#raised in the only place that gets nine whole minutes of sun exposure on the darkest day of the year

[nordfjording]

excuse me but theres a grave mound in my town that every single person born and raised here has been convinced is real and important (partially because it's the last place the light leaves at the winter solstice. and if you have ever lived in a place that loses its sunlight, you know, you know. it also looks like one.) and for 30 years thats been followed up with 'but they analysed it and decided it seemed like a natural formation, nothing to see her allegedly'

but this year in the year of 2024 they have confirmed that it is in fact a man-made monument. likely around 1500 years old.

[qqueenofhades]

Starlight & Strange Magic, Chapter 19: In Which a Daring Rescue Mission Is Launched

Rating: M Summary:  Lucy Preston, a young American woman, arrives in England in 1887 to teach history at Somerville College, Oxford. London is the capital of the steam and aether and automatonic world, and new innovations are appearing every day. When she meets a mysterious, dangerous mercenary and underworld kingpin, Garcia Flynn, her life takes a turn for the decidedly too interesting. But Lucy has plenty of secrets of her own – not least that she’s from nowhere or nowhen nearby – and she is more than up for the challenge. Available: AO3 Previous: In Which Everyone Would Like To Know How This Happened

Nobody sleeps much for the rest of the night. Gennady, Karl, and Robert Taylor have to be patched up, someone needs to keep watch in case the police find their way here, there is food to be found and tea to be brewed, and after five minutes of uncertainty over who is going to step into Flynn’s shoes and lead the gang in his (temporary) absence, it is somehow decided, word unspoken, that it is Lucy. She isn’t sure how they arrived at that conclusion, just that they have, and the sensible thing to do is not to waste time quibbling. If this hardened bunch of scabrous rogues are willing to take orders from a lady historian half their size, that is entirely to the good, and they had better not make the mistake of underestimating her. Somehow, she doesn’t think that will be a problem. They seem to have an inexplicable, inbuilt loyalty to her already.

If that is the case, Lucy thinks, their first order of business has to be to get out of this absolutely godawful warehouse. So, with Anton Sokolov stoutly at her back as interpreter, fixer, and bodyguard, she ventures out into the darkening streets, he guides her to a suitable establishment used by his Marxist smuggling friends, and Lucy manages to acquire the entire first floor of the house. It’s not much, but it’s a whole hell of a lot better than where they are currently, and when the suspender-wearing Bolshevik they are bartering it from gets a briefly confused look as to who exactly she is and what she is doing here, Anton swoops in with a few quick words of explanation. Whatever he’s said, it seems to do the trick, and the man nods respectfully to Lucy, hands them the keys, and bows himself out.

“What did you tell him?” Lucy asks, when they are back outside and on their way to inform the gang of the new lodging arrangements. “About who I was?”

Anton coughs. “Oh,” he says, rather too determinedly casual. “I just told him you were good friend.”

“Of yours? I’m flattered, but – ”

“Well, I may have not said myself. I may have also not quite said friend.”

“What did you – ” Lucy gives him a warning look. “Who exactly does that man think I am, Anton Sokolov?”

“Since you ask,” Anton says with great dignity, “I tell him you are wife of Flynn.”

“You told him I was Flynn’s w – ?” Lucy doesn’t know what’s more darkly amusing, the fact that the cover would almost make sense on the surface, or that the heat death of the universe will most likely occur prior to anything ever actually progressing on that front. Especially given that he’s presently a prisoner of Rittenhouse on his way to God knows where and may well be killed first, a thought that has not ceased to stab her like a hot brand. Karl said they would want to keep him alive in hopes of information, which may also be true, but does not portend any particularly enjoyable experience either. She just wants to find him, and she can’t stop until she does. Garcia Flynn is tall, obnoxious, dangerous, unpredictable, hot-tempered, and smart-mouthed, as well as having a temperament to which the word stubborn can only very inadequately be applied. He is far too fond of shooting things and/or blowing them up, possesses the interpersonal skills of a concussed warthog, and has poured kerosene on his own head and struck the match too many times to count. And yet, somewhere in the middle of all that drama and disaster, Lucy has discovered that the first thing she will do when she gets the idiot back is to finally, finally kiss him. No, slap him. No, kiss. No, definitely slap. He’ll have to earn his way up from there.

She and Anton make their way back to the warehouse, inform everyone of the change in arrangements, and organize them into groups of twos and threes, thus to drift casually in that direction and not attract attention by all going at once. It takes another substantial chunk of time to do this, but finally they are all more or less settled, there are men stampeding everywhere and putting their dirty boots on things and shouting and farting and jostling and taking up space, and Lucy feels an urgent need to withdraw herself from the situation. So she checks that Rufus has been given a proper spot on the sofa, then heads to the small bedroom at the back of the house that has been considerately reserved for her private use. She lies down on the narrow bed, stares at the ceiling, and feels a wave of exhaustion so profound that she briefly disconnects from her own body, floating somewhere just outside it. This has, to say the least, been one of the more eventful days in her entire stupidly eventful life.

Despite the muffled racket from the gang, Lucy eventually manages to fall asleep, wakes sometime in the wee hours when the noise has tapered down a bit, and wonders if it’s worth getting out of her clothes, or if she’ll just get up again in a few hours and have to put them on anyway. But if she is going to coordinate and lead a daring rescue mission, she is going to have to ditch the restrictive corsets and petticoats and long skirts, no matter who it scandalizes. Nineteenth-century fashion for well-to-do-women is not in the least practical for rushing into Siberia at the head of a bunch of criminals and plucking your not-husband from a dire and wintry predicament. She is going to need to improvise.

At that, Lucy wonders why she is so sure that Rittenhouse is taking Flynn to Siberia, given that they could have just as easily kept him in St. Petersburg for convenient pickup by Emma. She squints, trying to remember where the idea came from, until she has a blurry recollection of some dream that fades even as she tries to grasp it. She was watching a flock of ravens flying above a train, and she just knew where it was going, and that Flynn was on it. This is something less than a firm scientific basis, and she resolves to thoroughly canvass the city prisons first. Though that is also likely to be a waste of time. Rittenhouse won’t be throwing their bête noire into any ordinary lockup. They will have somewhere secret and dark and dreadful for him instead.

Lucy finally struggles out of her corset, since it’s deeply uncomfortable to sleep in, and thinks that if nothing else, she will not miss this every day. She catches another fitful few hours of shut-eye, wakes up from another weird raven dream, and thinks it must still be early until she makes out the clock on the wall and sees that it’s quarter to nine. The sun won’t be up for another hour.

Groggy and sore, Lucy stumbles out of bed and digs in the chest of clothes, until she comes up with trousers, shirt, jacket, and flannel underwear that will more or less fit her. The latter is a bit iffy without a thorough wash first, and smells like smoke that no soap is likely to dislodge, but it is a practical necessity for not freezing, and she keeps her own on underneath. After so long wearing skirts and tight-fitted bodices, men’s clothes are unfamiliar and delightfully free, and Lucy pulls a pair of suspenders over her shoulders, reminded of one of the women she dated in grad school. Once she has butched it up, she puts on three pairs of socks and heads out.

The gang is already up, making coffee in the small kitchen, though they all collectively choke on it when they see her. Lucy raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really, guys?”

“You are… you are still looking very nice, Lucy,” Anton says gamely. “Though those clothes were once belonging to our comrade Sergei. He was short, like you.”

“And what happened to comrade Sergei?”

“Oh, uh. He was hanged for the smuggling and promotion of sedition.” Anton looks apologetic. “But he died very bravely.”

“Great,” Lucy mutters, wondering if it is a bad omen to be wearing the former wardrobe of the undersized and unfortunate late Comrade Sergei, but as ever, not having much of a choice. Rufus is feeling somewhat more peppy this morning, and she detours over to sit next to him. “So, do you want to go back to England?” she asks quietly. “If Jiya might be there, and I know you have no real reason to stick your neck out for Flynn – ”

“I’m not going to leave you here by yourself, Lucy.” Rufus looks at her strangely. “Especially when we need to know more about what’s going on before I do something dumb and make it worse. I still know pretty much jack about Westworld, and once we have some solid intelligence, I’ll do something. Until then, I’ll stay with you.”

“Oh.” Lucy supposes that sustained exposure to Garcia Flynn has made her forget what it’s like when people properly think things through and make informed decisions before jumping off a bridge with both feet. She looks at Rufus gratefully. “If you’re sure, but Jiya isn’t any less important. Say the word, and I’ll do everything to find her and tell you where she – ”

At that very moment, they are interrupted by a knock on the front door, and the gang immediately goes tense. Silence falls, instantly replacing the breakfast chatter, and everyone reaches warily for one of the multiple weapons that they keep upon their persons. If someone really meant them ill, it’s unlikely they’d bother to knock, and maybe it’s just Anton’s friend coming by like an Airbnb landlord to make sure his guests haven’t totally trashed the place. Lucy thinks it over, waves at the gang to stay where they are and that she will signal if she needs them, and then very carefully proceeds down the front hall. Maybe it’s a lost milkman needing directions, though she will need one of the Sokolovs to translate if so. Or – no, it’s definitely not Flynn, he did not miraculously spring free from his cage and come running back, and she is annoyed with herself for thinking it. She undoes the deadbolt and opens it a crack. “Da?”

“Lucy?” a familiar voice says. “Lucy, dear, it is extremely cold out here and I am remembering in force why nobody sensible ever goes to Russia in winter. As well, I have had a very long airship journey and deeply want some tea. If you would please let us in?”

“Ada?” Lucy pushes the door open in disbelief, thus to reveal none other than Augusta Ada Byron King, Lady Lovelace, in all her five-foot-nothing glory, wearing an ermine-trimmed pelisse with a stylish fur muff and looking as sprightly as ever. Behind her, Mr. Woolsey is loaded down with approximately twelve valises and portmanteaus, which must contain all of Ada’s creature comforts, and a hansom cab is waiting on the street. “Ada?! What are you doing here?”

“Well, dear, you sent me that interesting telegram, and rather than waste time trying to cable you back with everything, I thought it would be easier to show you. Besides, you sounded to be in a small spot of bother, and you will want to see this. Good heavens, why are you dressed like a workman? Tremendously unflattering. Oh, and where is that horrible man of yours? I would like to know exactly where he is before I venture a foot into this residence.”

“Flynn is… missing.” Lucy glances down. “It’s a long story. It happened right after I sent the message to you.”

“Doubtless obliging us to go to a great deal of fuss and bother retrieving him.” Ada sniffs disapprovingly. “Do at least tell me he’s made it worth your while? Gotten to know you? Carnally?”

“Wh – ” Lucy can feel herself turning the color of a tomato. “I – what. No. No, there’s been no… knowing. Especially not like that.” Unfortunately.

