EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (163 page)

No, Rune did not want to think about summer yet; summer still lay too far away, and this was bad enough, this was all the sadness and fear he could handle this night.

Tilla’s eyes were large and damp as she stared at him. Her fingers clutched him desperately. Her breath shook. Tilla had always been somber, quiet, and reflective; she rarely spoke to the other girls in town but called them vapid and silly.

I’ve always been her only friend,
Rune thought.
And she’s always been mine.

“I promise,” he said. “I will ask to serve with Tilla Roper of Cadport. I will see you again, Till. I promise you.”

She pulled him into an embrace.

The only two embraces of our lives,
he thought,
both on one night.

In the silence he could hear the waves again, and the wind billowed her hair so that it brushed his cheek, and when he tucked it back behind her ears, he found himself kissing her. She trembled against him, and her lips opened, and though they had never kissed before, this felt as familiar as her eyes or the memory of her smile. It was not a kiss of passion. It was not a kiss of fire or love or sex. It was sadness. It was salt and tears. It was goodbye.

“Rune,” she whispered, “fly with me. One last flight. Like we used to.”

He nodded and whispered, “One last flight.”

It was years since the Cadigus family had outlawed the old magic. Only soldiers could shift now, and only when flying to battle. If others were caught using the old magic, they would not be left to die upon a wheel; they would be dragged into a dungeon and tortured for moons, maybe for years, before being allowed to die. But this night, in darkness between cliff and sea, all fear left Rune.

One last flight. Like we used to fly.

They stood up in the sand, walked several paces apart, and faced each other. The wind blew their hair and the waves sprayed them with mist.

Tilla shifted first. She closed her eyes and let the magic fill her. White scales like mother-of-pearl flowed across her, gleaming in the moonlight. Wings unfurled from her back, a tail sprouted behind her, and she grew until she towered above him. She stood in the sand, a pearl dragon with sad eyes.

It had been a long time since Rune had let the old magic fill him, the magic that flowed from the stars. Today he let the warmth fill him like mulled wine. He sucked in his breath, raised his head, and let the dark scales rise and clank across him. His fingernails grew into claws, and he felt his teeth lengthen and wings rise from his back. It felt as familiar and warm as her kiss, and he stood before her in the sand, a black dragon.

He lowered his head and nuzzled her, and she gave him a sad smile, and they took flight.

They were children of Requiem. They were Vir Requis, an ancient race blessed with starlight. For thousands of years, their people had flown as dragons, free and wild over forest and mountain. Today they flew in darkness, alone and afraid under the Draco constellation, stars of their fathers.

Their wings scattered the waves below. They rose higher until they glided over the sea, two dragons, black and white. They rose above the cliffs. Rune could see for miles along the shore and all the distant lights of Cadport.

Years ago, when they would first fly here, they would circle the moon and pretend that they could almost reach the stars. These days too many eyes could be watching the skies, and so they flew low over the water. They watched their shadows scuttle over the moonlight, and the cold salty night filled their lungs.

He looked at her. She looked back with a soft smile. They kept racing over the sea, flying south away from Cadport, away from what awaited her tomorrow, away from a place where no ships sailed, where not enough ropes could be sold, where drunk loomers screamed upon wheels and brothers returned in coffins. They flew over the water, and Rune wished they could keep flying forever, streaming forward until they reached whatever distant lands ships had once sailed from.

And why not?
Rune thought.
Why can’t we just keep flying? Why can’t we see what lands we find?

He looked ahead into the darkness, and a sigh clanked his scales.

No—those distant lands of ships and merchants had burned long ago. There was no more wonder in the world. Only this empire. Only the iron fist of the Cadigus family. There was no more light in the world, and no matter how far they flew, they could not escape the darkness.

But we can fly together one last night. Like we used to. Me and her.

They flew until the shore and the lights of Cadport disappeared behind them, then turned and flew back, landed upon the beach, and released their magic. They stood on the sand, a boy and girl again, and he held her hand.

