Hydra (14 page)

I also feel guilty.

“Thank you,” I whisper, holding him tight as I prop myself against him.

“For what?”

“For letting me lean on you,” I’m panting, trying to find words and catch my breath at the same time, “even though I don’t love you back.”

“I didna ask ye to love me back. Nor do I expect it.” He adjusts his arms around me so I can stand a little taller with my weight still slumped against him.

His words are confusing.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’m damaged. Faye didna want me. I didna expect as anyone would.”

“It’s not that! I like your hands the way they are. And while, yes, maybe it would be helpful if you had wings to fly, still, you can swim like nobody else, and that’s just as good in its own way. You’re not
damaged
. You’re just different. Besides that, I don’t know what my grandmother told you, but she had issues of her own. She didn’t even want to be a dragon at all, so the last thing she wanted was to bring more dragons into the world.”

“I know she didna want to be a dragon,” Ed acknowledges. “It was the being hunted that she couldna stand. She was a social butterfly, as ye might say. She wanted people to like her. Being a dragon got in the way of that. I’m no butterfly. We were two different people. Best we didna try to marry, I suppose.

“All that aside,” he continues, “I didna mean to raise the subject of marriage. I gave up that hope long ago. ‘Tis a gift to know another dragon at all. I’m honored to be yer friend. Don’t let the depth of my feelin’s get in the way of that. Please.”

His words stir something inside of me. My mom and my sisters have been so focused on their plans to find a mate, it didn’t occur to me that Ed might not have the same goal. “Can we still be friends, then?”

Ed smiles so broadly, I can see it in spite of the near-darkness of the pre-morning hour. “Aye. I want nothin’ more.”

I hug him, then. Technically we were probably mostly hugging already, but I tighten my grip around him as waves of gratitude radiate from me. Ed is way, way too good to me. Aside from my sisters, he’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had, even if I’ve only known him a few days. Sure, I’ve had friends—both those in the Azeri village who knew I was a dragon, and those in the states who didn’t. But none of them understood me the way Ed understands me.

“Want me to hunt up something to eat?” Ed asks after a few minutes.

See, I told you he understands me.

“I’m wary about venturing too far.”

“It’s coming on morning here. The animals will stir in the cool of the day. If I’m to hunt us anythin’ to eat, now’s the time. I won’t go far, but ye need yer strength. Besides of which, I should have a look around to see if there be anyone about. Best to do that before full light.”

“Wait. I have an idea.” I dig around in my backpack and am relieved to discover that in spite of all it’s been through, my tablet is still safe and dry inside its sturdy waterproof case. “I haven’t needed to use this because I’ve known where we were up until now. But I don’t know if I have maps loaded for this area. We’re further south than I thought we’d be, and I’m pretty sure there’s no Wi-Fi out here.”

Ed watches the screen from behind my shoulder as the images load.

“Here we are. Blue triangle.” There’s not much detail in this area, but the towns and roads are noted. We’re roughly halfway across the Black Sea, where the southern coast bulges northward. While there’s a road that follows the coast in many places, it veers inland in the area where we are—probably because of the dangerous cliffs. “I can’t tell what you might find for houses and people around, but there aren’t any towns or roads.”

“That’s useful knowledge. I’ll be careful. Ye need yer rest.” Ed helps me find a decent spot to lie down, out of sight behind some rocks and bushes. It’s not the most comfortable bed, but it’s better than the hard rocks below, and I’m so tired it doesn’t much matter as long as I can close my eyes.

The sky is getting lighter by the minute. While I stretch out with my head on one backpack and a knife close at hand beside me (we may be a hundred feet above the yagi, but I don’t trust them to stay away), Ed slips away through the trees to find us something to eat.

How long I sleep, I’m not sure, but the full light of morning has dawned when Ed awakens me to a meal of roasted venison.

“We’ll have to lay low here for the day,” he informs me solemnly as he shares the meat. “This area is not so sparsely populated as what we’re used to. Best we not venture from this spot. We can sleep through the heat of the day. Will ye be able to fly tonight?”

“I don’t have much choice,” I acknowledge between bites. “We can stay close to the coast, but we’ve got to keep going. Even if we only make it part way, we’ll stay ahead of the yagi, at least.”

We finish the meal in silence. I’m too tired to talk. When I’m done eating, I brush my teeth with a bit of water from Ed’s water bottle, and then stretch out on the ground again. Ed disposes of the bones from our meal. Then he settles in to sleep several feet away from me.

I’m not quite asleep yet. Part of me has stayed awake, alert to his movements, waiting for him to stretch out near me. When I watch him lie down far beyond the reach of my arms, I feel a burst of disappointment so strong it startles me.

Why do I feel so disappointed? It’s not as though I’d be that much safer with Ed a few feet closer to me. Technically I’m probably safer with him nearer the cliffs, where the yagi would encounter him first if they figured out how to climb up to us.

And what do I expect from Ed, really? He told me he loves me. I denied loving him. I essentially told him to back off.

He’s only doing what I told him to do.

So why do I feel so disappointed?

*

We awake at sundown and walk to the edge of the cliff, where I stretch my aching wings and swell into a form it exhausts me to inhabit. Ed climbs onto my back and I hop from the cliff, expecting to drop like a rock from the weight I’m carrying, but a steady updraft lifts me.

Once I’m free of the cliffs and the trees, I can feel the breeze, a constant breeze that grows stronger the higher I fly. And it’s blowing in the direction of home.

I could weep with gratitude. Instead, I set my course due east, toward the northern mountains of Azerbaijan, and fly as fast as my wings will let me. True, it’s tiring to fly fast rather than simply glide, but I don’t know how long this gift of a tailwind will last. I’m going to take it as far and as fast as it will allow me. Once it’s gone, I’ll have to work far harder just to make a fraction as much progress.