“Well, that’s a great pity. If Almighty God made the man that pretty, and then altogether neglected to add a drop of brains, he should at least get some use out of it.” Ada snaps her fingers autocratically, while Mr. Woolsey is still looking utterly pained. “Edward, do wipe that look off your face, not all of us feel obliged to live a tedious life, or be preposterously precious about talking about it. Take the bags inside, there’s a good man, then go back and help the ladies.”

“Ladies?” Lucy is still noting interestedly that Mr. Woolsey’s first name is apparently Edward, as the beleaguered butler shuffles inside with Ada’s things and sets them down with an expression as if hoping they will not be obliged to remain in contact with working-class floorboards for very long. “It’s not just you?”

“No, I brought your friend, just as you asked. Oh, and Miss Mackenzie, of course. I’ve become rather fond of her and she’s decided to stay in London for the season. Not to mention – ”

The rest of Ada’s sentence is cut off as Lucy practically shoves past her, runs down the slippery front walk, almost does all kinds of horrendously undignified pratfalls, and reaches the door of the carriage, pulling it open and alarming the coachman, who shouts at her in Russian. She likewise pays no attention, looking frantically into the dark velvet interior. “Jiya?!”

“Lucy?!” The voice echoes back to her, just as shocked. Then there’s a frantic rustle of skirts, and – somehow, impossibly – Jiya throws herself into Lucy’s arms, the two of them holding on for dear life, giggling and disbelieving and desperate. Jiya pulls back, stares at Lucy as if to make sure it’s really her, and shakes her head. “What are – what – ”

“How – ” Lucy interrupts, talking over her. “Rufus – Rufus is here, Rufus is inside, he – ”

“Rufus?” Jiya presses a hand to her mouth. “How is – ”

“Just go inside, go see him, we’ll explain everything in a bit – ”

Without further ado, Jiya leaps out of the carriage and runs up the walk. She is dressed as a Victorian lady in flounced velvet skirt and jacket, a black pillbox hat and a fur mantle for traveling, so apparently Ada took it upon herself to get the poor child properly fitted out. It’s only then that Lucy can take stock of the other two occupants of the carriage: Priscilla Mackenzie, looking much more sleek and fashionable with ginger hair stylishly upswept and pearl bobs in her ears, and Wyatt Logan, who looks to be not entirely sure what he’s doing here, but gives her an awkward wave. “Hey. Uh. Morning.”

“Hey,” Lucy says. “Wow, Ada really brought the whole team, huh?”

“I guess so.” Wyatt rubs a hand over his face. He’s unshaven, and there are glints of silver in his stubble that seem premature; he can’t be much older than her, mid-thirties. “Short version, I met your friend there, Jiya, in London. A – uh – ex-prostitute named Bella ran into her at something called the Church Penitentiary Association, apparently knew you and put the word out that she was looking, and I found her after that. We were going to go to Oxford looking for you, but then Woolsey turned up instead and said Russia. So we came along.”

“Thanks.” Lucy still has a thousand more questions about how he met Jiya, what might have happened to her before, and everything else, but she’s relieved to hear that her good deed in saving Bella paid off – not, of course, that that was the only reason she did it. It’s a huge weight off her mind to know that Jiya’s not being held captive and tortured by Rittenhouse, but it reminds her inexorably that Flynn is, and it’s a sobering counterpart to her joy. “How about you come in? It is pretty cold out here.”

Wyatt climbs out, offers Priscilla a hand down like a gentleman, and escorts her up the walk and into the house. Lucy leads the way to find the kitchen completely overstuffed, Jiya and Rufus still tearily clinging to each other, the gang regarding Ada with awe and a bit of terror, and Mr. Woolsey overloading on the spot as he tries to work out where he can possibly start managing this mess first. Everyone is talking at once, which makes it impossible for Lucy to hear herself think, and finally she gets up on the table and yells for them to shut up. She instructs Woolsey to make more tea, the gang to cork it, and for Ada to do the explaining first, since she seems to know the most parts of the story. They will then take turns from there.

Ada corroborates what Wyatt said, that Woolsey tracked Jiya down relatively easily at the Church Penitentiary Association, and had her brought to the Lovelace residence. After the receipt of the telegram, a trip to Russia was arranged in haste, and when Lucy asks how they landed, given as the St. Petersburg port is still closed, Ada blinks demurely. “Well, they did seem inclined to be bothersome about that. So I had Mr. Woolsey raise them on the telephone every three minutes until they changed their mind.”

Woolsey, who is looking around in vain for some decent china to pour his fresh-brewed tea into, is forced to settle for the mismatched crockery and tin tankards that the gang has heretofore been using. It seems pointless to ask how Ada and company were able to find where they were staying, as Woolsey is Butler Level Expert and thus does not view being suddenly dropped into the middle of a large foreign city as any reason for dereliction of duty. (Also, he really needs a job as an investigator for the Met.) It took a few hours, but it was achieved, and now here they all are. Rufus is trying to explain to Jiya the scientific principles that he used to get here, the gang’s ears are flapping like bats, and Lucy gives him a look as if to say that he can catch her up on that later. That particular cat, after all, is not yet out of the bag.

With that half of the story concluded, it is Lucy’s turn to explain how everything rapidly went sideways yesterday, the fact that Flynn has ended up in Rittenhouse’s custody as a result, and that they absolutely need to find him and get him back, or they have no shot at stopping anything. She manages to sound relatively clinical and detached about this, but when Wyatt asks if it would really be such a bad thing if Flynn was to remain out of commission, Lucy snaps at him and finds herself unaccountably, briefly choked up. “If you don’t want to help us get him back,” she says, “you can leave.”

“I didn’t say that.” Wyatt raises his hands, even though he did, kind of, say that. “I just want to know if it’s worth risking all of us, for one guy who – don’t jump down my throat, you know it’s true – has caused a lot of trouble for everyone. That’s all.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. Wyatt’s not wrong that Flynn has been, to say the least, violent and unpredictable, and he obviously has ulterior motives for wanting him stopped. There has been a confused tangent about Wyatt’s wife Jessica, who was apparently with Jiya when she vanished, and that Jiya had promised to help him find her if Wyatt did the same with Lucy. Wyatt doesn’t know anything else about what Rittenhouse is doing, though he does say that he met briefly with Anthony and Emma when he got back from Oxford the first time. Rufus’s eyes go narrow. “You met Anthony? Anthony Bruhl?”

“Yeah.” Wyatt glances over, confused. “How do you know him?”

“Rufus and Jiya are from – home too,” Lucy says, by way of explanation. “So – ”

“She said she was back in London, but him too?” Wyatt blinks, as if he didn’t realize there was now an interdimensional freeway in operation (to be fair, neither did anyone else). “Wait, so do you know how to drive the Mothership, then?”

“Yeah,” Rufus says, still eyeing Wyatt shrewdly. “If we ever got hold of it, which I don’t think will happen.”

“What is Mothership?” Anton interrupts. “Is like Motherland?”

“Not right now.” Lucy isn’t going to explain the time-travel, alternate-universe part to a bunch of steampunk gangsters. Not that she thinks they’d suddenly start chanting to burn the witch, but because it is getting them off track. “Show of hands. If you’re going to stay and help me rescue Flynn, say so now. Otherwise, I need to figure out something else.”

There’s a pause. Then everyone, even Wyatt, raises their hands. Karl is the last to do so, but he sighs and puts his hand up anyway, as if he’d probably miss Flynn if the big dumb bastard was actually gone. Rufus and Jiya are going to stick to Lucy like glue, Ada already came this far, Woolsey is an extension of her, Priscilla is apparently up for the adventure, and the gang feels personally impugned by this turn of events and intends to damn well get their boss back, frustrating as he can be. For the first time since they returned with the news that Flynn had been captured, Lucy feels heartened, takes a long breath and lets it out. “Okay then,” she says. “I guess we have to get started.”

The first job is dividing them into groups according to skill set, and getting the ball rolling on everything they will need to do for this not to be a disastrous failure. Lucy thinks about it for a while before deciding that of all of them, Ada may actually have the best chance of finding out where Flynn has been taken. If she storms into the St. Petersburg constabulary and kicks up a fuss, informs them that Flynn broke into her house in London and she wants him transferred to the British authorities for trial, she might be able to turn over enough rocks for a lead. Besides, Ada is a famous and very wealthy old lady whose name, title, and connections all far outstrip a bunch of broke-ass nobodies, the majority of whom are actively criminal. Since Ada doesn’t speak Russian, Anton Sokolov is assigned to her as escort and interpreter, and Ada gives him an approving look. “And you are?”

“Name is Anton Vasilyevich Sokolov. Brother over there is Gennady. May call me Anton.” Anton, who is almost literally twice Ada’s size, has to bend in half to kiss her hand. “Is great honor to meet you, Lady Lovelace. You are very clever inventor.”

“Oh, I do like this one,” Ada remarks to Lucy. “Very polite. And there are two of them. Have you thought about them instead?”

“No, no,” Gennady puts in. “We are FRIENDS to Lucy, that is all. Besides, Flynn is GARBAGE GOBLIN, but he love her madly. Everyone with EYES IN HEAD see that.”

“Excuse – ?” Lucy turns to look at Gennady, who looks briefly confused that he has said something that somehow isn’t public knowledge. “I – I don’t think so.”

“Ah. Mmm. Hmm.” Gennady evidently wonders if he has once more put his foot in his mouth, but there’s also a look on his face as if he isn’t the one who is wrong here. Hastily changing the subject, he says, “What is it you want rest of us to do, Lucy?”

“I need you and Karl to check that we have enough guns, and that they’re well supplied.” This at least, Lucy doesn’t think will be a problem, but she does not want to arrive at a delicate moment without enough ammunition. “Rufus and Jiya, you might need to work out a way to get us back from wherever we end up. If we end up way off the ranch or in the middle of nowhere, we don’t want to be stranded. Wyatt and the rest of the gang will have to help us shoot our way in. And Priscilla, Flynn and I were wondering if you might be able to contact someone for us. Someone who is, uh, dead.”

“Aye?” Priscilla seems a lot different from the socially disastrous, tongue-tied wallflower that Lucy first met at Ada’s dinner party. There is clear confidence in her eyes, and she no longer tiptoes or stammers. “Who’s that?”

“Matthias Corvinus,” Lucy says, knowing it sounds a little crazy even as she does. “The Raven King. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but – ”

“Everyone’s heard of the Raven King.” Priscilla gives Lucy a funny look. “It’s him you’re wanting me to meddle with? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well… now that you’re saying it like that, I’m wondering,” Lucy admits. “And maybe this isn’t a good moment for it. One problem at a time. I don’t know if you want to come along on the actual rescue part, it’ll be dangerous, and if you haven’t done anything like that before – ”

“I may stay here with Lady Lovelace,” Priscilla says, “but I grew up in the Highlands, I’ve learned how to handle a musket. You’re liable to need plenty of help.”

