Page 19 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

Jessiva screams when I launch myself into the Mordvorren. I don’t have time to explain my plan to her, nor am I certain that it will work. But I have to try.

I suspect that the Mordvorren has been whispering in my head for a reason—because it’s bent on destroying me. Because it senses that I am a threat to its very existence, or at least its freedom. It senses the presence of the great void inside my body—a void that might be large enough and powerful enough to encompass a cosmic, ancient force.

The winds of the storm are so strong that if I attempt to combat them, they will immediately break my wings or even tear them off, so I don’t try to fight. I let one of the air currents push me against the mountainside, and then I sink in my claws, clinging to the rocks with all my might, pinning my wings tight against my body.

Upward I crawl, claws digging into stone with every step. I have the strange feeling that I need to be up higher before I try this. I need to reach the top of the mountain.

The Mordvorren is hammering and screaming at my consciousness: Fool, coward, stupid dragon, this is madness, turn back! You’re too weak, too hungry, too ravaged with lust… go back and eat the girl, fuck the girl, fuck kill eat…

I don’t fight the thoughts this time. I let the storm roar in my brain. It can shriek all it wants, as long as I keep moving up. Slowly, purposefully, unerringly up .

The gale heightens, nearly tearing me free of the mountainside, so I turn my head and release several void orbs into the roiling darkness. I know exactly how many void orbs I can create before my energy needs to recharge. I understand the limits of my magic, the size of the largest orb I can produce and its sucking power. I can’t launch enough orbs to destroy the storm, but I can destabilize its winds for a minute or two.

Sure enough, as my void orbs implode on themselves, the currents whirling around me slacken slightly, allowing me just enough grace to make headway. But the wind still batters my body and rips at my wings. I can barely suck in enough of the screaming air to fill my lungs. Rain dashes against me, violent as hail.

Yet still I climb, jaws clenched, muscles straining. I drag myself higher, higher, up the mountainside, until I am closer to the sky.

It occurs to me that however wide the Mordvorren may spread, it never rises above a certain point in the sky. When Kyreagan and I saw it today, it was a wall of cloud, flat on top, like a table. Like there’s a limit to how much it can rise, like its power diminishes with height. Its winds are thinner here, on the topmost slope of the mountain. But dark, heavy clouds still churn above me, and the Mordvorren’s thunderous voice roars around me.

I sense the lightning half a second before it strikes, and I swerve aside, a quick serpentine maneuver. Lightning stabs the rock so close to my body that I can feel the crackling heat of the bolt.

As dragons, we are immune to each other’s powers, but the Mordvorren’s lightning can pierce a dragon’s hide. Any other member of the clan would be easy prey, but I am more slender than most, not such a large target. Besides which, my magic involves the emission of lightning, which doesn’t make me immune, but gives me an additional level of resistance.

I slither upward, dodging two more bolts.

You’re going to die, howls the Mordvorren in my head. Death, destruction, the end of your pitiful life.

So far, its primary strategy has been to bombard me with impulses, instincts, and vicious words. There are clever arguments it could use to dissuade me from doing this, but sentient though the entity is, it’s still a storm—not a living, breathing creature. Its understanding of the way I think is limited, rudimentary.

Perhaps it can see only the darkest parts of my nature, the doubts, fears, and guilt. It doesn’t seem capable of perceiving the love, the light, and the joy I carry inside me, alongside the darkness. The duality of a soul is something it cannot comprehend.

Right now, my entire being is locked on one selfless purpose. With that purpose as my guide, the storm cannot trick me. I’ve found a place in my head that’s cold and focused, free of emotion or animal instinct.

I wrap my tail and all four clawed feet around the spur of rock at the mountain’s peak, stretch out my neck, and open my jaws.

This time I don’t attempt to encapsulate the void with my lightning or to contain it within orbs. I open a channel instead—a pathway to the infinite emptiness inside me.

The void responds with ravenous eagerness, with a sucking force beyond anything I’ve felt before. For once, I’m not fighting or restraining it. The void’s intent and mine are synchronized, and together we focus on one goal—swallowing the Mordvorren.

Clouds, wind, rain, darkness, lightning, thunder, and voices—all of it flows into my jaws, down my throat, into the belly of the void.

It feels like death. It feels like swallowing the world.

I can feel the Mordvorren’s consciousness rushing into my body. I sense its panic, its struggle, its impotence against the sucking force of the void.

