Chapter 14: Judged by Starlight

The crescent moon painted the desert in pale shades of gray that sucked up all color. Tens of thousands of stars filled the sky, from tiny bright points to dim streaks of milky spots that barely looked like stars at all. It looked like somebody with a terrible sinus infection sneezed on a black canvas.

The stars never did her any favors. All they ever managed was to give her hopeless dreams as she watched them through a hole in the roof of her stable and prison. Brandon kept pointing at two of the brightest stars that stood a few degrees apart. One of them had to be the south-star, but they were not sure which one.

He lowered his head away from the stars and faced her. “How far away do you think you could spot a city while we walk and make noise? A mile? Two? More?” Despite all odds, he wore his usual smile as he wrapped his head around a fresh problem. Maybe he was in denial about it, about how hopeless it sounded. Her ears had not picked up anything, not a distant wyvern, no people, no airships, not even a squeak, nothing. Everything for miles was dead. How much time did they have left? Two days? One? If her legs could be in charge, they would have died about an hour ago.

Her absent gaze met his as he waited for the answer. “Right.” The knot in her throat cleared up. “The quieter my surroundings and the more I concentrate, the better I hear. So with the sounds of us walking and talking,” she pondered for a second. “Probably quite a few miles. Cities are loud and there is nothing here to confuse my ears.”

Brandon cocked his head with a cheery grin. “That means we can afford to miss. And if we pass others, you could hear them too.” He talked himself into a frenzy. “We just need one encounter, one traveler, one caravan, one small oasis where people stop for a drink. And with your ears, that makes it so much more likely.”

She twitched her ears, as if to agree. “When you put it like that, our odds seem far better. No way to accidentally walk past someone. And aren’t we close to an airship route too?” A tiny spark inside of her sprung to life as if re-kindled. Even a desert could not be completely dead, just very lifeless. Her ears were perfect for this.

They continued to trudge forward, up the dunes, then down again, sometimes passing the steeper ones on the side. “I’ve wondered,” Brandon asked, “how do you survive living in a busy city with those ears. Remember the baby on the ship?”

“It’s a curse as much as a blessing, trust me. You have never heard Veria sing in the bath.”

“Being forced to listen to crude singing doesn’t sound like much of a curse.”

Sylph peered into the distance, and her mouth curled into a wide smirk. “Says the one whose memory isn’t filled with uncomfortable sounds. You might think that all I hear are conversations, but it is not selective. I can hear everything better. And not only my ears; Sol noses, Metia eyes, they all work better in ways we can not imagine. I have no doubts that they all keep what they witness to themselves like I do.” She turned to Brandon, barely able to make out his anticipatory judgmental smile in the moonlight. “I got my first pair of earplugs from Veria shortly after she figured out that there was no privacy for her at night, and shortly after I figured out that they were not dueling in the bedroom.” Sylph could see Brandon’s expression change to an amused and disappointed smirk.

“The tavern across the marketplace was a great place to learn new words.”

“That explains your vocabulary.”

Her gaze went towards the horizon. “It is not all bad. Thunderstorms are fantastic. You know how your back tickles with excitement and you feel all warm and itchy when they approach?”

Brandon looked at her like a statue. “No?”

“Humans don’t? That is kinda sad.” She could not recall any other bit of nature that invoked such a feeling of tangible anticipation that made her sorry wings quiver. “First you see the lightning and feel all of your scales standing up with the tingle it brings. And then you wait, one second, two, until that powerful wave of sound hits you like a hammer and you just want to jump out and be part of that display of sheer, untamed power. I am not sure why, but that is the time I wish I had wings the most. It seems dangerous but also so tempting.”

“Sorry, but I can’t really imagine that. I just hope they pass quickly.”

“I make do watching them from my balcony, being pelted by the rain and wind. And then head back inside all wet and soaked from the rain and realize I have no towel.” She exhaled and watched the white mist escape her mouth and curl into the sky. A few hours ago, the sun had burnt her scales off and now it was as cold as Linz.

Brandon rubbed his hands together and then hid them in his armpits. “I heard that deserts cool down at night, but I never expected it to be this cold.”