Lucy has to admit that this is true, even as she tries to imagine Priscilla shooting anyone and still can’t do it. She briefly contemplates asking the medium to try to contact Amy again, to see if it’s possible, if Amy is coherent, still remembers who she is, but the possibility of silence – or worse – makes her shrink. Sometimes a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and she needs her focus on Flynn right now. The revenant can wait, and besides, doing that might encourage it to come back for round two, remind it that she exists and is a juicy piece of prey. No, not right now.

With that, everyone disperses on their various errands, and Lucy herself, after all the chaos and delegation, is abruptly left with not much to do but pace and wait for them to come back. She hopes the weather holds out, since any more snow will make it dicey, and as Ada said, there is that old saw about not going to Russia in winter. Lucy seems to have assumed effective command of one of London’s major organized crime outfits, and even the fact that they are not in London is only incidental to the trouble it will cause if she’s caught. Then again, she is already in far more trouble any way you slice it, and Ada seems perfectly blithe about strolling openly into this den of scum and villainy (though it’s true that no one can really do anything to her). It’s already been almost a day since Flynn was taken. That is a significant head start, and if they can’t make it up –

She manages to distract herself for a few hours, though she finds herself constantly imagining the worst-case scenario, until the rescue team starts to filter back in. Gennady and Karl are loaded down with a frankly ridiculous amount of ammunition, have brought the rest of the gang’s guns from the warehouse, and it looks as if this is the one arena in which they will not be overmatched. Rufus and Jiya have some sort of rudimentary signal beacon that is supposed to network into Lucy’s Refractory-Glass in Oxford, though they admit that they have no idea if it will actually work or be able to transport anyone in the same alarming way that they both arrived. Rufus is adamant that it’s a last-resort nuclear option anyway, since obviously, violently disassembling and reassembling the atoms of the human body and exposing them to high-intensity quantum energy is not good for it. He likens himself and Jiya to a jigsaw puzzle that was dropped on the floor and then mostly – but possibly not entirely – reassembled. In other words, if they find themselves trapped somewhere, it is by no means the case that they can just teleport home.

Lucy puts that one on the back burner for now, and waits for Ada and Anton’s reappearance, which comes after just long enough to make her actively worry. Apparently Ada has told off no fewer than three high-ranking city officials, threatened to phone the editor at the London Times, and used some very uncouth Russian words for an elderly lady (which Anton, with a guileless expression, steadfastly denies having taught her for the occasion). The end result is that they have learned that a train containing the criminal Garcia Flynn left last night, on a trunk branch of the railway that heads north to the city of Arkhangelsk, on the White Sea. It is the former chief seaport of the Russian Empire, and it was here that John Bellingham, the assassin of Prime Minister Spencer Perceval in 1812, first conceived his grudge against the British government while working as an export agent. If someone in Rittenhouse has a very sordid sense of humor, it is definitely a place that they might send Flynn. What they intend to do with him once there, who knows, but probably not to offer him a warm drink and a new job.

“Arkhangelsk?” Lucy looks at Anton and Gennady. “Can we get there in any kind of decent time? How far is it?”

Anton thinks. “It is long way. Close to thousand miles north. Legend of Arkhangelsk is that it stands on place St. Michael defeated the Devil, and he guards city to prevent Devil’s return. If there is strong protective magic there, your Rittenhouse may want to break it.”

“With what, a human sacrifice?” Lucy honestly does not put it past them, and if they can’t fling open the gates to this branch of the multiverse until they undo its magical shield wall, they might see the exquisite irony in using Flynn to do it. Either way, if they don’t want him offered up as invaluable political prisoner or black-magic sacrificial lamb alike, they really need to get moving. She looks at the Sokolovs. “There won’t be a train running now, will there?”

“No, not usually,” Anton admits. “But that is only minor inconvenience. Everyone who is coming, get guns. And warm coats. It will not be summer vacation to Sochi.”

The end result of a bustle of activity is that Lucy, Rufus, Jiya, Wyatt, the Sokolovs, and most of the gang get bundled up, slung with guns and then some, and step out cautiously into the late afternoon. The horizon has an unfriendly look to it, and the wind smells like more snow, which isn’t the most promising of omens. Ada, Woolsey, and Priscilla are staying behind to hold down the home front (such as it is, given that they just moved in this morning) and Lucy imagines that they will have managed to decorate it with lace doilies and matching teacups and whatever else by the time they get back. That is a comforting thought, just because it suggests the possibility that they do get back and don’t, you know, freeze ignominiously to death an alarmingly short distance away from the Arctic Circle. God, it already is cold. The thought of heading another thousand miles north is not at all appealing.

They trudge to the train station, where the Sokolovs, who have been absolutely indispensable this whole time, scout around until they find one of their friends. However, Alexei Petrovich is justifiably suspicious to hear that they want him to help them commandeer a locomotive, crew, coal, and other things required to make a train run, and it takes close to twenty minutes of low-voiced arguing, with both Anton and Gennady making emphatic gestures, before Alexei reluctantly agrees to help. The compromise appears to be that they won’t involve anyone else in it, will sneak down the track and “borrow” one of the railyard locomotives, and Lucy looks nervously at Anton. “Have either of you actually driven a train before?”

“No,” Anton admits, “but I have piloted airship, cannot be that different. I will get Alexei to give me – what is you call – crash course.”

“Great,” Lucy mutters. It’s not that she’s ungrateful, but the thought of taking a rusty bucket-of-bolts backup locomotive driven by a very amateur engineer into the teeth of an oncoming Siberian snowstorm, trying to rescue someone who may be intended as a human sacrifice and will be heavily guarded anyway, does not exactly inspire boundless confidence. But it appears to be that or sitting back and waving goodbye to Flynn permanently, and they have to move fast before any of Alexei’s superiors ask awkward questions. They uncouple a train car from its brethren train cars, and the Sokolovs vanish up the tracks. Five minutes later, there is a loud whistle blast, everyone jumps, and a locomotive zooms backward like a bullet, crashing into the car and locking with a jerk that nearly knocks everyone off their feet. A soot-faced Anton sticks his head out and gives Lucy a thumbs-up. Glad he figured that out, apparently.

Once the other members of the gang have been likewise given rudimentary instruction as stokers, i.e. standing by the engine boiler and shoveling coal in to make sure they keep going, they clamber into the carriage and take off at high speed, thus adding train-jacking to the list of crimes that the St. Petersburg authorities will want to question them extensively about if they make it back. Lucy hopes that their reduced weight, with just the locomotive and one car, will enable them to make up some time. They only have a finite amount of coal, and can’t necessarily count on being able to stop and refuel. If they run out or burn too much, they could end up stranded. And if a major snowstorm blocks the track, that means they could very well die.

It’s getting dark as they race past the first set of signals, and the first flakes are starting to drift in the air, not yet settling but not far off from doing so. Rufus, Jiya, and Wyatt are tense and abstracted, not talking much, and Karl and the non-stoking members of the gang are talking among themselves, with occasional wary looks at the newcomers. Lucy hopes it’s not a plan to cut and run if necessary, since while she more or less collectively trusts the gang, she doesn’t entirely trust Karl. He is still in this and going along, but if it ultimately comes to a decision whether to look out for number one, not meaning Flynn, she has a feeling he may do that. She can’t talk to the Sokolovs, who are occupied in driving the train, and there’s not much else to do. This is not exactly a Pullman car of railway comfort, and cold air is whistling in through the cracks in the windows. Nor is there, for that matter, very much food.

Two and a half hours out of St. Petersburg, it really starts to snow. When Lucy sticks her face out, the blowing flakes lash her almost horizontally in the face, and all she can make out of the tracks ahead is from the infernal reddish glare of the boiler. The rails gleam with ice, which could lead to a spectacular derailment or worse, and they’ll just have to hope they are coming in hot enough to avoid that. Sparks spit and lash the darkness, hot embers flying like hellish snow among the real storm, and Lucy feels slightly demonic herself, rushing toward the open gates of the underworld. Whether to enter them, or to escape, she has no idea.

Just then, the door bangs, startling everyone, and a windswept Gennady Sokolov staggers in, face almost completely black with coal. “We think we sight train NOT FAR AHEAD,” he informs them, as everyone jumps to their feet. “Hard to say if it Flynn, but CANNOT BE MANY crazy people on this line at present time of night. So is possible.”

“Can’t be,” Lucy says. “He must have left almost a day ahead of us, there’s no way we could have caught up to them in three hours.”

“Maybe, yes,” Gennady agrees, “but STRANGE THING has been happening ever since we left city. We see mile marker, and then next marker we see, is fifteen or twenty miles more on. We have burned LARGE AMOUNT of coal, to make this speed, but level in tender has not gone down. And there is BIRD flying by the cab window, this whole time. A raven.”

“A raven?” Lucy can’t help but feel that this has to be significant. If there has been unexplained intervention with their journey, and then those dreams earlier, is she being entirely, ludicrously over-optimistic to think that this is deliberate, some kind of actual manifestation of real, wild magic? Is the Raven King, for good or ill, now awake, and if so, did he come because he was called or simply because he chose to? Priscilla’s leery reaction about meddling with him made it clear that if you ask for him, you had better be prepared for him to respond, and in a way that could be either helpful or harmful or worse, an elemental force of nature beyond proper human control. Even if it presently appears to be working in their favor, it still gives her a chill. “How close are we to the other train?”

Gennady vanishes out the door again, climbs to a very precarious lookout position atop the tender, then crawls back down. “It is no more than TWENTY MINUTES ahead,” he reports. “Has slowed. WHOLE FLOCK of ravens circling overhead. We are deep in it now.”

By “it,” Lucy understands that he means the enchantment, as well as the rescue mission, and has to brush off a sensation like creeping insects. Wyatt looks particularly sick, grimacing and pulling faces and struggling to stand up as if there’s a physical weight on his back, and she looks at him in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Wyatt manages, wincing. “I think so. But whatever is going on here, it really does not like me.”

That seems rather odd to Lucy, but they are now running up fast behind the other train, until she has the sudden and horrible thought that they might not be able to slow down in time and will violently rear-end it, killing Flynn and possibly all of themselves at a blow. The whistle blasts, the brakes scrape fountains of sparks as Anton works madly to slow them down, and the bulky dark outline of the other train is now clearly visible, no more than a thousand yards ahead. The snow lashes Lucy’s face as she leans out as far as she dares, and then sees figures leaping off the sides of the other train, taking up positions for battle on the ground. But they’re moving with a peculiar, deliberate, clunky stiffness that doesn’t look human, and the superheated air from the boiler scorches her throat as she yells, “TOCKERS!”

The next instant, the snow and wind resounds with booms from the tockers’ guns, and Lucy grabs for the tocker dropper slung over her own shoulder, a twin to the one that Karl gave her in the Croft on her first day in London and she never actually got the chance to use. There is no way to precision target, so she braces the stock against her shoulder, pumps in the charge, and still feels it kick down her entire body as she fires. A sizzling blast of blue energy splits the night, but she can’t see what, if anything, she hit. The train is slowing, but it’s still going to ram the other one at more than incidental speed, and she runs back inside the car. “Brace. Brace!”