“We will fly together again, Tilla Roper,” he said.

She touched his cheek. “Remember this night, Rune. No matter what happens, remember how we kissed, and how we flew together, and even if we fight, and we bleed, and we’re very alone and afraid, know that we have this memory. Know that we must stay alive so we can fly here again.”

He wanted to say more, but could not speak; his eyes stung, and his throat tightened, so he only kissed her again and held her close as the waves lapped at their feet.

They walked back home in darkness, hand in hand.

Nobody knew whether Cadport, with its fifty thousand souls, was a city or a town. It was a common argument among its people; most elders longingly spoke of their rustic town, while youngsters boasted of their modern city. Whatever it was, tonight Cadport’s brick walls, cobbled streets, and seaside boardwalks seemed dark and lonely to Rune. It was his hometown, but tomorrow it would feel empty.

When Tilla stepped back into her small home, Rune stood outside for long moments, then turned and walked alone down the silent streets. His throat still felt tight, and his lips were cold.

Instead of returning to his own home, he walked to the old port. He stood on the cobblestones and placed his hand upon an old iron cannon that pointed to the sea. Rune stared into those dark waters. He tried to imagine days long ago when ships sailed here, Tilla’s father sold his ropes, his own father served ale to merchants, and life and laughter had filled this city, not soldiers and broken men on wheels and boys returning home in coffins. Rune’s eyes stung and he could barely fathom that tomorrow night, he would walk on the beach alone, and Tilla would be gone—maybe for years, maybe forever.

“We were called Lynport then,” he whispered. “And ships sailed here. And none of this would have happened.”

But that had been long ago. It had been a different world. It was best to forget. Remembering brought pain, danger, and hammers that cracked bones.

Rune turned away from the water. He walked to the tavern that was his home. He stepped into the empty common room, walked upstairs to his chamber, and tried to sleep. But he could only lie awake, thinking of Tilla and her brother and what would happen in summer.

TILLA

S
HE
STOOD
IN
THE
CITY
square, hands clasped so tightly she thought her fingers would snap.

Be strong, Tilla,
she told herself.
Do not show fear now. Even if your heart trembles, and even if your chest feels so tight you can hardly breathe, you must hide it. If you show weakness now, they will crush you.

The others crowded around her—six hundred youths her age, all just turned eighteen this year. Their faces were pale. Their lips trembled. Tears flowed down one girl’s face, and another girl was sobbing into her palms. A few boys huddled together, snickering and speaking of killing rebel men and bedding rebel women, but they too were scared; Tilla saw the sweat on their foreheads and the tremble to their fingers.

They laugh to hide their fear,
she knew.
They will stop laughing soon.

The Regime’s soldiers surrounded the square, sealing in the youths of Cadport like wolves surrounding deer. They wore armor of black steel, the breastplates emblazoned with the red spiral, sigil of Emperor Frey Cadigus. Steel spikes tipped their boots, and steel claws grew from their vambraces. Crimson capes fluttered behind them. On their left hips, they bore swords with dragonclaw pommels. On their right hips, they bore their punishers, the tips crackling with lightning.

That last weapon scared Tilla more than the steel claws or blades. Each of these batons, their grips wrapped in leather, ended with a ball of spinning energy. Tilla had once seen soldiers torture a fisherman with their punishers. The man had writhed, wept, and screamed so loudly the whole city heard; his flesh still bore the scars.

They are demons,
Tilla thought, looking upon these soldiers of the empire.
They were created to kill, to torture, to destroy.
She gripped her fingers so tightly she winced with pain.
And they will turn me into one of them.

One soldier, a burly man who stood across the square, met her gaze.

Tilla froze.