Failure , the storm howls, even as it gushes down my throat. The one who loses everyone. The one who watches others die. The pitiful fool, the useless prop for a dying race. We will destroy you from the inside .

Perhaps you will , I reply in my thoughts. But for today, I have won .

The sky is lightening gradually as the storm unwinds, funneling into the endless maw of my magic. Soon all will be clear. The Mordvorren’s reign over Ouroskelle will end. The dragons and the women will be able to come out of their caves. There will be food again. Jessiva will not starve.

I’m not sure how long I will be able to contain the storm, but the voices of the Mordvorren are quieting, at least for now. And once I can assuage my physical hunger, some of the unrest in my mind will settle.

If the voices begin to overtake my sanity again, I can leave Ouroskelle, for everyone’s sake. Jessiva will be safe in the care of the clan. Her life and her happiness are my only concern.

My body shudders as the last bit of the Mordvorren disappears down my throat like wisps of black smoke. My jaws shut, and I remain stone-still, locked to the peak of the mountain.

A few clouds remain overhead, but they are small, natural ones, carrying a light spring rain whose drops sparkle in the sun. The slant of golden beams through the rain creates an arch of glorious color across the sky.

Deep in my body I can feel the void, and the Mordvorren inside it. The entity is silent for the time being. Once it has acclimated to its new prison, it may become dangerous again, so I must use what little time I have to the best advantage.

I don’t immediately return to my cave. It’s dangerous to do so when I still feel ravenously hungry. Instead I fly down to the nearest beach, landing upon sand littered with storm debris. When I send a bolt of lightning into the water, I’m shocked to find that my lightning comes out in shades of both purple and crimson. It’s a disturbing sign of what I’ve done, the changes I’ve made to myself.

Within moments, the bodies of several fish float to the surface. I swallow a few dozen immediately, feasting until the roaring hunger in my belly abates. Then I gather several more of the fattest fish in my claws and fly back toward my cave.

I usually avoid fishing in this way. Using my lightning feels unfair to the fish, and wasteful, since I could end up killing far more creatures than I intend to. Yet in the case of near-starvation, the use of magic seems warranted.

Jessiva is standing in the mouth of my cave when I return. The breeze tosses her long red hair and whips the ends of the blanket she has wrapped around her shoulders.

She sees me coming and backs up so I have space to land. Her eyes are pink and swollen from crying, and her gaze darts to the fish grasped in my front claws, the desperation of hunger tightening her features. But she forces her attention back to my face.

“You’re alive,” she says hoarsely. “What did you do?”

I drop the fish in a pile by the wall of the cave and blow on one of the dyre-stones to heat it. When we still had food, she used one of the dyre-stones to cook some of the vegetables. I assume she can do the same with fish, if she does not wish to devour them raw.

“Varex,” she says. “Answer me.”

I turn to face her. “I told you, I have void magic. I have always felt as if my body contained a hollow space, a dimensional void far larger than my true size. So I made use of it.”

Her face is stark white, both from deprivation and fear. “How?”

“I got rid of the storm.”

“I can see that.” She advances, fists clenched. “ How did you get rid of it?”

“If there had been any other way for you to survive—”

“Did you create a void orb big enough to contain the storm and destroy it?”

“That wasn’t possible. There was only one option.”

Jessiva closes her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t take it into yourself.”

“As I said, it was the only way—”

“You idiot!” she gasps. “You swallowed it? What does this even mean? What is going to happen to you?”

“I don’t know.” I arch my neck and stretch my wings a little. “I don’t feel much different yet. Fuller, in a strange way… not in the physical sense, but a metaphysical fullness, I suppose. I can feel the storm inside me, but its voice is muffled. I think it might get louder over time.”

Jessiva launches herself at me, pounding her tiny fists against the armored scales of my chest. “How could you do this to yourself? To us?”

She’s screaming, weeping, sobbing. I let her attack me. She has every right to be furious and frightened. As for myself, I’m too stunned to be terrified, though I’m sure the fear will come.

“I do not feel the mating frenzy as strongly now,” I say absently, while she continues to pummel me. “That is a good thing. Safer for you.”

“None of this is good ,” she retorts.

“Everyone who has been trapped in caves will now be able to come out into the sun,” I remind her. “Some of them were likely on the brink of starvation as well. I saved their lives. I saved yours .”

