#syra igni

[gleniferskydays]

hi it's me you're all in danger 🔥

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Seventeen: Rising Mountain, Setting Sun

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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“Syra! Syra!” Aidan called to the unconscious body Namir had laid in front of him.

“What happened?” Cassius went to touch her face, but drew back from the charred flesh that looked up at him.

“An explosion. Namir managed to catch her, but...” Aidan cringed at sight below him. At the red, melted skin that spread across her face. At the bubbling blisters slick with blood. He fought to push them away, but image after image of his brother came flooding back. And they brought the pain and nausea with them.

“Aidan?” Surprised concern came from Cassius as he watched tears flood the usually stoic prince's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” as whimper barely escaped Aidan's lips, “I'm sorry I couldn't...couldn't help...couldn't protect you. I tried...but—”

He choked back a sob, and the twins stared in astonishment.

“Why isn't she healing?!” Aidan spat, making them jump.

“I-I don't know,” said Petra, “maybe she's hurt too badly?”

“How?” he glared at her, pain contorting his reddened face. “She's a bloody dragon! You guys are remarkably hard to kill!”

Petra puffed up, “You would know, wouldn't you?!”

Aidan winced. He did it again.

“Sorry, I'm just...I'm trying. But, I don't know what to do.”

“We know,” Cassius said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It's hard to unlearn things, and Fear is a strict teacher.”

Aidan shot a grateful look up at Cassius, and he gave Aidan a pat before reaching down to lift Syra up.

“We need to get her to Moremi. She might know something.”

“Moremi's probably busy with Dürgah. We have to—”

“Dürgah's dead,” Petra said flatly, causing Aidan to choke. “That rahg stabbed him and he bled out before Moremi had a chance to bandage him.”

“And now, so will Syra,” his voice cracked as he gripped her petite hand.

“She will not!” Petra spat, standing. “She can't.”

“Let's get her to Moremi, in any case,” said Cassius. “She helped Syra once, she can do it again.”

The entire village seemed to be crowded around Moremi's hut when they delivered Syra to the front door. Kiithran huddled with snouts pressed to every window, and many weeped off to the side.

“There you are!” Suri said, hurrying out the door. “Come! You should be with us, too. Raz would—”

Suri froze when she saw Syra's limp body in Aidan's arms, “What happened?”

“No time,” Aidan said, pushing past her, “We need Moremi's help.”

“W-wait, you can't! She's—”

But Aidan was already through the door.

“Moremi! We need your—”

Sorrowful eyes looked up at him from Dürgah's lifeless body, and he froze.

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to int—”

“Syra?” Razira stood from father's side to inspect her friend's injuries. “Not you, too,” she whimpered at Syra's shallow breathing and the burns that covered half her body.

“Moremi?” She looked over to the grieving healer with pleading eyes, “Please?”

“Of course, bring her here, quick.” Moremi left her chief's side and examined the damage, “This,” she said with a nod, “this I can fix.”

She hurried about her supplies, chopping, grinding, and mixing until she brought over a bowl of brown-green salve.

“Help me put it on the burns,” she said, slathering the goo over the red, blistered skin. “We'll have to keep it covered, but it will protect the wound and relieve the pain while she heals.”

“Thank you, Moremi,” Cassius said, tearing up, “for helping even though you're in pain, too.”

She swallowed a knot and glanced forlorn at her chief's body. But, then returned to applying the salve with a weak smile, “It's what Dürgah would have wanted.”

A vigil was held that night. After Dürgah's family had grieved over his body, the Aerie followed Viilah, Razira, and Namir up the island's slope to a clearing on the highest ledge. There, it was placed on a pyre. One after the other, each member paid their respects until Viilah was left holding a torch in shaking talons.

“You never gave me choice, you know,” she whispered to her mate. “I could have had my pick of mates, but you stole my heart before I even went looking. But I never once regretted it. To Morai, you were Gahirem: their strong but compassionate leader. To our rima, you were teacher and giver of warm nuzzles and sloppy kisses. And to me,” her voice broke, “you were my partner, my best friend, my 'rising mountain'...my Dürgah.”

She clenched the torch in her hand and looked out over the mourning crowd, “The rising sun has now set! And though the night will be long and lonely, we know it will rise again.” She glanced over to Razira with a sad but proud smile, “It will be a different sun, but one that is bright and beautiful, and full of new possibilities! So tonight, we send our brother back to the skies, where the sun is warm and the winds soft. May he soar forever!”