The thing about having to wear clothes was that you had to wear the right ones for the occasion. He wore a few thin tunics on top of each other and pants, but he still shivered without his thick coat.

“Would be nice if I could spit fire.” Sylph took another look around for a place to warm up, but there were only twenty-four varieties of sand to lie down on. “Just throwing up a nice puddle of fire and then carrying it in my bare pfod without a care. That would warm you up.” She did not know exactly how Sol spat fire, but she remembered all Veria had told her about it and the nasty burns those with less volatile liquids could inflict upon you and all the variations. Sylph hoped to never be in a fight that needed her to differentiate between the color of honey and apricot, as that made the difference between a firestorm and an angry glob of spit coming your way. And people said Aer were difficult to figure out. In the end, they all just spat some sort of- she stopped and stumbled over her thoughts. “Wait, do you think that I-”

“-could absorb burning liquid?” Brandon finished her thought. “I highly doubt that.”

“On a second though, I burn my pfod in a Sol washbasin, so scratch the Sol imitation for now.” She huffed another white wisp of breath. An Aer spitting fire would be something.

Brandon picked up the pace. “Let’s walk a step faster so our joints don’t freeze in this crawl, okay?”

Her tail slumped down and dragged through the sand behind her as she reluctantly forced herself to catch up. She had hoped they could stop soon, not go faster. The soft sand had her feet in a sticky grip and her legs were all too eager to remind her of all the miles they had to walk with an uncomfortable burning sensation.

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Despite her aching legs, they made good progress in the following hour. After crossing a particularly large dune, she felt the faintest embers ignite in her dragonheart and stopped dead in her tracks. “We stop now,” she huffed. Her muscles throbbed with renewed vigor and the tired fog lingering in her body vanished. She knew this was a trap and after what happened in Linz, she could not risk another burnout. Her dragonheart had chimed in to burn away the exhaustion to make that last push. But this was not a last attack to secure victory, this was walking onto the sands of the arena. She needed to preserve her strength.

Sylph took two steps backwards and fell into the side of the dune. The sand caught her like a cold blanket and she curled up; Not a nice nest, but she did not care. All she wanted was to close her eyes.

Brandon turned around. “Maybe we could cross one more dune.” Her dead gaze upwards must have said more than words ever could, because he sat down on the slope next to her and leaned against his backpack. “Anyway, I think we made quite a bit of progress.”

“Hm,” Sylph murmured. In the distance, the first rays of sun bathed the horizon in a red tint.

“Traveling at night is doable.” Brandon stretched his arms and flexed his upper body. His voice still sounded eager, as if he could have walked for hours more without tiring. “Maybe we can manage double the distance tomorrow.”

“What?” Sylph lifted her heavy head inches at a time. “Double? Do you want to kill me?” There was no way she could walk that distance in such a short time. She was thirsty and hungry and tired and in the same grumpy mood as a whelp feeling the same, albeit she would not complain about having to take a nap.

“The city could be a two-hour walk away, or twenty. We should make as much progress while we still can,” he said, stood up and walked away from their little camp.

“Where are you going?” Sylph expected no answer. An idea, uncomfortable but effective, had crossed her mind quite a while ago. She pulled his backpack towards her and rummaged through it until she found his water bottle. It was nearly empty. Sylph poured the rest onto her leg, where it absorbed immediately. For a second, the soothing liquid seemed to calm her aching muscles as it spread out.

She threw the empty bottle towards him. It sailed straight past his hands and hit him flat in the chest, dropping to the ground with a thud. “No! Never. That’s- No,” he protested as he caught onto the idea.

Her face grew hot. “Look, it worked with the food coloring. You are the smart one. You know this is about survival.” Not that she liked the idea. She merely considered all ways to save water and still found no way to make this not painfully awkward.

“I drink from that,” Brandon complained and rubbed the sand of the bottle with his tunic.

Sylph raised one of her arms and pointed to her opened pfod. “If you don’t want to dirty your bottle, here is option two.” She shot him a predatory and challenging glance. Albeit being an obvious joke, a genuine embarrassment spread between them and they turned away from each other.