Everyone takes up emergency crash positions as if on a downing airliner, covers their heads and does their best to wedge their feet against something. They can hear the wheels screaming as Anton tries to kill the last of their momentum, to no avail. A split second, then –

It sounds like the entire world breaking apart, the roar of sundered iron and twisted rails, as their necks snap with whiplash and even the brace does only a limited amount of good. Lucy is thrown into Rufus, who sideswipes Wyatt, and they reach out communally, trying to stop Jiya from flying into a plate-glass window, as her jaw clacks hard enough to make her teeth rattle and she is very lucky that she doesn’t bite her tongue clean off. She has a dazed thought that Anton, in the cab, probably took the worst of it, and can’t even run out to look because they’re still moving, thundering down the track in a barely controlled skid and taking the rear half of the other train with them. If they derail, they’re almost certainly dead.

Miraculously – or perhaps magically – they don’t. But no sooner have they glissaded to a smoking, sparking halt then the nearest window breaks, and Jiya screams as the tockers force their way in, gear wheels clawing, machinery whining, blank metal faces looking melted and demonic in the burning lamplight. Lucy, Karl, and Wyatt get to their guns first, and three shots go off in near-unison, frying the first vanguard. The inside of the smashed-up train car resounds with blue flashes and the smell of burned ozone. Lucy thinks vaguely that she might be bleeding, that she might even have been injured more significantly in the crash, but she has no idea.

It takes ten or fifteen minutes of a sustained firefight, ducking behind splintering train seats and grabbing all the extra charges that Lucy mercifully had the foresight to bring along, to blast away enough tockers to even climb out of the train car. Rufus has apparently decided that if a plunge from the sky after going over ten Niagara Falls in no barrel won’t kill him, nothing will, and charges straight at them, blasting guns in both hands like Rambo. He’s not really hitting a whole lot, but it is confusing them, and Lucy, Jiya, Wyatt, Karl, and the gang manage to jump down onto the snowy ground. She hasn’t seen either of the Sokolovs since the collision. God, they have to be all right, they have to. It’s bad enough that, just as she feared, they may be stuck in the middle of nowhere with two crashed trains that are not going to be running any time soon. And it’s still snowing, it’s still –

Just then, with perfect, eerie synchrony, the flock of ravens swoops in overhead, in a way that isn’t quite clear whether they flew in the normal way, or have suddenly appeared from yet another thin place in the fabric of the world, and could be gone with the next wingbeat. As they soar over the tockers, something very odd (ha) starts to happen. The automatons spit bolts, run their windings frantically fast, marching in circles or twisting their gear wheels around in grotesque directions to throttle themselves. Lucy suddenly recalls something in Flynn’s story of the Raven King, about how the mechanics of man don’t work in the presence of his magic. The rescue squad stands there, guns still upraised but not having to keep firing, as the tockers self-destruct in under two minutes, falling facefirst into the snow with thuds and booms. It’s like when Wyatt took that one out for her in Covent Garden, times several dozen.

Lucy, Rufus, and Jiya exchange a stunned but desperately hopeful look, even as Wyatt himself is clearly in considerable distress. He goes to his knees, then to all fours, uttering a choked sound and tossing his head as if the presence of the ravens is physically driving him insane. Lucy is about to see if there is anything she can do for him, when she spots something – someone – moving on one of the broken carriages ahead. It’s not a tocker. It’s definitely a human.

Lucy’s breath seizes in her throat. She stares wildly at it, but can’t tell who it is, if it is in fact Flynn or someone else. She is standing in the middle of a minefield of self-destructed robots, two crashed trains, a flock of eldritch technology-destroying ravens, a heavy snowstorm, and a gang, as well as her two best friends and two very polite Russian criminals that she is presently very worried about. But she still takes a step, then another, then starts to run. Something in her leg both burns and numbs in a way that signifies considerable injury, but she doesn’t take the time to find out, running toward the dark figure. It’s tall. It’s also moving like it’s hurt. It has to –

The next instant, they literally collide, almost knocking her off her feet, as they grab at each other, Lucy raises her gun by wild reflex, and he – as it definitely is – knocks it out of her hand. He has a black eye and a split lip, has a raven feather stuck in his vest for some reason, and looks more than slightly mad himself, almost losing his balance as his own wounded leg buckles beneath him and he grabs at her to keep himself upright. This only has the effect of knocking them both off balance, and Lucy goes down atop him with a crash.

The next instant, Flynn has both arms around her so hard she can’t breathe and she doesn’t care, the realization burns through her like a lightning bolt, and in that wild moment, neither of them are thinking straight. It is – if not an actual, literal miracle – then, by any standard, not far off from one. She grabs his face in both hands, his hand tangles in her hair and drags her head down, and then, at last, unimaginably, drunkenly, desperately, deliriously, they are kissing. Their mouths open and drag against each other’s, she bites at his lips, his tongue tastes like soot and smoke and forces hers open too roughly to be tender, and she doesn’t care in the least. She gets a better grip on him as they roll over, heads turning, teeth scraping, still entangled, still kissing. That almost seems too polite a word for this savage, elemental embrace, the way Lucy has lost all sense of what is hers and what is his and what is the snowing, smoking, sorcerous night. She is engulfed in him, starving, dreaming, unable beyond all words to be satisfied except with more.

Flynn, of course, is the one to remember himself first. One moment they’re locked together, the next she feels him go stiff, and he jerks away as if she too has suddenly become red-hot to the touch. They stare at each other, gasping, eyes glazed, struggling for breath or sense, as he finally gets himself together enough to croak, “Lucy? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“We came after you.” Lucy still feels naked, stripped, bereft without his mouth on hers, the electricity that is crackling tangibly in the night, the way she is molded and melted into him. “What – how did – how are – ”

“There was a feather. A raven feather.” Flynn uses his chin to indicate it, knocked askew by their embrace but still stuck in his vest. “I don’t know where it came from, I used it to pick the lock of my cage. Then all of a sudden a bloody train crashed into us, and here you are? What th – ”

“Later.” Lucy feels too shaky to let go of him or to get to her feet. Nothing about her body appears to be working properly, and she can feel the burning brand of his mouth on hers. They struggle very unsteadily upright, blood rushing to her head and making her reel. In the latest understatement of the century, this is a huge mess. They’re going to have to spend the night in the crashed train, and try not to freeze. She needs to find out if the Sokolovs are all right, she needs to –

And yet, as they come closer to Jiya, Rufus, and the gang, Flynn stiffens. He stares at Wyatt, who is still on his knees, and stops in his tracks, throwing an arm out to keep Lucy behind him. “Hey!” he barks. “Get away from him!”

Rufus looks up. He seems momentarily relieved to recognize the cranky Russian giant from previous acquaintances, but baffled as to where he has come from and what exactly he has taken objection to. Flynn, however, is deadly serious. “GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Lucy has a split-second to think that this must be some old monster-hunting instinct, something that Flynn recognizes that the rest of them don’t, and then another second where she thinks he has to be mistaken, it’s just Wyatt, Wyatt – although clearly needing help in all kinds of ways – is not a monster. But something is in fact happening. His eyes are turning yellow, his back is elongating and stretching in a strange way, and his hands are curling, gnarling, twisting into claws. The gang is yelling, backing away, and Rufus grabs Jiya by the hand and pulls her, both of them tripping over a downed tocker, as Flynn lunges for the nearest gun. He raises it, even as Lucy is trying madly to make any sense of the situation, can’t –

And then, she remembers the story Flynn told her in bed the other night, about Matija Korvin and Vlad Dracul. About how Dracul cursed Korvin for throwing him in prison, and how if you stumble into the old places where that curse still lies, you too will be changed, transmogrified, and will become a monster. Wyatt kept saying he wanted a cure. Lucy thought it was for Jessica, but it wasn’t. It was for him. And now, in a place absolutely rich and rotting with Matija Korvin’s magic, it is reacting particularly to Wyatt, to its old enemy, to –

Wyatt is one of Vlad Dracul’s children.

Wyatt is a werewolf.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Thirteen: Cured

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

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The ceiling glittered like stars when they returned to the lab, and the siblings were a symphony of angry stomachs.

“Did you find anything?” Aidan asked as they entered.

“Yes,” Syra said, setting her things down, “It turns out we only need one thing.”

“Great! What?”

“A bug.”

“A…bug?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of bug?”

“This kind.” She pulled out a scroll with a sketch of a flying insect.

“That’s the Marsh Fly,” said Lanis. “They give you a nasty fever if you get bit, so we try to stay away from them.”

“Can you get one?” Syra asked.

“They’re normal only out in the summer, but breeding season’s coming up so you might be able to find a few.”

“Good,” she said, rolling up the scroll, “Apparently, while they can give you a fever, their bite can also cure certain other illnesses without the use of mana. Once the infection is gone, we can treat the fever.”

“And how do we know if it’s gone?” asked Ristau.

Syra paused, “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Lanis patted her on the back and went to leave, “You and Sulaer can work on that while Ristau and I go get the fly. Aidan, you keep working on that poison.”

“But you could get bit!” Syra called out.

“It’s not like there isn’t a cure.”

The next night, Tahlu led them to the infirmary in Mirna. Precautions had been made to limit any accidental exposure and they were given a room to themselves. Lanis sat, disrobed, on a cot, awaiting the start of the treatment.

“As Omei’s king,” he had said, “it’s my duty to risk my life before I risk theirs.”

“How do we make sure no mana can get to him?” Aidan asked.

“By using this,” Tahlu wheeled out a casket made of solid iron. “We normally use it on convicts to keep their mana inside. I never expected to use it to keep it out.”

“We ready?” Aidan asked, gripping a vial of dark liquid.

Syra looked around at the team surrounding the casket, all looking to her for the go-ahead. She glanced over to Sulaer, who nodded and held the jar containing the small fly.

“As we’ll ever be.”

With that, Tahlu helped Lanis into the casket and they gripped at each other in a tight embrace, hoping for the best. Syra waited for them to finish before giving Aidan permission to proceed.

“I’d like to tell you it won’t, but this is going to hurt.”

He drew a needle from the vial and plunged it deep into Lanis’ shoulder. Lanis winced at the insertion, but as the toxin began to spread, he began to twitch and groan. Sulaer held Tahlu’s hand as he watched his brother pale and scream against the burning in his body, and Syra remembered how horrible it felt to just inhale its fumes.

After some time his breathing became shallow and he convulsed every so often.

“How long does this take?” Tahlu asked, pacing.

“Until he’s too weak to move”, said Aidan, “As long as he’s still breathing, we continue.”

The moon was setting before Lanis settled down into shallow, but steady breaths.

Syra, Sulaer, and Ristau all checked him over through the small glass window on the casket’s lid before nodding in approval.