“Forever may he soar!” cried the gathering.

“Goodbye, mikhan” Viilah hushed and tossed the torch onto the pyre.

“Syra should've been here,” said Petra to Cassius as they watched the pyre blaze.

“She would be if she wasn't—”

“Burned?”

Cassius opened his mouth, but had no rebuttal.

“Marrak is an Ignis—just standing next to one will burn you. She's only on her third molt, Cas. If Father's hide couldn't stand up to him, how can she? Or us, for that matter?”

For the first time since meeting Syra, Petra looked worried. Not angry-worried, like she had been over Tilly, but panicked-worried. She looked, scared.

Cassius clenched a fist and watched the fire turn Dürgah's feathers into ash, “I don't know. But we have to try. We've come too far to just give up and run.”

“No running, huh?” Petra scoffed.

“Never thought that'd be aimed at you?”

“I don't run,” Petra snarled with a glare.

“I know you don't.”

Silent words passed between the twins and Petra finally backed down, “We just have to destroy those shards. Maybe Marrak will give up without them.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Shut up, Cas. Let me have hope in something.”

Cassius was quiet, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth as they stood there, in the chilly night air, where the moon and stars greeted Dürgah's ashes sent on the wind.

Moremi had insisted on keeping Syra overnight, so the party decided to spend the late night hours comforting Razira in her room.

They told of their own stories of loss and grief—albeit briefly—and watched her walls slowly crumble. There, Razira allowed herself to break: to laugh and cry at the good and bad times that swarmed her mind, to curse herself for all the grief she had caused him and for taking their time for granted, and eventually—after her wails had quieted—to fall asleep by Petra’s lap.

“We should go,” Cassius said, standing. “Let her sleep.”

They stood to leave, but Petra refused to budge.

“I’m staying right here.”

Aidan went to argue, but Cassius caught him by the shoulder and they left Petra to keep watch over the grieving kria.

“You don’t have to stay,” Razira said when all was still.

“Yes, I do.”

They sat in the quiet, with Petra leaving Razira to mull around in the endless thoughts she knew plagued her mind.

“I’d like to tell you it goes away—the pain,” Petra finally said, “but it doesn’t.” Her voice was dry and flat, but Razira could hear the silenced wails behind it. “You will hear him, smell him, see him just out of your sight. I’ve been told it dulls over time—that the ache for something missing becomes a reminder that they’re always with you. But, I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“I doubt that.”

Petra scoffed, “You say this after knowing me for two days?”

“That’s all I need.” Razira didn’t look up, but she knew Petra’s gaze was on her, “You’re strong, Petra, anyone can see that. You’ve known sorrow, yet you still push forward. I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can’t. Not alone.” She sighed, “I’m not proud of it—and don’t you dare repeat this—but, after my father was killed, when the humans put bounties on our heads, if it weren’t for Cassius, I’d probably be a stain on the mountainside right now. You still have your mother, and Namir, even little Suri. Don’t take them for granted.”

Razira nodded and there was more silence.

“You think the Aerie will execute him?” asked Petra, “Namek?”

“I don’t know. We’ve only ever grounded trespassers—never killed them. But, then again, we’ve never had…this happen.”

Petra kept her mouth shut. She would have clawed Marrak’s throat out had she been given the chance. But this was not her clan. She had no say in policy. No matter how backwards she thought some of their traditions were.

“Have you forgiven them yet?” Razira asked after some reflection. “The ones who took your family?”

This caught her off guard and memories of her father, Marrak, and Altaira flooded past Petra’s eyes. She caught a snarl behind her teeth, “No.”

It was the image of a broken Aidan clutching her sister—the frustration and sincerity in his apologies—that made her pause. “Not all of them, anyway. But…I’m trying.”

Everyone was happy to see Syra fully recovered the next morning. But Petra could see the bitter wish hiding behind Razira’s eyes. The wish that her father had also recovered, perhaps even in Syra’s place. She hid it well, as was expected of the next Lahirem, but Petra knew that look and Cassius tried to keep her mood from infecting his own.

“You healed right up!” Razira gave Syra a playful nudge with her snout.

“Thanks to Moremi.” Syra patted the bandage Moremi left on her cheek just as a precaution.