“I wonder what you would do if someone went along with your jokes,” Brandon tried to laugh, but the forced chuckle only sounded nervous. Her arm fell back into the sand as he hugged the bottle tight and his gaze fell away, down to the floor. “I know it’s the right call, but I don’t feel comfortable with this. It’s magic, but-, your-, and this-, is too weird.”

“Veria once said that everything is allowed and nothing is shameful when trying to survive. You might come back embarrassed, but the important thing is that you came back. So please, take the damn bottle and go, literally. But I will not force you to.” Sylph rested her head on the cold slope. While Veria’s thoughts were about all that could happen in a fight, they oddly fit right here.

Brandon said nothing, then sighed. “Your mother is a smart woman.” He headed off. He hiked over a small dune, then the next, and stopped after the third, hoping that it was outside of her hearing range. But she had heard every step he took this far and now the very distinct pattern of liquid formed a crystal clear image in her head. She started to hum a tune and forced herself to think about bunnies instead. Unsure why that was the first thought, her stomach growled in response.

Her mind placed her back on the sands of Carthia’s training field. All recruits had left and the evening sun drenched everything in a crimson red. The only combatants that day were a bunny and herself. While they were not much more than a fluffy ball of fear and panic now, a bunny was rather large back then. It was almost a fair hunt. One that would have ended in its favor had Veria not stopped it from escaping several times.

She recalled the last pounce vividly. Her pfod clasped the soft fur and her claws tore into the muscle and latched to her prey. It increased its struggle, tried to pull away with all its tiny might, but failed. She somehow knew to go for the neck. It twitched one last time until it abruptly went very limp and heavy. The sweet metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and befuddled her senses like only blood could. Her stomach in the present gave a sluggish groan, all too eager to remind her she had not eaten for at least a day.

Sadly, there was very little hunting to do in a city nowadays. All of her hunts had been to learn the art. According to Veria, every dragon should. It apparently also looked very cute to watch her hop after a ball of fluff and miss every time. She flexed her regrowing claws and watched how the moonlight reflected on the sharp edges. Maybe there would be an opportunity for something larger out here, not just a bunny or goat. Something to give an ample supply of food and water, something to feed that sudden thrill of hunger growing inside her.

She waited for Brandon’s return while reminiscing about the tasty past and brushing up on hunting techniques she never thought she would use again. He returned with a half-filled flask and a face so red that it was visible against the moonlight. They exchanged the bottle without a word. The quicker this was over, the better. Her pfod closed around the bottom, avoiding his fingers. It was warm, disgustingly warm in the cold desert. “Do not think about what that is. It’s just warm acid,” she thought to herself.

Reluctantly, she opened the bottle, and for once was glad about her terrible sense of smell. She raised the bottle. “Cheers to our survival, I guess.” Brandon made an incomprehensible noise as she flipped it and then pushed it against her arm. Her body did not care for what it was, it was just dirty water. She concentrated as the pleasant warmth spread through her arm and, after a second, a few deep yellow drops fell into the sand below.

Sylph pressed the bottle against her underarm and filled it back up with clean water, gave it a quick swirl and repeated the process to clean it for good. “Now it’s my turn, right?” She turned towards Brandon and let the words hang in the air, waiting for his reaction with a wicked smile. He stood still, mouth opening and closing as though something broke inside of him. “I am joking.” All of her ability happened inside of her already. No need for silly detours.

She handed him his half-filled water bottle. “Premium body temperature water.”

He hesitated. “I wish you hadn’t said that.” Brandon sat back down against his backpack and stored the bottle. “If anybody asks, let’s keep this to ourselves,” he said and curled up as tight as he could to warm himself up.

“Oh yes, this is the kind of secret that will die with us.” Sylph watched as he shivered in the sand, unable to help him. If she could cover him, she would, but touching him would hurt, and a wing high above would not help. All she could do was pass the time until the sun rose a little higher. “Did you ever read The Journey to The Under-jungle?”

“Yeah, I read that one. Recently even.” Brandon uncurled and turned back to face her.