Sulaer gave Syra the jar with the fly flitting about inside and stepped away. Syra unlatched the small door in the side of the casket and loosened the jar’s lid.

“Wait,” Tahlu said, asking for the jar, “Let me do it. If he dies, it should be me that gave it to him.”

Syra handed over the jar and stood by Aidan. Tahlu unhitched the lid and dumped the bug into the casket, latching the door closed. Through the window they could see it jump and flutter around before landing on Lanis’ chest. Then they saw his body flinch.

“It’s done,” Syra said, “He’s been bit.”

“Now what?” asked Cassius, who was a nervous wreck from all the worrying around him.

“Now, we wait.”

An hour or so passed and Lanis began to sweat. His breathing quickened but remained shallow, and grew steadily paler. Soon, he was drenched and mumbling as the fever took hold, his fluffy hair weighted down like a chicken caught in a downpour.

Being locked outside the casket, Syra had no way of monitoring his temperature or his pulse. She began pacing herself, up and down alongside the metal casing she prayed would not become his coffin. Every minute felt like an hour, and she looked through the tiny window at every passing until Aidan pulled her aside.

“You need to calm down,” he whispered. “Tahlu is already white as a sheet just being here. If he sees you worried, it’ll only make it worse for him.”

Syra took a deep breath and nodded, resigning herself to the windowsill. How much longer will this take? The sun is already rising and Ristau and Leimia are still here. The Lower Tal couldn’t travel during the day without the risk of burns, but she knew they would never leave Lanis’ side.

Despite the three mages’ constant surveillance, it was Cassius who caught Lanis’ dire state.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, rushing to casket to look through the window.

“What? What is it?” Syra hurried to his side, followed by Sulaer and Ristau.

“I don’t know, it…it just feels like I’m losing him. Like he’s barely there at all.”

“What do you mean, feels like?” Aidan asked. “He’s in a metal tank.”

“He’s an Empath, you daft jellyworm!” Petra yelled, “Now bring us that potion before Lanis croaks!”

Tahlu threw open the casket and grabbed Lanis around the shoulders, holding him upright, “Bring it over here, quick!”

Aidan grabbed a jar of clear liquid and handed it to Tahlu who drained it down Lanis’ throat.

“Come on, come on, that’s it. You can do it, little brother,” Tahlu cooed, holding onto him.

Syra watched as Tahlu fretted over Lanis, with his brow nearly as wet from worry. She placed a hand over Cassius’ and gripping it tight. He looked down in surprise, but smiled at her proud face and squeezed back.

“How is he?” Tahlu asked Cassius, “Can you tell? Will he be alright?”

“Easy now,” Cassius hushed. He put his free hand to Lanis’ chest and closed his eyes, “There’s still a heartbeat, so he’s alive…and he’s stop fading.” He looked over Tahlu with relief, “He’s weak, but still here.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Tahlu pulled his brother to his chest and began to weep, rocking back and forth.

The whole group breathed a sigh of relief and Aidan had to take a seat.

“We still don’t know if it worked,” said Ristau, hiding in a shaded corner away from the encroaching sunlight.

“At least we know it doesn’t kill you,” Petra said.

“How are we going to know if the infection is gone?” Ristau asked Syra.

She was speechless at first. She and Sulaer had wracked their brains trying to invent some kind of test, but came up with nothing. But then she looked at Ristau and Leimia, and saw how they shrank from the pool of light growing on the floor.

“Sunlight,” she said, “If Lanis can stand sunlight, then it must mean the infection is gone.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Sulaer, looking to Ristau.

He nodded and motioned for Leimia to follow him, “Better let him rest up before you do, just in case. I’ll take Leimia to the Recovery Room, come fetch us when he’s up and about.”

Even with both Syra and Sulaer aiding his healing, it was nearly sunset before Lanis was up and standing.

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Tahlu asked, fussing over him. “The sun will be back tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Lanis said through pants as his brother helped him walk to the balcony, “I need to know if it worked. I need to know if my people can be saved.”

Long shadows covered the streets of the city, but the infirmary balcony still caught the last rays of light. Lanis squinted against its brightness, but stepped out with eager footing.

This is it, Syra thought as she watch the Brother Kings walk out, We either tortured a man for nothing, or we saved an entire city.

“How is it?” Tahlu asked, looking him over for the beginnings of redness and blistering, “Does it burn?”

“It’s…it’s warm,” Lanis laughed as he felt the light’s warmth flow over him, a warmth he had almost forgotten after decades of life underground.

“Did it work?” Sulaer called from behind them.

Tahlu beamed and scooted Lanis around to face them, “So far, so good!”

Tears welled and fell from Sulaer’s eyes and she hid her face with her hands, but she couldn’t hide the giant smile that took up half her face.

“We did it,” she said, looking over to Syra, her fair cheeks now red. “We finally did it!”

Syra was taken aback by Sulaer’s arms being thrown around her, “Yeah...we, we actually did!” Syra hugged her back and, for the first time, noticed how short Sulaer was for a Tal.

“Did it work?” A voice came from the doorway, and Sulaer bolted towards it.

“Wyn!” She careened into him, leaping into his arms and was completely bawling at this point. “Yes! Yes, it worked! Look, go see! He has no blisters!”

Wyn and the others joined the brothers on the balcony and saw for themselves that there were, indeed, no blisters. No swelling or redness at all. Just clean, fair skin.

“Thank you,” Lanis said, looking to Syra and the others, tears now streaming from his face. “This…I can’t…” he choked on both sobs and laughs, “This is a marvelous day, indeed!”

“It might be marvelous, but you’re still recovering!” called Ristau from the shadows with Leimia in tears at his side, “Now get your royal butt back into bed before I give it blisters!”

Tahlu and Lanis hobbled away back to the room, but Ristau stopped Syra and the others before they could follow.

“I believe a ‘good job’ is in order,” he said, smiling.

“It wasn’t just us, sir,” Aidan said, glancing over to Sulaer who was being coddled by Wyn.

Syra thought she caught a glimpse of sadness on his face, but he pushed it away and she nodded, too.

“It really wasn’t. I could barely even read Talian before Sulaer helped me. She…she really made this whole thing possible.”

Ristau and Cassius both had proud looks on their faces, and Cassius patted her on the head, ruffling her hair that desperately needed washing.

“In any case,” Ristau continued, “I believe we owe you a debt.”

Syra’s eyes went wide as she watched him pull a small box from his pocket.

“This, now belongs to you.” He opened the box to show her the glittering shard that sat inside.

“Th-thank you…thank you!” she said, taking the box in shaking hands. Finally. Finally, they had a shard after all the travelling and fighting and studying.

“This is only but the first, remember,” Ristau said. “But I sincerely hope the other four aren’t as difficult to come by.”

“Oh, good Lord, me too!” Petra wailed, causing the other to laugh.

“Now, you can’t just carry that around like some regular old trinket,” he said, taking the shard from the box, “It’s much too valuable and far more dangerous. May I?”

He held out a hand for Syra to take, which she did. Turning her hand over, he pointed to the tiny stone set in her ring.

“This is no ordinary stone, you see. It’s a morakii. And morakii are the best conduits of mana, able to hold on to immense amounts of energy. So, the best way to keep track of the shards”—He tapped the tip of the shard to the stone, and brilliant light shone from both. It glowed, and wavered, and condensed, until all the light had been absorbed into the ring—“is to keep it hidden.”

“That, was amazing,” Petra said, starstruck.

Ristau laughed and clapped his hands together, “Now, with all of that taken care of, who’s hungry?”

The next day, after they were bathed and rested, Tahlu gathered everyone in his meeting chamber to update Valen on their accomplishments and to discuss their next moves.

"Well, I am impressed," said Valen's reflection in Tahlu's looking glass, "I never even thought about mana being the true culprit. Splendid job, all of you!"

"Thank you, Valen, but it was Syra who realized our error and devised the plan to fix it," Sulaer said, giving Syra a grateful nod.

"So, I've been told." Valen grinned ear to ear, his brick-brown eyes swollen with pride at his little apprentice, "I had high expectations sending you off, but you have outdone yourself."

Syra flushed, hot from the eyes of those around her and from the pride she found in herself, "I'm just glad it worked."

"As am I," laughed Lanis from his seat by the door. His color had returned, but was still easily winded. Ristau had insisted he stay in bed another day, but Lanis reminded him that only Tahlu was allowed to tell him what to do, and refused to miss Syra's sendoff. So, he sat propped in a chair with Wyn charged as his keeper. "As are my people. This will not be easily forgotten, I assure you."

"How are the plans coming to cure the city, by the way?" asked Valen. "There are many Tal who need treatment."

"Ristau and Leimia are working on that now. Once the procedure is solidified, we'll have medics from both Omei and Mirna start taking patients."

"And how quickly do you expect them to recover?"

"Depending on their age and health, one to two weeks would be fair. Even sooner if our mages can rejuvenate them."

"I'll contact Vesna. She might allow them into her spring under these circumstances." Valen flipped through several rolled letters at his desk, "It seems we'll need the extra man-power."

"I take it the Black Thorn is still growing?" asked Tahlu, crossing his arms and rubbing his sleeve with absent-minded fingers.

Valen nodded, "A small group is confirmed to be in Dairos, and there are several reports of them taking Rozenfall as their current headquarters."

 "That's certainly a good place to start," Aidan said, biting a nail in thought.

"Why?" asked Petra, "If their problem is with how things are being run, why don't they start with Altaira? Isn't that your capital? Just cut off the beast's head and the rest will fall."

"It is the capital," said Valen, "but it is just one city of many. There's no doubt there are minions scurrying about, but Altaira has the largest army and plenty of battle mages at their disposal. They know it would be suicide to attack with only a small rebellion of blacksmiths and farmhands."

"And that's why Rozenfall is such an asset," added Aidan. "It's built in a mana desert and filled with people who make a living fighting the magical. If they want any chance at breaking Altaira's defense, Rozenfall's a necessity."

"So, let's say they convince Rozenfall to fight," Cassius said, "what kind of damage are we looking at?"

"For humans, not much, outside of normal battle wounds. But for you?" Aidan looked over at the siblings, "I'll just tell you that Altaira's entire supply of Arrun oil comes from there, and that's just one of their commodities."

Not one peep was uttered as a grave realization washed over Syra. She wouldn't be just fighting Marrak. If he was indeed the Black Thorn leader, she would be fighting people, too, and an army of them at the rate it was going. People who had had nine years to invent and perfect ways of protecting themselves from magical kind—her kind.

"Aidan's right," Valen said. A grim expression peeked out from under loose strands put there by sleepless nights, "Rozenfall is a deadzone for the magical, even I can't go there without feeling drained. Avoid it, if at all possible."

"But for now," Tahlu said, standing and giving the party a reassuring eye, "stay to the woodland trails west of the mountains. You'll have to stop in Misty Hollow for supplies, but after that the path to Morai should be safe. Most of it lies within Kiithran territory, and they don't take kindly to uninvited guests."