“I hope you took notes,” said Petra.

Syra held up a small jar filled with the brown-green gel, “Packed and ready.”

“Speaking of ready,” Viilah turned to her daughter, “are you?”

Razira took in a long, deep breath and looked out the window at the gathering that flooded the clearing below the hill.

“Guess I have to be.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Viilah pressed her forehead to Razira’s, “we believe in you. Dürgah believes in you.”

Razira’s eyes glistened.

“Plus, I’ll be there when you mess up.” Namir puffed his chest in jest and Razira smacked his shoulder.

“Me, too! Me, too!” Suri bounced and wagged her furry tail.

Razira beamed and laughed, and shot Petra a grateful nod, “I know.”

Viilah led the procession down the winding path to the ceremonial platform, the Kiirem held between gentle jaws. It felt more crowded this time. Aerie members huddled close together for support—some still wore tear stains down their muzzles. Even Aidan seemed to stand closer to her.

“The night has lifted!” Viilah stood over the crowd, Kiirem in hand, and Razira sitting somber behind her. “And with it, our sorrow.”

Turning her back to the crowd, Viilah handed the Kiirem to Namir who fluttered up to the arching wooden banner that topped the stage. There, he hung the headdress where a sun was painted to both rise and set.

“For the dawn has brought us a new sun to comfort and lead us.”

Stepping aside, Viilah and the pounding of drums welcomed Razira to the front. Her legs shook but she kept her chest up and face forward. Forward to her people, to the greenery that merged with the blue sky she swore to protect, to the possibilities that burned in her chest.

Syra watched from below, finding herself in awe. I wish I could be that confident. She glanced over to Petra who looked on with a giant grin, cheeks flushed with pride for her new friend. Does Petra look like that? Does the clan look at her like they did Papa? A faint smile flickered on her face. I hope they do.

“Razira-kaal!” Viilah confronted her daughter, removing her own headdress, “Daughter of Dürgah and Viilah, Kaalira of Morai, the sky beckons you to lead its people. Will you accept its charge and treat every family as your own? To teach and lead each member with your best conscience until you choose a mate worthy of your brilliance?”

Razira met her mother’s gaze with no falter, “Until I choose a mate, I will lead with my best conscience.”

Syra could see the silent words pass between them, but pride never left Viilah’s face.

“Then shine bright, Razilah of Morai!” She lifted her headdress into the air, “As the setting sun guides us home and invites the evening mist, we pray you give us strength for the day and comfort in the night.”

Bittersweet bugles erupted from the gathering and drums sounded from all around the clearing as the Lahirem’s headdress was lowered onto Razilah’s head.

“Razilah! Razilah!” chanted the Aerie.

“Razilah! Razilah!” chanted Syra along with the others. She was happy for her, but concern nagged at her mind. How are we going to get the shard now?

It was like Razilah could read her mind, and the new Lahirem gave her a quick nod when the cheers quieted and the drums died.

“I know this is sudden.” Her voice was steady and commanded the crowd better than Syra had expected, “Like all of you, I wish Pach—Dürgah, had left us old and gray. But he also said that life is as tempestuous as the wind—you adjust what you can, and brace for the worst. That’s why I need you! All of you. A leader is nothing without their people, that’s what he always said. And right now, I need your support more than ever!”

Confused mutters sprung from the gathering as the council members wove through the crowd and onto the platform. Syra wasn’t surprised Karima was not one of them, but her presence wasn’t necessary. Each councilor stood tall beside their Lahirem, their chests puffed with pride.

“War is coming!” The oldest councilor, a graying rahg with a thin scar down his muzzle, addressed the crowd with a stern face that gripped any who heard him. It was this face, and the dark tone edged with fear in the word ‘war’, that made the blood pool in the Kiithrans’ feet. “We have tried our best to ignore it, believing that ground affairs cannot reach us. But we were foolish.”

He dropped his head, ashamed, and motioned for Razilah to continue.

“War is coming.” Razilah repeated, but then stopped. “No…war is already here!”

She lifted Namek’s necklace into the air with a shaking hand.

“Dürgah, my father, and you’re beloved Gahirem, was murdered by a traitor! A traitor that aligned himself with people who wish to tear down our cities and take them for themselves—to destroy and upheave any peace we have managed to create. People who call themselves, the Black Thorn.”

Murmurs buzzes about, and she waited for the quiet to return.