“I just got reminded of it. Remember the horrid box?” Her gaze wandered to the backpack.

“The dialog in the dark? I thought that was pretty well done for that series. A very claustrophobic romance.”

Sylph snorted. “Romantic? Three days trapped in a tiny box after getting blackout drunk the night before. That’s not romantic, it’s disgusting. Poor guy on the bottom.”

A visible wave of disgust traveled through Brandon. “I don’t even want to know what just went through your head. That was not in the book.”

“Exactly! I hate unrealistic books. And what about a hangover? Why don’t they get a hangover after being that drunk? How are they not thirsty? I am already thirsty in this freaking desert.” She shook her head. She loved books and stories, but so often did they stray very far from the truth.

“They flew to the moon on a dragon made of stained glass. The entire series is unrealistic.”

“The guild has a pathwalker that turns into literal diamond.”

Brandon grinned. “Fair point. Even so, I wouldn’t want to read about two people sitting in their own mess for three days. I prefer the normal version, the one with the heartfelt dialogue and the one that doesn’t make me gag thinking about it. You just cut out all the unfitting bits. That is how storytelling works,” Brandon said, and the sentence caught in his throat. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sylph drew a short and fast breath. Cutting her part from the story, maybe it made sense to the storytellers. Veria, Dalian, Ronnie, Void, even Arastra, they had so much impact on the world. Sylph happened on the way, a footnote, a simple sentence in the entire work. She really was the filthy box of Void’s rise. Something too true that added nothing.

Her thoughts took a nosedive into some place dank and dark, but, just before they splatted to the bottom, they seared back up to a new height. If she was the filthy box, that meant her story was unwritten, and things untold could become anything she wanted it to. The first act was easily found, saving her parents. She would finally do something of worth, her very own story.

The next seed of doubt sprung to life. “Once I bring my parents back to Sawaila, what happens then? Do I have to decide between two families? What if they willingly sold me into slavery?”

“No parent would sell their daughter,” Brandon said, “and how you decide after that is up to you.” He propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a nod. “My father always says to keep important things close to your heart. You love your mothers, don’t you? That won’t change, no matter what happens.”

If only she was that sure. Did she love her mothers? She did not quite know what that actually meant. There was something, a sense of belonging, but was that love? Her mothers, Dalian, Arastra and Brandon, these relationships ended up feeling kinda similar in the end. They were a group she belonged to and the one group she would come back to if faced with that decision. She was pretty sure there should be a difference between her mothers and the rest. Loads of books told her about the love of family and how that should be and none ever mentioned so many people being in that group. Maybe it had to do with being an Aer. She overheard they do not love. But people spout a lot of things they knew nothing about. Sylph closed her eyes and barred her thoughts to deal with them later, in favor of more idle conversation that was easy to think about. “Ever read The Southern Tower?”

“The comedy with far too many kidnapped princesses?”

Sylph snorted. “In this day and age, kidnapping princesses is a fetish.”

“That’s certainly a unique take on it,” Brandon chuckled, “but the author is human. He lived in my old town.”

Sylph rested her head on the sand. “Did you ever talk to him?”

Brandon shifted towards her. “I did,” he said sharply. “He’s not a nice person. I wonder why his books still make it to Sawaila. They have some insane prejudice and undertones. Doesn’t fit the times, and the kingdom.”

Sylph dug her head a little into the sand and closed her eyes. “People enjoy many things, even that terrible comedy. I hope the princesses and princes rebel and save the poor stable boy. He must be sore. But there are worse books, like the one about the many shades of Sol.”

“Maybe my memory of the book is more fuzzy than I thought,” Brandon said half-hearted and laid down. “The author is a real bastard though.” He left a second of silence. “Why am I not surprised that you know the one about all the shades of Sol? You own that, don’t you?”

“I do not.” She took a cautionary glance around. “I really want to know why and what is in there, though,” she whispered. “Sol have so many colors and spit so much different fire. What else are they hiding? Allegedly, the book hides nothing about what happened in their courts and throne rooms, and the dungeons.”

They talked for a while longer until the exhaustion from earlier caught up with her and she fell into a light slumber.