Jessiva pauses her assault, her hands dropping to her sides. “I’m grateful, truly. But I’m scared. After you hurt yourself, I realized… I finally understood that I—”

A black shadow falls across the entrance to my cave, and Kyreagan enters, folding his wings. He looks at me first, horror and anger flashing across his face, and I realize that although my neck wound is no longer bleeding, it must look raw and dangerous to him.

I don’t have time to explain that it’s not a life-threatening cut. He’s already roaring, already darting toward Jessiva, intent on the kill.

I intercept him, seizing his neck between my jaws and shoving him backward. It’s surprisingly easy to do so, like I’ve been granted a new measure of strength. Or perhaps he is simply weak from hunger.

After pushing him out into the air, I beat my wings and hover before the cave, preventing him from re-entering it.

“She tried to kill you,” my brother snarls.

“That’s between me and her.” I can’t bring myself to tell him that I was the one who inflicted the wound. Nor do I want to confess that I’m the reason the storm is over.

Kyreagan looks as if he might try to push past me and end Jessiva’s life after all.

“We should check on the others,” I tell him.

Best to do it now, before the Mordvorren finds a way to control me or free itself.

Kyreagan growls again, but he agrees. “We’ll split up to cover ground faster. Have you eaten?”

“I have.”

“Good. We’ll survey the island and meet at the top of your mountain.”

I swivel my head to gaze up at the peak, now bathed in sunlight. At the sight, a shiver runs through me from snout to tail, but I manage to cover it with a few quick wingbeats. “Agreed.”

Much as I would like to return to Jessiva and finish our conversation, I have a responsibility to Kyreagan and to the clan. Jessiva is safe for now. She has food, water, and shelter. Once my brother and I have determined the state of the island and its inhabitants, I can go back to my cave and have a longer discussion with my mate about what I have done.

My mate. It’s the first time I have called her that in my thoughts. I would love nothing more than to be her life-mate, and for her to be mine, but I cannot ask such a thing of her until I know more about what my future will be.

Surveying the mountains, caves, valleys, and beaches of Ouroskelle takes hours. It’s a discouraging process, as much of the island is flooded and the rest is wrecked. Vegetation has been destroyed, trees have been uprooted, and most of the prey animals are dead or hiding. I don’t spot a single fenwolf anywhere. They’re too clever to come out of their dens in the daylight.

The beaches are cluttered with debris regurgitated from the sea during the storm, including a few shipwrecks. One of the ships looks quite new, despite the gaping hole in its side. Perhaps it was on its maiden voyage when it encountered the Mordvorren. I don’t take the time to search it for corpses or treasures. That can be done later.

The longer I fly, the more unsettled I feel in body and mind. Thanks to the void, I’m never quite at peace internally, but I’ve learned to live with it. The sensations I’m experiencing now are new, alien, and uncomfortable.

My distress only worsens when I come upon a partly collapsed cave. I don’t dare use my void magic yet, but with blasts of focused lightning and my newfound strength, I dislodge the largest chunks of rock and discover the bodies of two women and the skeleton of Mylinnik, a dragon with four wings, known for his speed. It appears that the cave’s collapse caused the interior to flood, drowning both the humans and the dragon.

His body evanesced when the sun rose. Later today we will take bone-tribute from him and lay him to rest on the fields.

The women will be either buried or burned, as is the habit of humans with their dead. They perished because of the Mordvorren, but they would still be alive if we hadn’t brought them to Ouroskelle. The least we can do is treat their corpses with the honor they deserve.

When I have finished surveying my part of the island, I return to the meeting place. Kyreagan isn’t there yet, so I perch on a lower ledge, avoiding the rocky spur at the top. The memory of what I did on that peak is too recent, too raw.

Kyreagan arrives shortly after I do, settling at the mountain’s tip and stretching his wings to absorb the light. He loves sunshine—it fuels his mind and his magic.

We report to each other what we found, and Kyreagan tells me that several of the other dragons have gone in search of eels, fish, and sharks to feed everyone.

“We all need to eat and regain our strength,” he says. “Then we can fly to the Middenwold Isles and see how the animals there have fared. If they survived, we will have plenty to feed the hatchlings when the time comes.”

When I was swallowing the storm, I received a clear impression of its extent, its borders. I search my mind, creating a mental map of the area it covered. “The Mordvorren did not touch the Middenwold Isles.”

“How do you know?”

My awareness of the storm grows stronger, and a shiver runs over my scales. “I just know.”

Kyreagan extends his neck and touches my wingtip with his muzzle. “You’re not yourself. Is this about Jessiva, or the ones we lost?”