“We’ve known about them for a while, now. We thought we were safe. We thought, because we were a peaceful realm, peace would always last. But we are not safe. And the threat will only grow the longer we choose to ignore it.”

“So, what would you have us do?” came a voice from the crowd, “Hide?”

“Fight! I…we need you, to fight.”

“Are you fog-headed?” A kria huffed up at her, “Kiithran don’t go to war! We don’t fight! You’ll be sending us to our deaths!”

“What about those left here on Morai?” Another kria called, “What about the rima left when their father’s don’t return?”

“We’ll be sending you to protect those rima,” said the elder kria next to Razilah, “and only those who volunteer.”

“And who in their right mind would volunteer for that?”

“Dahmia of Morai,” Namir stepped forward, challenging his squadrons, “for years you have trained. From the smallest rima to the strongest rahg, I have seen you fight and bleed, preparing yourselves for when the Aerie needed you. We need you now. You pledged your wings and your loyalty to protect our home, and now we ask you honor that pledge.”

There was hushed talk among the dahmia, but none were completely sold.

“If you are strong, then you shall be free,” Namir quoted the dahmia’s mantra. “But, how can we remain free if we do not fight back?”

“They’ve already taken our Gahirem!” Razilah joined her brother. “Should we let them have the rest of us, too? Because they will come, and they will take us—either as food for the table, or a beast for the field. Now who’s with me?”

The hands came slowly. But one by one, they filled the gathering, and Syra filled with relief.

“Thank the stars.” She breathed out a long breath and let her shoulders relax. I don’t know how Valen plans to use them, but we’ll take all the help we can get.

“Thank you, all of you,” Razilah said with great pride and relief. “The council and I will discuss what steps must be taken. But for now, eat and rest. The celebration was cut short yesterday, and Sendur and Ekahlu deserve to have their bellies filled.”

With that, the council departed, but Razilah was not yet finished with Syra and her party.

The crowd dispersed and food was prepared. The tension settled to the back of everyone’s mind as music and belly-bloat softened the nerves. After some debate, the council had decided to call for Valen the next morning, as Razilah had insisted that everyone enjoy themselves that night.

With that, the council departed, but Razilah was not yet finished with Syra and her party.

“Namir.” Razilah gave him a curt nod when she was alone with them.

He disappeared into a back room, later returning with the Kiirem held tightly in one hand.

“Take it.” Razilah took the stone from her brother and held it out to Syra.

“W-wait. But, you were supposed to vote on it. What if your people find out? Won’t they be mad?”

“Maybe, if they even notice.” She passed Petra a quick smirk. “At the end of the day, a rock is a rock. It is the people who determine its value. And right now, it’s more valuable to you.”

She grabbed Syra’s hand and slid the green-and-red crystal into her palm.

“But, you won’t be able to read your people anymore.”

Razilah let her eyelids droop, “Perhaps we were never meant to. Perhaps, it is better to trust and listen to your people rather than…invading their heads. Plus, it didn’t work too well for Pacha in the end. We need something better than false security.”

Syra clutched the shard and joyous relief flooded her face as warmth flooded her hand, “Thank you.”

“Put it somewhere safe. If things are as bad as Valen says, the Black Thorn could have eyes anywhere, and Koth is a long ways off.”

“Koth? Is that where the next shard is?” asked Aidan.

Razilah nodded, “Pacha always spoke fondly of Stahdler, the Nord's chief. But that was before the border disputes, so I can't guarantee they'll be that welcoming. Make sure to contact Valen before you attempt to cross the border—Stahdler might be aware of the Kesh Raza, but his guards won't.”

“Perfect. Right when I have no sword and no rali.” Aidan grumbled to himself. Not to mention he now had no way of fighting Marrak.

“Not true,” Namir said, “not completely.” Again, he left the room, but this time returned with a long wooden box.

“My dahmia scoured for hours looking for this, just so you know.” Namir set the box in front of Aidan and lifted the lid.

Aidan's excitement evaporated as the blade gleamed up at him in two ragged pieces.

“Unfortunately, we didn't find it whole.”

Aidan's shoulders drooped and he let his head fall into his hands, “Now what?”

“Can't we just reforge it?” Syra turned to Razira, “You have blacksmiths, right? How much trouble could that be?”

