsh mountain soil, a few lines of glamour peeked out. She drifted on outspread wings, her attention riveted on the landscape below. Dawn Watch lay below her, the ancient fortress hidden amongst the seemingly random piles of rocks, apparently devoid of life.

Her heart jumped. If the Ancestors Own had occupation of it, it stood to reason that they would keep themselves well hidden from the marauding airships. Gliding lower she studied the ground – the last thing she wanted right now was a confrontation with the Mester, but she needed answers and she was no closer to finding Jotham than she had been when she set out. Perhaps she would be lucky and find Pasco, Jory, Delen and Locryn camped in the caves below. Perhaps they would be happy to see her.

There was only one way to find out. She swooped down on silent wings and landed on the far side of the flat of the mountain top. Transforming into her human body she strode towards the entrance with as much confidence as she could muster.