The storm churns inside me at his touch, whispering dark, jealous things. I pull away from him. “Both.”

“And something else, too. You cannot fool me, brother.”

“I can’t talk about it yet.” My words emerge as a threatening hiss, more vicious than I intend. “I don’t understand it, and I’d rather not speak of it.”

“Very well. Know that I’m here, whenever you decide to share your thoughts. Have you gained control of when you change?”

I’m relieved at the switch to a new topic, and for a few minutes we discuss the specifics of our transformation and its timeline. But then Kyreagan lifts his head, alarm stiffening his neck and wings.

“What is it?” I ask.

Without answering, he dives from the peak and streaks away toward the mountain where his cave lies.

I follow him. “Kyreagan, what’s wrong?”

“Serylla. I can’t sense her. I’ve been so distracted—I can’t remember when I last felt her presence. Shortly after I left the cave, I think. Fuck…”

I’d forgotten that once they’ve bred their first female, the males of our kind gain a sense of the location and wellbeing of every female dragon. Apparently Kyreagan has a similar bond with the Princess. I can’t feel such a link with Jessiva, probably because I haven’t yet impregnated her. It’s possible that she and I will never share that sort of bond, which I won’t mind as long as I can be with her.

When Kyreagan and I arrive at his cave, Serylla’s scent is stale and faded. My heart sinks for my brother’s sake, but then I spot the two eggs lying in his nest, one a vivid blue marbled with white, and the other iridescent violet.

Wonder floods my heart, and I pace forward slowly, gazing at the eggs. My brother’s eggs. My new family.

“Your little ones,” I say softly.

Kyreagan calls for Serylla, agony in his tone. “Where is she? Where is she, Varex? I don’t see a body. She didn’t fall. She’s not here.”

“Perhaps another dragon came by and gave her a ride somewhere,” I suggest.

“Where? Where could—”

But I cut him off, distracted by a scent I can discern beneath Kyreagan’s and mine, behind the new smell of the eggs and the faded fragrance of the Princess.

“Be still a moment,” I snap. “Don’t move, don’t breathe.” I lower my nose to the cave floor and crawl along it, inhaling carefully.

“Who is it?” Kyreagan asks. “Who do you smell?”

It’s Fortunix, beyond a doubt. I know the stony, harsh scent of the elder dragon. But his presence here has implications I don’t want to consider.

I lift my head, meeting Kyreagan’s gaze. “Fortunix.”

“You’re sure it’s him?” My brother grits out.

“My nose is better than yours, you know that. Fortunix was here, briefly, some hours ago.”

“He took Serylla.”

“He wasn’t at the gathering of the clan, where we chose our partners,” I say. “Several dragons commented on his absence. Maybe he sheltered somewhere alone, and he has been driven mad with the need to mate. Maybe he’s going to—”

“No!” Kyreagan snarls. “That’s not it. Think, Varex. Who wanted the Princess of Elekstan? Who was willing to pay for her?”

The truth clarifies in my mind, and the wretchedness of betrayal fills my soul. “The King of Vohrain. Fortunix is taking her to Rahzien.”

Kyreagan charges from his cave, lunging into the sky, climbing high before flooding the air with streams of wicked flame. His shrieking roar of pain and rage echoes from cliff to cliff, resounding across the island like the Mordvorren’s thunder.

Dragons rise from the forested valley or emerge from caves, summoned by his fury. They’re shaken, confused, wondering what fresh tragedy could have befallen the clan so soon after the Mordvorren’s departure. I spot Ashvelon among them, with the enchantress Thelise on his back.

I should tell Thelise what I’ve done. Perhaps she can offer insight about what might happen to me, or what I can do to remedy the situation. But my wellbeing must wait. The priority is Kyreagan’s crisis.

“Give us a few moments,” I call to the other dragons. “We will gather in the Conch Valley and explain what has happened.”

The Mordvorren hisses and whispers inside me, whispers that once again, Kyreagan’s needs are superseding mine. Once again I’m being weak, serving as his support. I should demand his attention, I should confront him, I should destroy—

I cut off the thoughts before they truly become mine. I must not allow the Mordvorren to gain too much influence. I have practice containing the void inside me—surely that experience must be of use here, as I fight to maintain control.

No matter what the storm whispers, I am not weak, nor will I fail in this, the greatest challenge of my life.

Evil may have swallowed my mother, but I will not let it have me.