“Near impossible,” Aidan muffled through his hands. “You forget what it's made of. Austram may be called blue steel, but it requires a precise technique to smelt and an even more precise smith. And with the supply of austram at nill, most of those smiths have changed vocation or relocated.”

“Most, but not all.”

Aidan's head shot up at Viilah's correction, “You know of one?”

“One. And I'm not even sure if he still meddles in austram.”

“It's still worth a shot.” His eyes pleaded with the siblings, “I know it might be a detour, but that sword is the only way I can help you fight Marrak.”

Petra grumbled to herself, but nodded her approval.

“Where is this smith?” asked Syra.

“Dairos.”

Syra flinched. Dairos was one of the cities Valen said harbored the Black Thorn.

“He's a halfling named, Weldon. I used to buy jewelry from him when I was Kaalira. He should help you if you mention that Viivida sent you.”

“We can take you as far as Shrye, but you'll have to ride to Dairos from there,” offered Razilah.

“But we have nothing to trade.”

“Then take a moraki as a parting gift. One should be enough to rent you some auna.”

“Thank you, Razilah.” Aidan took the two halves of metal and bound them up with his cloak.

“Just promise me you'll stab that monster Marrak if you get the chance.”

A dark smile split his face and he linked a finger around Razilah's talon, “Happily.”

The morakii Razilah left them fetched a good price. Not only did it pay for their rides, but they left the small settlement of Shrye with extra rations.

Between Shrye and Dairos laid a sprawling saltmarsh. With its shallow waterways and soggy soil, horses gave way to the use of auna for transportation. The flightless birds were reliable carriers—though Petra’s seemed to think her hair was a berry to be plucked—and their long legs and wide feet skitted the water-logged ground with ease.

There was a small outpost halfway to Dairos, and Syra urged them to stop as the sun was getting low.

“We can’t afford a room,” Aidan reminded her. “We can take a break to eat, but we can’t be too long if we want to reach Dairos before it’s too dark to ride. We’ll camp if we have to.” Aidan tied his auna to a railing and dug a ration out of his sack, “Stretch and stuff your face. Then we’re gone.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Petra mocked through a full mouth of bread and meat.

Syra stretched and pump her legs, hoping for better circulation in her hindquarters. It was the heavy, acidic stench that drifted on the wind that made her stop.

“What is that?” She glanced about the green-and-brown plain with nose in the air. “Smells like something’s rotting.”

There were no carcasses as far as she could see, and they were the only people around, save maybe the innkeeper. And as much as she enjoyed the constant breeze, the smell made her stomach turn.

“I take it this is your first time out this way?” The burly innkeeper leaned against the doorway with an amused grin on his face, his scraggly beard hiding a handsome face.

“Is it that obvious?”

He chuckled, “It’s the smell—gets newcomers every time. But you get used to it, I promise.”

“Did something die? Is it the trees or—”

“You’re near the sea, miss. And it’s low tide, so everything’s going to smell like rotting muck. But, that’s a good thing, too. You’ll make better time without all the flooding.”

“Have you been to Dairos before?” Aidan eyed the man from his bench.

“Been there? I lived there. At least until a storm took out my house. I’m not one to tempt the sea, so I sold everything and moved here.” He gave the doorframe of the stilted A-frame a hard pat. “Three storms and still standing.”

“In that case, would you happen to know a smith by the name of Weldon?”

“You mean the Halfling fella?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve heard of him. Before I left, that is. Don’t know if he’s still around, but he’s a damn good smith from what’s been told. Why? You needing a smith?”

“I…managed to break my sword, and a customer of his recommended him.”

“Oi, that’s too bad about your sword. I do have a selection in the back if you’d like some other options, though.”

A twinkle lit in the man’s eye, but Aidan waved him off.

“Thank you, but I’d rather have this one. Sentimental value and whatnot.”

“Aye, I understand. Figured it was worth a shot.”

“I am interested to know where this Weldon is located. Dairos is a big city, and I’d hate to get us lost.”

“Well, first you have to get through the gates—they’re a might picky. You all traders? Travelers? Probably soldiers from the look of you.” He pointed to the scabbards at their waists.

“We’re escorting her.” Aidan nodded to Syra who looked over with raised brows and meat dangling from her mouth.

“What’d I do?”

“She’s a mage,” Aidan pointed to his ear and Syra flashed her earring, “and is traveling for her Magus exam.”