The man’s eyes were dead; his stare chilled her like a blast of winter through a door. He was easily the largest of the soldiers, probably the largest man Tilla had ever seen. He hunched over as if his arms were so beefy his back bent under their weight. Even so, he towered above the men around him; he must have stood almost seven feet tall. Lines creased his olive skin, and scars rifted his stubbly head. Dark sacks hung under his eyes, and his brow thrust out like a shelf. His armor was crude, all mismatched plates and chainmail cobbled together, and he bore no sword. Instead he carried an axe—not even an elegant battle-axe, but the heavy axe of a lumberjack, forged for felling trees.

This one must be Beras,
Tilla thought with a shiver, unable to tear her eyes away. She had heard of him; everyone in this city had. Lowborn, once an outlaw, Beras was infamous for raping and strangling a girl two towns over. The Cadigus family had hunted him down... and employed him.

The brute kept staring at Tilla, his eyes blank, his expression dead. There was no humanity in Beras’s eyes, no rage, no hatred, just cold ruthlessness. Tilla forced her eyes away and found that she had held her breath.

“Tilla!” whispered a girl beside her, a short and demure cobbler named Pery. “Tilla, what fort will they send us to?”

Tilla shook her head free of thoughts, blinked, and glanced at the girl. Pery was a pale, mousy thing, barely larger than a child. Her hair was so pale it was nearly white, and her eyes seemed too large above her gaunt cheeks. Her fingers were slim and quick, accustomed to helping her father make shoes. Could those small fingers ever wield a sword? Pery looked up, a foot shorter than Tilla and trembling like a rabbit cornered by a fox.

“I don’t know, Pery,” Tilla said softly. “They’ll sort us when they’re ready.”

Pery’s eyes swam with tears, and her fingers clutched at Tilla’s tunic. “But... I can’t go too far. I can’t. My father needs my help at the shop. His joints hurt, and his fingers don’t move quickly anymore, and...” She sniffed. “Tilla, do you think they’ll station me at Castellum Acta here in Cadport—the little fort on the hill—so I can go home at nights to help him?”

“Maybe,” Tilla said and patted the shorter girl’s arm. “Maybe, Pery. Let’s just wait and see.”

Pery nodded, bit her lip, and lowered her head.

Dozens of other girls stood around them. Tilla stood tallest among them; she had always thought herself far too tall. Today she found her height useful. She looked over the heads of the others, scanning the crowds that stood behind the soldiers. Parents, siblings, or just curious townsfolk stood in the city streets, peering into the square. A few even stood upon roofs or gazed from tall windows. Many mothers were weeping and waving at their sons and daughters. Some fathers were beaming with pride and speaking about how their sons would slay resistors; most fathers looked as tearful and worried as their wives.

Tilla’s own father did not stand here.

I saw my son recruited in this square five years ago,
he had told Tilla last night.
He never returned.

Tears had filled the old ropemaker’s eyes, and Tilla had embraced him and whispered her goodbyes. He was not here today, but her father was in her heart; she would carry his love to wherever this war took her.

There was one more man in her life, and this winter morning, Tilla sought him, scanning the crowd of faces.

“Where are you?” she whispered.

Finally she saw him in the crowd, and her heart gave a twist.

Rune Brewer stood in an alley a few hundred feet away. Two soldiers stood before him, separating the new recruits from the crowd of onlookers; Tilla could only glimpse half of Rune’s face. He leaned sideways, stood on his tiptoes, and gazed between the soldiers.

Tilla’s eyes locked with his.

She wanted to wave to him. She wanted to mouth a goodbye. The youths around her were reaching out to friends and family, waving and weeping. But Tilla could only stand still.

Stars,
she thought, fire blazing inside her. She wanted to do
something
, even shed a tear. And yet she could only stand frozen, staring at Rune over the hundreds of youths, and he only stared back, frozen too. Their stare seemed to last an era, and though still and solemn, his eyes cried out to her. They spoke of their lives: of wrestling together as children on the floor of the Old Wheel Tavern; of forbidden flights over the sea at night; of Rune sneaking bread rolls and porridge over to Tilla’s house when they could just not sell enough rope; and finally of what had happened last night, their first kiss, a memory Tilla knew would anchor her during the years ahead.