"Morai?" asked Syra.

"As in the Morai Mountains? The floating ones?" asked Aidan. His voice wavered and Syra saw him tense from the corner of her eye.

Valen nodded, "The shards were originally divided between each realm, where their leaders were charged with protecting them. You now have the shard given to the Tal,"—he motioned to Tahlu—"You will find the second shard belongs to Dürgah, the leader of the Kiithrani who reside in the Morai Mountains."

"But Morai is nearly at the coast. We'll never get there in time," Aidan said.

"Not if you're walking," Tahlu said with a slight grin.

Tahlu led the party outside to the Southern Gate where their rides had been prepared. Aidan looked on in silent confusion, but Petra cackled at the long, fuzzy faces that blinked down at them.

Instead of horses, they were brought mero, for the Tal did not ride horses. They stood about the size as a horse, but were much more limber—-dainty even—-and of cloven hoof; perfect for scaling the rocky ledges of the mountains. And their hair was fluffy, particularly around the neck, with two small horns poking out between their ears.

"Not what you were expecting?" Tahlu asked Aidan in jest as he scratched the creature behind its ears. "Just think of them as horses of the mountains. There are many steep trails where you're going, and mero make a rock wall look like a staircase."

The mero bleated and stomped a hoof as Tahlu found its favorite scratching spot, and its leg muscles rippled under its fur.

"They're also quite fast when you get them going."

They bid their farewells and Sulaer made sure to hug each one of them before they mounted up.

“Please, be careful,” she said. “The mountains may be old and beautiful, but they can also be dangerous. Just because a rock looks sturdy, doesn’t mean it is.”

“We’re well aware,” said Petra.

“Oh, right. You would be, wouldn’t you?” Sulaer said, recalling their montane origin. “Well, I still packed you some medical supplies, just in case. There’s salve, bandages, some more amec crystals for you, Syra…some herbs if you can’t find any, and—”

“I’m sure we’ll have everything we’ll need,” Syra said, giving her pack a confident pat.

“Thank you, Sulaer,” Aidan said.

“Of course!” Warmth bubbled from her grin and he gazed on like one soaking up the last rays of sun before winter. “Oh, almost forgot! Tahlu, didn’t you have something for him?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Tahlu unstrapped the sword from his belt and handed it up to Aidan.

“But I already have one,” Aidan said, taking it by the hilt.

“Not one like this.” Tahlu pulled off the sheath and silver-blue metal shone brilliant in the sunlight.

Both Aidan and Syra’s eyes widened as Tahlu and Sulaer chuckled to themselves.

“Is this…austram?” Aidan asked Tahlu, rotating the blade, mesmerized by its velvety luster.

“Indeed, it is. One of the last ones made.”

Aidan twirled it with a quick hand, feeling its light weight and how it cut the air with little resistance.

“I can see why people call it, blue steel.” Syra said.

“I know you have your own sword, and that it probably means a great deal to you,” Tahlu said, “but I’m sure you’re aware that no ordinary sword can fell a dragon…”

Aidan’s twirling ceased and he laid the blade across his lap.

“Especially not one with hide as thick as Marrak’s.”

Aidan looked from the blade to the sword hung from his waist. He unclipped it and held it tight in his hands.

“This was my brother’s,” he said, eyes staring down at the finely crafted scabbard and into the misty memories it held. “My father gave it to me when I became a soldier, and it’s been watching over me ever since.” His thumb massaged the small scuffs along the sheath before handing it down to Tahlu, “Please, take care of it.”

Tahlu accepted the sword with a bowed head and sympathetic eyes, “Until you return for it. For now, what may I call it?”

“Its name is,” Aidan paused, giving a hesitant glance over to the siblings, “Drahgrashi.”

Syra’s ears screamed as her own language fell from his lips, the word for ‘dragonslayer’ Aidan’s own poison-tipped arrows that hit her and the twins in their throats.

Syra didn’t need to be an Empath to feel another wall shoot up around Petra, and Cassius just turned his face away, no doubt just as hurt by the sentiment.

“I’m leaving,” said Petra, giving her mero a tap with her heels.

“Same,” Cassius said and followed her.

That left Syra sitting atop her giant goat with mouth caught open and no words.

“I named it for Ethan,” Aidan explained, keeping his eyes averted. “I thought, if I slayed the dragon that took him me, I could look it in the eye and let that be the last word it ever heard. That somehow, it might bring my brother some peace.”

“You said you named it that when you became soldier?” Syra asked, strained and barely audible.

“Yes.”

“So, just days after taking me?” Her voice cracked.

That night had been one of her happiest, one she remembered fondly even now. How could he? she asked herself, anger churning in her gut. Of all available suitors, she had chosen him--an act no dragon took lightly--yet he found solace in the murder of her kind. He didn't know, came the small voice in her head that chided her whenever she was being stupid, You made sure of that. You have no one to blame but yourself.

Aidan met her gaze with genuine remorse. He knew how much the sentiment hurt her, even without seeing how her face contorted from the shock. But that had been years ago, when grief and rage fueled his mission to protect his city. Syra had been his one reprieve from the nightmares and anti-magic projects that threatened to become an obsession. And despite their time and experiences together, a tickle of unease still cropped up whenever he was alone with Petra or Cassius.

He wanted to forget it all, to just enjoy their company and charge through the journey together. But he couldn't. He couldn't forget the stench of burnt flesh as his brother lie dying, or the shrieks of fear from the city streets as the shadows flew overhead, or how his gut shiezed when Syra's voice boomed from a scaly beast.

She had been honest in her explanation—he knew Syra well enough to know she hated to lose anyone—but resentment still festered and a sliver of him remained callous to her cries.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, letting the words drip from his tongue and burn into her ears.

[jakehglover]

Get Proper Sleep Nightly

30 Tips in 30 Days Designed to Help You Take Control of Your Health

This article is part of the 30 Day Resolution Guide series. Each day a new tip will be added designed to help you take control of your health. For a complete list of the tips click HERE

By Dr. Mercola

Lack of sleep has been scientifically linked to a wide array of health problems and is so common, it’s been identified as a public health epidemic by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A review of hundreds of sleep studies concluded that, as a general rule, most adults need somewhere between seven and nine hours — or right around eight hours — of sleep per night to maintain good health.

Your body, indeed every organ and even individual cells, contains biological “clocks” that regulate everything from metabolism to psychological functioning. Even half your genes have been shown to be under circadian control, turning on and off in cyclical waves.

All of these body clocks are synchronized to your master circadian clock, situated in your brain, which in turn is synchronized to the rising and setting of the sun, provided you don’t confuse it with artificial lighting at night and/or insufficient sunlight during the day, that is. Over the long term, skimping on sleep — which is a surefire way to dysregulate your circadian body clock — can contribute to a whole host of chronic health problems.

Lack of Sleep Puts Your Health at Risk

Research has shown that insufficient sleep and/or poor quality sleep can increase your risk for:

Accidents at work and on the road

Getting less than six hours of sleep leaves you cognitively impaired. In 2013, drowsy drivers caused 72,000 car accidents in which 800 Americans were killed and 44,000 were injured.1 Even a single night of sleeping only four to six hours can impact your ability to think clearly the next day.

Weight gain

Getting less than seven hours of sleep per night has been shown to raise your risk of weight gain by increasing levels of appetite-inducing hormones.2

Diabetes

One 2015 study3 linked "excessive daytime sleepiness" with a 56 percent increased risk for Type 2 diabetes.

Depression

More than half of people diagnosed with depression also struggle with insomnia. While it was long thought that insomnia was a symptom of depression, it now seems that insomnia may precede depression in some cases.4 About 70 percent of those with sleep apnea, whose sleep is repeatedly disrupted throughout the night, also tend to suffer from symptoms of depression.5

Impaired memory formation and increased risk of memory loss6

Sleep is essential not just for cementing events into long-term memory but also for making sense of your life. During sleep, your brain pulls together and extracts meaning, while discarding unimportant details. In fact, sleep increases your ability to gain insights that would otherwise remain elusive by about 250 percent.

So, during sleep, part of your brain is busy stabilizing, enhancing and integrating new memories. It’s also extracting rules, and the “gist” of what’s happening in your life. Reduced productivity at work and poor grades in school are other associated side effects of insufficient sleep. Creativity is also diminished.

Impaired sexual function7

Chronic diseases

Sleep deprivation decreases your immune function,8 which can have a snowball effect, raising your risk for cardiovascular disease,9,10Alzheimer’s11 and cancer, just to name a few. In the case of cancer, another critical mechanism involved is disrupted melatonin production. Melatonin is a hormone with antioxidant and anticancer activity.

It both inhibits the proliferation of cancer cells and triggers cancer cell apoptosis (self-destruction). Melatonin also interferes with the new blood supply tumors required for their rapid growth (angiogenesis). A number of studies have shown that night shift workers are at heightened risk of cancer for this reason.

Are You Sleep Deprived?

Daytime sleepiness is typically a tipoff that you’re not getting enough sleep, but sometimes signs of sleep deprivation may be less obvious. The late Nathaniel Kleitman, Ph.D., professor emeritus in physiology at the University of Chicago and a well-recognized pioneer in sleep research,12 developed a “sleep onset latency test,” to determine if you're sleep deprived. Here's how it works:13

1. In the early afternoon, grab a spoon and head off to your darkened bedroom to take a nap. Place a metal tray on the floor beside your bed and hold the spoon over the tray as you attempt to fall asleep. Be sure to check the time as you lay down. (If you don't have a spoon and metal tray handy, you can still take this test by setting an alarm for 15 minutes to see if you fall asleep before it goes off.)

2. When you fall asleep and the spoon crashes down onto the tray, waking you up, immediately check the time again and note how much time has passed.

◦ If you fell asleep within five minutes, it means you're severely sleep deprived.

◦ If it took you 10 minutes to fall asleep, you could still use more sleep.

◦ If you managed to stay awake for 15 minutes or more before falling asleep, you're probably well rested.

Improve Your Sleep and Health by Adopting a Neutral Sleeping Position

While sleep problems can be caused or exacerbated by a number of different factors, many of which are covered in “Want a Good Night’s Sleep? Then Never Do These Things Before Bed,” three of particular importance — primarily because they’re so frequently overlooked — are your sleep position, light pollution and exposure to electromagnetic fields (EMF).

In the video above, chiropractor and exercise physiologist Dr. Peter Martone discusses the benefits of adopting a neutral sleeping position. If you’re a side- or stomach sleeper and find yourself frequently tossing and turning at night and/or wake up with aches and pains, your sleeping position may be a primary culprit. As noted by Martone, for sound, healthy sleep, you need to sleep on your back, with your neck and spine in a neutral position.