“Well, would you look at that!” The innkeeper beamed, wide-mouthed. “Pardon my staring. We don’t see many of you around here.”

“It’s quite alright.” Syra gave her cute, polite smile.

“Actually, I could use some of your help, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh? With what?”

Warning glares snapped from Aidan and the twins, and Syra caught her words behind her teeth. Careful, now, Aidan’s eyes seemed to say.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to.” The innkeeper caught on to their hesitation and waved the idea away.

“I’d like to,” her voice was honesty and sad, “but we’ve had some rough dealings the last couple times we’ve stopped to help people.”

“I see. I’m sorry for that. People…people shouldn’t take advantage of kindness like that.”

They stood in awkward silence as the lines on his face and the setting sun strung at Syra heartstrings.

“Could you spare a room for the night? In exchange for our help?” Syra met Aidan’s gaze with a raised brow. You did say we couldn’t afford one.

A smile spread across the man’s face and he cracked a laugh, “If you can help, I’ll give you room, board, and send you to the gates with a sealed Letter of Travel.”

“That’s quite a fair deal,” Cassius whispered to Aidan.

Aidan studied the man. He appeared honest and unassuming, but so did Radstrom and Tilly. But he wore no necklace and there was no sign of branding on his bare arms.

“What was it you needed help with?”

The man led them inside the small shanty of an inn, into an area that appeared to be his own quarters. Lying on layers of blankets by a window was a gray ball of fur with large ears that struggled to breathe shallow, raspy breaths.

“Aw, it’s a kila!” Syra hurried to its side and knelt down to examine the poor thing, restraining herself from petting it. “What happened to it?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.” The lines on the man’s brow deepened at the sight of his pet’s condition. “I was hoping you might.”

“I’ve never treated a kila before,” she bit down on her lip, “but I think I can at least see what’s wrong.”

She rested her hands atop the kila’s fur and ran them down its body in slow, gentle strokes, feeling for anything that seemed abnormal.

“Find anything?”

Syra shook her head, “Everything feels fine, so far. Maybe if I check its throat…perhaps there’s a blockage.”

She slid a hand under the sleeping creature and ran her fingers along its small neck. But instead of her finding a lump, the kila’s needle-like teeth found her hand.

“Ow!” Syra winced as the rudely awakened furball latched onto the meat of her thumb. She went to pull her hand away, but tiny claws were quick to seize her forearm.

It growled and spit and raked its hind feet against her arm in repeated bunny-kicks. Blood trickled from multiple lines by the time the innkeeper snatched his pet away.

“I am so sorry! Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll heal.”

He plopped the kila onto his bed and grabbed a rag for her arm, “Come, you can rinse off over here.”

Syra followed him to a small wash basin where she let him wipe the blood away.

The man paused abruptly, “Hold on.”

He took a light hold of her wrist for a closer look at the scratch marks. His eyes widened as light seemed to shimmer around the edges of the bloody lines, “You’re not just a mage, you’re a Lightblood.”

Syra retracted away, confused and startled by his grip.

“Will that be a problem?” Aidan stepped closer to the man and narrowed his eyes.

“What? Oh, no.” He released Syra’s wrist and handed her the cloth for her to clean herself. “I’m just…surprised, that’s all. It’s my first time ever meeting one.” He gave a short laugh and returned to calming his pet who eyed Syra with a death glare.

“I didn’t feel any lumps,” Syra reported once she had scabbed over, “so I think she might just be sick. I can try to treat it, if you’d like.”

“I’d be most grateful, thank you.”

Syra approached the kila a second time, keeping ample distance. She knelt by the bed, hands in her lap. Her eyes closed and she forced her breaths to come long and deep. She focused on her heartbeat, on the thumping in her neck, on the sound of air leaving her nose. She cupped her hands together, and warmth began to build inside her palms. Warm. Like her breath. Warm. Like the mana-rich air that tingled her arm hairs. Warm. Like the growing ball of energy that spread from her gut to her chest, then down her arms. Her body hummed and tingled.

The air became thick, like water, with each breath of the room's occupants sending ripples to wash over her. Some were harsh, and hot, like a large campfire. There's Petra... Others tepid and calming, like Spring's high noon. And Cassius. And others more that soothed like an evening breeze on a sweaty brow—her favorite. And there's Aidan.