The key to achieving this is to prop a pillow under your neck, not your head, as this allows you to maintain a proper spinal curve. For a demonstration on how to use your pillow to support your neck rather than simply elevating your head, please see the video.

If you’re unaccustomed to sleeping on your back, this change will take some getting used to. So, go slow, and give yourself ample time to adjust. In the beginning, you may only be able to remain on your back for a few minutes at a time. You may even experience more pain rather than less when you first start out.

This is my preferred sleep position ever since Peter taught it to me. I also tape my mouth shut with paper tape before I go to sleep to prevent myself from breathing through my mouth. Mouth breathing is something you’ll want to avoid, but it’s hard to do when you are unconscious.

In Martone’s experience, it takes an average of three to four months to convert from a side sleeper to a back sleeper, and even longer if you’re used to sleeping on your stomach. In addition to the video above, you can also find a number of helpful techniques on his website, www.AtlantisWellness.com/sleep.

I converted to sleeping exclusively on my back several months ago and really enjoy it. It’s certainly not the only way to improve your sleep (and health), but it may be worth considering if frequent tossing and turning is disrupting your sleep. 

Conquer Light Pollution to Improve Sleep

Light pollution is another major contributor to poor sleep quality. By disrupting your circadian clock and impairing melatonin secretion, light exposure at night will affect the length, depth and overall quality of your sleep. Electronic screens are major sleep thieves, robbing you of the ability to fall asleep quickly.

Research has shown that the more time you spend on electronic devices during the day, and especially at night, the longer it takes to fall asleep and the less sleep you get overall.14,15 Teenagers who used electronic devices such as MP3 players, video games, tablets, smartphones and/or computers for more than five hours a day were 3.5 times more likely to get fewer than five hours of sleep per night. They were also 49 percent more likely to need more than an hour to actually fall asleep.

Aside from electronic screens, LEDs and fluorescent lights are particularly troublesome as they emit blue light that is not balanced by red and near infrared frequencies.16 Importantly, LEDs may promote age-related macular degeneration, the leading cause of blindness. To learn more about this, please see my interview with Dr. Alexander Wunsch, a world class expert on photobiology.

Incandescent lights emit red and near infrared wavelengths and very little in the blue wavelengths, making them a far healthier type of lighting. Just beware of the light intensity, as too bright a light can cause problems even if it’s well-balanced. Once the sun has set, the lower the light in your home the better. Candlelight is ideal. Salt lamps are another option that will not have an adverse impact on your health and sleep quality.

If you choose to watch TV after sunset, then you must be particularly cautious as most new TVs are “smart,” meaning they communicate wirelessly by Wi-Fi and it is impossible to turn off. Fortunately, there is a simple solution. You can use a computer monitor for your screen, which does not have a Wi-Fi signal.

Even better would be to watch TV through a computer that is hooked up with a wired Ethernet and is in airplane mode. The advantage of doing this is that you can use a blue light screen blocker. Iris is the absolute best one and I have used it for many years.

If you use Iris at night, you won’t need blue blocking glasses. If you are unable to hook your monitor to a TV, then you will need to use the glasses. While blue light blockers work, glasses with red lenses actually work even better, as they not only block blue light but also yellow and green.

Avoid Nighttime EMF to Bolster Sleep Quality and Health

Download Interview Transcript

Another factor that can have a significant impact on your sleep quality and health is EMFs emitted from wiring and electronic devices. This is true regardless of the time of your exposure, but it’s particularly problematic at night:

There’s evidence showing EMF exposure reduces melatonin production,17 making it particularly important to eliminate EMFs in your bedroom. As mentioned, melatonin not only regulates your sleep-waking cycle; it’s also a powerful antioxidant, and low levels have been repeatedly linked to an increased risk of cancer.18

Sleep is the most important time for your brain, as its detoxification processes occur only during deep sleep. During deep sleep, your brain's glymphatic system is activated, allowing it to detoxify and eliminate accumulated waste products, including amyloid-beta proteins, which are a hallmark of Alzheimer's disease. EMF exposure has also been linked to neuronal changes that affect memory and your ability to learn.19

EMFs harm your body’s mitochondria by producing excessive oxidative damage, so “marinating” in EMFs all night, every night, can cause or contribute to virtually any chronic ailment, including premature aging.

One of the easiest ways to avoid or radically limit your nighttime electric field exposure from the wiring in your room is to pull the circuit breaker to your bedroom before going to bed. You can have an electrician install a remote breaker for convenience, which is what I have done. This will virtually eliminate electric fields in your bedroom, unless you have adjacent rooms with wiring in them, in which case you will need to measure the electric fields with a meter after you shut off the power to see if it goes into the lowest range.  

If your building code requires electrical wiring to be in a conduit, you’re in luck, as this means all you need to do to eliminate this radiation is to unplug any electronic equipment or lighting.

Another really important step is to turn off your Wi-Fi at night. It would be best to hard wire your home so you have no Wi-Fi 24/7 in your home, but I realize many are unwilling or unable to take this step. Please, don’t justify that it doesn’t make a difference because your neighbor has their Wi-Fi on all the time.

It’s important to realize that the Wi-Fi in your home is nearly always more of a danger to you than what’s coming from outside your home. You can confirm this by measuring the microwave signals with a meter, and see what your exposure is.

Emergency Sleep Remedies

If you’re currently not sleeping enough, or getting poor quality sleep, your chief aim would be to a) make sure you’re getting sufficient amounts of sleep each night by going to bed earlier, and b) addressing any and all factors that prevent you from falling asleep quickly and staying asleep throughout the night, including your sleep position, light pollution and EMF exposure discussed above.

For even more tips on how to improve your sleep quality, see “Nobel Prize-Winning Science Highlights Importance of Good Sleep for Health.” In the short term, you could try a gentle sleep aid while implementing more permanent lifestyle and/or environmental changes. Natural sleep remedies that may help you get a good night’s sleep include:

Melatonin. Start with as little as 0.25 milligrams (mg) and work your way up in quarter-gram increments from there until you get the desired effect.

Valerian root. Studies have found valerian root helps improve the speed at which you fall asleep, depth of sleep (achieving deep sleep 36 percent faster20) and overall quality of sleep.21 Start with a minimal dose and use the lowest dose needed to achieve the desired effect, as higher dosages can have an energizing effect in some people. Typical dosages used in studies range between 400 mg and 900 mg, taken anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours before bed.

Chamomile. This herb is typically used in the form of infusions, teas, liquid extracts or essential oils made from the plant's fresh or dried flower heads. It has sedative effects that may help with sleep, which is why chamomile tea is often sipped before bed.

5-hydroxytryptophan (5-HTP). The chemical 5-HTP promotes production of serotonin, thereby giving mood a boost and enhancing sleep. In one study, an amino acid preparation containing both GABA (a calming neurotransmitter) and 5-HTP reduced time to fall asleep, increased the duration of sleep and improved sleep quality.22

Take Control of Your Health by Making Sleep a Priority

In a world where technology facilitates and even encourages around-the-clock activity and connectivity, it becomes an individual responsibility to protect your health by setting boundaries and creating your own rules for when and how you’re going to be “connected.” Sleep is one of the foundation pillars of optimal health; you sacrifice it at great risk to your mental, emotional and physical well-being. So, if you’re not getting enough quality sleep, start by addressing the basics:

• Make sure you go to bed early enough.

• Expose yourself to bright sunlight in the morning and/or around solar noon to “set” your master clock, and to avoid blue light exposure after sunset for the same reason.23Blue-blocking glasses can be used to counteract artificial lighting and electronic screens.

• Sleep in complete darkness (use blackout shades or an eye mask). Research24 reveals even dim light exposure during sleep can affect your cognition the next day.

• Find your ideal temperature for sleeping. Studies suggest the optimal temperature for sleep is quite a bit cooler than many realize — between 60 and 68 degrees F. Temperatures above or below this tend to increase restlessness. Something as simple as sleeping naked may do the trick if you don’t want to crank down the temperature on your air conditioning. One of the established benefits of sleeping in the buff is improved sleep quality, in part by preventing overheating.

One study showed a surface skin temperature difference of as little as 0.08 degrees F (or 0.4 degrees C) led to sounder sleep.25,26,27 Studies have also found sleeping in the nude has several other health benefits, including improved metabolism and blood circulation.

• Make your bedroom an EMF-free zone to optimize nighttime brain detoxification and protect your mitochondrial health.

Tip #17Guide for Timing of Supplements

from HealthyLife via Jake Glover on Inoreader https://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/01/18/good-night-sleep.aspx

[sherristockman]

Get Proper Sleep Nightly Dr. Mercola 30 Tips in 30 Days Designed to Help You Take Control of Your Health This article is part of the 30 Day Resolution Guide series. Each day a new tip will be added designed to help you take control of your health. For a complete list of the tips click HERE By Dr. Mercola Lack of sleep has been scientifically linked to a wide array of health problems and is so common, it’s been identified as a public health epidemic by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A review of hundreds of sleep studies concluded that, as a general rule, most adults need somewhere between seven and nine hours — or right around eight hours — of sleep per night to maintain good health. Your body, indeed every organ and even individual cells, contains biological “clocks” that regulate everything from metabolism to psychological functioning. Even half your genes have been shown to be under circadian control, turning on and off in cyclical waves. All of these body clocks are synchronized to your master circadian clock, situated in your brain, which in turn is synchronized to the rising and setting of the sun, provided you don’t confuse it with artificial lighting at night and/or insufficient sunlight during the day, that is. Over the long term, skimping on sleep — which is a surefire way to dysregulate your circadian body clock — can contribute to a whole host of chronic health problems. Lack of Sleep Puts Your Health at Risk Research has shown that insufficient sleep and/or poor quality sleep can increase your risk for: Accidents at work and on the road Getting less than six hours of sleep leaves you cognitively impaired. In 2013, drowsy drivers caused 72,000 car accidents in which 800 Americans were killed and 44,000 were injured.1 Even a single night of sleeping only four to six hours can impact your ability to think clearly the next day. Weight gain Getting less than seven hours of sleep per night has been shown to raise your risk of weight gain by increasing levels of appetite-inducing hormones.2 Diabetes One 2015 study3 linked "excessive daytime sleepiness" with a 56 percent increased risk for Type 2 diabetes. Depression More than half of people diagnosed with depression also struggle with insomnia. While it was long thought that insomnia was a symptom of depression, it now seems that insomnia may precede depression in some cases.4 About 70 percent of those with sleep apnea, whose sleep is repeatedly disrupted throughout the night, also tend to suffer from symptoms of depression.5 Impaired memory formation and increased risk of memory loss6 Sleep is essential not just for cementing events into long-term memory but also for making sense of your life. During sleep, your brain pulls together and extracts meaning, while discarding unimportant details. In fact, sleep increases your ability to gain insights that would otherwise remain elusive by about 250 percent. So, during sleep, part of your brain is busy stabilizing, enhancing and integrating new memories. It’s also extracting rules, and the “gist” of what’s happening in your life. Reduced productivity at work and poor grades in school are other associated side effects of insufficient sleep. Creativity is also diminished. Impaired sexual function7 Chronic diseases Sleep deprivation decreases your immune function,8 which can have a snowball effect, raising your risk for cardiovascular disease,9,10 Alzheimer’s11 and cancer, just to name a few. In the case of cancer, another critical mechanism involved is disrupted melatonin production. Melatonin is a hormone with antioxidant and anticancer activity. It both inhibits the proliferation of cancer cells and triggers cancer cell apoptosis (self-destruction). Melatonin also interferes with the new blood supply tumors required for their rapid growth (angiogenesis). A number of studies have shown that night shift workers are at heightened risk of cancer for this reason. Are You Sleep Deprived? Daytime sleepiness is typically a tipoff that you’re not getting enough sleep, but sometimes signs of sleep deprivation may be less obvious. The late Nathaniel Kleitman, Ph.D., professor emeritus in physiology at the University of Chicago and a well-recognized pioneer in sleep research,12 developed a “sleep onset latency test,” to determine if you're sleep deprived. Here's how it works:13 1. In the early afternoon, grab a spoon and head off to your darkened bedroom to take a nap. Place a metal tray on the floor beside your bed and hold the spoon over the tray as you attempt to fall asleep. Be sure to check the time as you lay down. (If you don't have a spoon and metal tray handy, you can still take this test by setting an alarm for 15 minutes to see if you fall asleep before it goes off.) 2. When you fall asleep and the spoon crashes down onto the tray, waking you up, immediately check the time again and note how much time has passed. ◦ If you fell asleep within five minutes, it means you're severely sleep deprived. ◦ If it took you 10 minutes to fall asleep, you could still use more sleep. ◦ If you managed to stay awake for 15 minutes or more before falling asleep, you're probably well rested. Improve Your Sleep and Health by Adopting a Neutral Sleeping Position While sleep problems can be caused or exacerbated by a number of different factors, many of which are covered in “Want a Good Night’s Sleep? Then Never Do These Things Before Bed,” three of particular importance — primarily because they’re so frequently overlooked — are your sleep position, light pollution and exposure to electromagnetic fields (EMF). In the video above, chiropractor and exercise physiologist Dr. Peter Martone discusses the benefits of adopting a neutral sleeping position. If you’re a side- or stomach sleeper and find yourself frequently tossing and turning at night and/or wake up with aches and pains, your sleeping position may be a primary culprit. As noted by Martone, for sound, healthy sleep, you need to sleep on your back, with your neck and spine in a neutral position. The key to achieving this is to prop a pillow under your neck, not your head, as this allows you to maintain a proper spinal curve. For a demonstration on how to use your pillow to support your neck rather than simply elevating your head, please see the video. If you’re unaccustomed to sleeping on your back, this change will take some getting used to. So, go slow, and give yourself ample time to adjust. In the beginning, you may only be able to remain on your back for a few minutes at a time. You may even experience more pain rather than less when you first start out. This is my preferred sleep position ever since Peter taught it to me. I also tape my mouth shut with paper tape before I go to sleep to prevent myself from breathing through my mouth. Mouth breathing is something you’ll want to avoid, but it’s hard to do when you are unconscious. In Martone’s experience, it takes an average of three to four months to convert from a side sleeper to a back sleeper, and even longer if you’re used to sleeping on your stomach. In addition to the video above, you can also find a number of helpful techniques on his website, http://ift.tt/2g47Y9E. I converted to sleeping exclusively on my back several months ago and really enjoy it. It’s certainly not the only way to improve your sleep (and health), but it may be worth considering if frequent tossing and turning is disrupting your sleep. Conquer Light Pollution to Improve Sleep Light pollution is another major contributor to poor sleep quality. By disrupting your circadian clock and impairing melatonin secretion, light exposure at night will affect the length, depth and overall quality of your sleep. Electronic screens are major sleep thieves, robbing you of the ability to fall asleep quickly. Research has shown that the more time you spend on electronic devices during the day, and especially at night, the longer it takes to fall asleep and the less sleep you get overall.14,15 Teenagers who used electronic devices such as MP3 players, video games, tablets, smartphones and/or computers for more than five hours a day were 3.5 times more likely to get fewer than five hours of sleep per night. They were also 49 percent more likely to need more than an hour to actually fall asleep. Aside from electronic screens, LEDs and fluorescent lights are particularly troublesome as they emit blue light that is not balanced by red and near infrared frequencies.16 Importantly, LEDs may promote age-related macular degeneration, the leading cause of blindness. To learn more about this, please see my interview with Dr. Alexander Wunsch, a world class expert on photobiology. Incandescent lights emit red and near infrared wavelengths and very little in the blue wavelengths, making them a far healthier type of lighting. Just beware of the light intensity, as too bright a light can cause problems even if it’s well-balanced. Once the sun has set, the lower the light in your home the better. Candlelight is ideal. Salt lamps are another option that will not have an adverse impact on your health and sleep quality. If you choose to watch TV after sunset, then you must be particularly cautious as most new TVs are “smart,” meaning they communicate wirelessly by Wi-Fi and it is impossible to turn off. Fortunately, there is a simple solution. You can use a computer monitor for your screen, which does not have a Wi-Fi signal. Even better would be to watch TV through a computer that is hooked up with a wired Ethernet and is in airplane mode. The advantage of doing this is that you can use a blue light screen blocker. Iris is the absolute best one and I have used it for many years. If you use Iris at night, you won’t need blue blocking glasses. If you are unable to hook your monitor to a TV, then you will need to use the glasses. While blue light blockers work, glasses with red lenses actually work even better, as they not only block blue light but also yellow and green. Avoid Nighttime EMF to Bolster Sleep Quality and Health Download Interview Transcript Another factor that can have a significant impact on your sleep quality and health is EMFs emitted from wiring and electronic devices. This is true regardless of the time of your exposure, but it’s particularly problematic at night: There’s evidence showing EMF exposure reduces melatonin production,17 making it particularly important to eliminate EMFs in your bedroom. As mentioned, melatonin not only regulates your sleep-waking cycle; it’s also a powerful antioxidant, and low levels have been repeatedly linked to an increased risk of cancer.18 Sleep is the most important time for your brain, as its detoxification processes occur only during deep sleep. During deep sleep, your brain's glymphatic system is activated, allowing it to detoxify and eliminate accumulated waste products, including amyloid-beta proteins, which are a hallmark of Alzheimer's disease. EMF exposure has also been linked to neuronal changes that affect memory and your ability to learn.19 EMFs harm your body’s mitochondria by producing excessive oxidative damage, so “marinating” in EMFs all night, every night, can cause or contribute to virtually any chronic ailment, including premature aging. One of the easiest ways to avoid or radically limit your nighttime electric field exposure from the wiring in your room is to pull the circuit breaker to your bedroom before going to bed. You can have an electrician install a remote breaker for convenience, which is what I have done. This will virtually eliminate electric fields in your bedroom, unless you have adjacent rooms with wiring in them, in which case you will need to measure the electric fields with a meter after you shut off the power to see if it goes into the lowest range. If your building code requires electrical wiring to be in a conduit, you’re in luck, as this means all you need to do to eliminate this radiation is to unplug any electronic equipment or lighting. Another really important step is to turn off your Wi-Fi at night. It would be best to hard wire your home so you have no Wi-Fi 24/7 in your home, but I realize many are unwilling or unable to take this step. Please, don’t justify that it doesn’t make a difference because your neighbor has their Wi-Fi on all the time. It’s important to realize that the Wi-Fi in your home is nearly always more of a danger to you than what’s coming from outside your home. You can confirm this by measuring the microwave signals with a meter, and see what your exposure is. Emergency Sleep Remedies If you’re currently not sleeping enough, or getting poor quality sleep, your chief aim would be to a) make sure you’re getting sufficient amounts of sleep each night by going to bed earlier, and b) addressing any and all factors that prevent you from falling asleep quickly and staying asleep throughout the night, including your sleep position, light pollution and EMF exposure discussed above. For even more tips on how to improve your sleep quality, see “Nobel Prize-Winning Science Highlights Importance of Good Sleep for Health.” In the short term, you could try a gentle sleep aid while implementing more permanent lifestyle and/or environmental changes. Natural sleep remedies that may help you get a good night’s sleep include: Melatonin. Start with as little as 0.25 milligrams (mg) and work your way up in quarter-gram increments from there until you get the desired effect. Valerian root. Studies have found valerian root helps improve the speed at which you fall asleep, depth of sleep (achieving deep sleep 36 percent faster20) and overall quality of sleep.21 Start with a minimal dose and use the lowest dose needed to achieve the desired effect, as higher dosages can have an energizing effect in some people. Typical dosages used in studies range between 400 mg and 900 mg, taken anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours before bed. Chamomile. This herb is typically used in the form of infusions, teas, liquid extracts or essential oils made from the plant's fresh or dried flower heads. It has sedative effects that may help with sleep, which is why chamomile tea is often sipped before bed. 5-hydroxytryptophan (5-HTP). The chemical 5-HTP promotes production of serotonin, thereby giving mood a boost and enhancing sleep. In one study, an amino acid preparation containing both GABA (a calming neurotransmitter) and 5-HTP reduced time to fall asleep, increased the duration of sleep and improved sleep quality.22 Take Control of Your Health by Making Sleep a Priority In a world where technology facilitates and even encourages around-the-clock activity and connectivity, it becomes an individual responsibility to protect your health by setting boundaries and creating your own rules for when and how you’re going to be “connected.” Sleep is one of the foundation pillars of optimal health; you sacrifice it at great risk to your mental, emotional and physical well-being. So, if you’re not getting enough quality sleep, start by addressing the basics: • Make sure you go to bed early enough. • Expose yourself to bright sunlight in the morning and/or around solar noon to “set” your master clock, and to avoid blue light exposure after sunset for the same reason.23 Blue-blocking glasses can be used to counteract artificial lighting and electronic screens. • Sleep in complete darkness (use blackout shades or an eye mask). Research24 reveals even dim light exposure during sleep can affect your cognition the next day. • Find your ideal temperature for sleeping. Studies suggest the optimal temperature for sleep is quite a bit cooler than many realize — between 60 and 68 degrees F. Temperatures above or below this tend to increase restlessness. Something as simple as sleeping naked may do the trick if you don’t want to crank down the temperature on your air conditioning. One of the established benefits of sleeping in the buff is improved sleep quality, in part by preventing overheating. One study showed a surface skin temperature difference of as little as 0.08 degrees F (or 0.4 degrees C) led to sounder sleep.25,26,27 Studies have also found sleeping in the nude has several other health benefits, including improved metabolism and blood circulation. • Make your bedroom an EMF-free zone to optimize nighttime brain detoxification and protect your mitochondrial health. Tip #17Guide for Timing of Supplements