She blew a light breath out, as if to separate leaves atop a pond. There you are. She let the larger ripples fade into the background and focused on the fainter hum that came from the kila's strained breath and quick heartbeat.

She raised her hands inches above the kila, feeling the ebb and flow of the waves radiating from its body. Let's see what ailing you. Her lids slid open like one who was half-asleep. Light was what she saw: a shimmering wash of colors blending one into the other in waves. Yellows, oranges, even blues and white danced together in a halo around the animal. But it was the patch of navy that Syra's eyes locked onto.

At the risk of facial scarring, she lowered her nose to the dark spot at its throat and mouth. Its breath was rancid. She had been correct. Sickness had lodged itself in the creature’s throat and was festering.

“What is it?” The innkeeper shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from wringing them. “Will she be okay?”

The sudden sound jarred Syra and she raised a hand for quiet, “I'll do what I can.”

Sitting up straight, she took a deep breath and stretched out her hands over the creature with splayed fingers. Her fingertips buzzed. With her right thumb and index finger, she pinched at the cold, dark spot and pulled. The kila shivered as a navy line followed Syra's fingers like needle-and-thread.

“What is that?” Aidan stared wide-eyed at the thin string of light Syra had pulled from the kila's neck.

“A Thread.” Her voice was distant from concentration, “Why do you think we're called Weavers?”

While her right hand kept the thread taught, her left pinched at the deep carmine at its chest, pulling a red thread to meet the blue. With sweeping movements, her hands wove them like a fingerpainter over a canvas, mixing colors as the threads hung in the air.

When the mosaic was finished, Syra pressed it down until it merged with the halo and disappeared.

“Will she get better, now?” The innkeeper petted the sleeping creature's head with a light hand.

“That's up to her.” Syra leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Disease is more difficult than cuts and scrapes. I can't simply speed up recovery, I can only tell her body how to fight it and give her strength.”

The man cuddled his pet in his lap and remained silent for a long while.

“Thank you.” He coughed at the knot in his throat. “After the storm took my wife and boy, this little one is all I have left. Even if she's not strong enough to make it, thank you for trying.”

Morning brought sore butts, hot breakfast, and an affectionate kila that hopped after Syra wherever she went.

“Looks like she knows who saved her.” The innkeeper laughed as it tried to follow Syra out the front door.

“No, no. I'm sorry, little one. Your home is here.” Syra picked up the squeaking furball and handed it back to its owner. “Makes sure she gets plenty of rest. She might look chipper, but she's still recovering.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He stashed the kila in the bedroom and returned with a letter and a map, “Weldon's shop is here.” He pointed to a building near the port that he had circled in ink. “Again, I'm not sure if it's still there, but I'm sure you can find it if you ask around.”

“Thank you,” Aidan folded the map and tucked it into his vest.

“Let's go!” Petra called from the road—she and Cassius had already mounted their auna and were pacing.

“Be patient, we're coming!” Syra waved them away and brought Aidan his ride.

“Give this to the guards at the gate,” the innkeeper handed the sealed letter up to Aidan, “it'll give you passage.”

Aidan and Syra dipped their heads and trotted off after the twins.

“Oh!” The man called, making them stop and turn, “If anyone gives you trouble, just look for someone wearing a bronze coin. Tell them Fin sent you, and everything will be taken care of.”

They froze. This was Fin? The man who callously abandoned Tilly? Who made deals with honor-less men and attacked innocent travelers? Fin, the Black Thorn member?

Syra's stomach lurched. Not again. Again, she had judged poorly. Again, her compassion had put them in danger. She thought she was being smart by finding them shelter, but she had only walked them into a lion's den. It was pure luck that it was four against one. But who knew what Fin planned on doing after they left? When they were alone on an open trail?

She felt the urge to vomit. He had seen her weave—seen her blood. He now knew there was a Lightblood on the way to Dairos, and one raven could set a bounty on her head.

Syra gulped and prayed he couldn't see the shock on their faces. Even more, she hoped Petra hadn't heard him. Like we need anymore attention from them.

But Aidan raised a casual hand and waved, then continued on like nothing was amiss.

Syra's hands were trembling, “That's...I can't believe—”

“I know.” He kept his voice down as they neared the twins.

“What do we do?”

“We find Weldon, and leave. Soon.”

She bit hard on her lip, “We can't tell Petra.”

“Wasn't planning on it.”