Soaring at such a speed, within a couple of hours I can see the twinkling lights of the resorts and towns on the eastern shore of the Black Sea. I hadn’t expected to make it this far before morning, and had fully anticipated being too weak to continue flying by the time I reached the mountains beyond the towns.

But now, as I approach the coast, the wind still strong at my back, pushing me toward home, I see no reason not to go on. I need to talk to my dad, to find out what he knows about the water yagi, and to share what Ed and I have learned about them. And it would be nice to sleep in my own bed instead of on the hard ground.

So I keep flying, past the coast, over the first ridge of mountains, toward home.

The nearer I get, the more I start to formulate a plan for my arrival. My village and the home I was raised in, are further east than my grandfather’s village where my mother grew up. My father and grandfather are dragon kings of neighboring kingdoms—not that these kingdoms are politically recognized in any formal sort of way today. Their kingdoms are more like what modern folks might think of as a tribe or region. But those tribes date back thousands of years, beyond human memory and even dragon memory.

I’m going to have to fly over my grandfather’s village to get home. It’s really no big deal, there’s no danger, or anything. I mean, I can’t wait to get home, and all that. It’s just that someone’s bound to see me and call over to my hometown to let them know I’m on my way.

Not that I really expected to sneak in unnoticed. But they’ll probably line the streets to welcome me home, and there’s going to be a big deal, all of which embarrasses me on a good day. But even that’s not so bad compared to seeing my sisters.

Because if Ed’s guess is right and my mom and sisters head home, they’ll be arriving soon, if they’re not already be there (they haven’t had to carry a heavy hydra, which means they could fly much further and faster, and that’s not even factoring in the time they’ll save not having to fight water yagi). Don’t get me wrong—I love my mother and sisters. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to see them yet. Especially because my sisters are going to be pretty bummed that things didn’t work out with the Sheehy brothers. And I feel guilty about flying off with the real dragon before either of them got a chance to know him, even if none of us knew what I was doing at the time.

But I need to make things right. Zilpha wants so much to marry. I know Ed said he didn’t think she was that keen on him, but he has no idea how important marriage is to her. Once she realizes Ed’s the real dragon, not Angus or Magnus, I know she’ll be keen on Ed right quick.

So I’ve got to give the two of them the opportunity to get to know each other and fall in love and all that. If you think about it, the only real reason Ed likes me is because I’m a dragon. And Zilpha is also a dragon. So they should have no problem falling in love.

This is what I want. I want Ed to be happy. Zilpha wants to marry. Ed does, too. They can make each other happy. And I will be happy just knowing they’re happy. I’m sure of it.

I’m just not looking forward to starting that process.

Not quite yet.

The mountains are dark and thick, and even the villages nestled in the valleys are mostly dark at this hour. But this is my homeland and I could find my way through these rugged peaks in pitch blackness, if I had to. I sweep over the last major valley. I’m starting to feel my exhaustion in every muscle again, but I’m so close to home after such a long journey, I ignore the pain and press on.

The mountains are dark shadows with the pale pre-light of dawn backlighting their shapes in the sky. I fly faster, like a sprint to the finish. I recognize the peaks, the cliff sides, the mountain streams, the final wall of stone that makes my grandfather’s village so nearly inaccessible from outside, and then I’m over the last mountain.

And there it is, my grandfather’s village. I swoop wide, past the town just awakening to the light of dawn. Maybe, if I’m quick, people won’t see me, or won’t get the news forwarded to my village in time to assemble a welcoming party.

I speed toward my home village, pull up and land on the King’s Tower, the ancient entrance to the town, with its wide parapets built expressly for landing dragons (my grandfather’s village has one of these, too. Long ago they were as common as dragons). I land on the stones and shrink back into human form.

Ed’s feet touch the stone floor as I shrink, and he spins, his arms still around me. He switches seamlessly from holding onto me, to holding me up.

I lean against his shoulder. As always, I’m exhausted and grateful for his support. But I cling to him for another reason, too.

This is the end of our journey. Not the end of our mission, of course—we’ve still got to figure out where the yagi are coming from and how to make them go away for good. I don’t even want to think about the yagi right now, because they first showed up in the Caspian Sea, and now we’ve encountered them in large numbers in the Black Sea as well. How long before they’re everywhere, before no water is safe from them? How long will it be before even Loch Ness is too dangerous for Ed or any dragon to swim there?

No, I don’t want to think about that, and my heart is full, anyway, with the realization that this time I’ve spent together with Ed, just the two of us, is over. I’m going to go on with my life and he’s going to go on with his, hopefully with Zilpha at his side.

Happily ever after, just the way she’s always wanted it.

“Ye all right?” Ed asks.

“Fine.” I inform him, sniffing back—what the! Are those? No, they can’t be. I’m not crying. I do not cry. Especially not over something mushy like coming home after a long journey or leaving a guy who has only ever been just a friend.

Ed runs his rough fingers across my cheek, brushing away moisture. “’Twas a long flight. Ye did mighty well. I didna expect ye to make it all the way here in one night.”

“It was exhausting,” I admit, ready to claim his interpretation, even if it’s not exactly true. I don’t cry from exhaustion. But if it’s true I’m crying (Ed wipes more tears from my other cheek. It’s true.), I’d rather he think it’s from exhaustion, and not anything…personal.

“Now what do we do?” Ed asks.

“There are doors on either side of the tower with changing rooms below. Men’s” I point past him, “and women’s,” I gesture behind me. “There are robes in there. Pick one. We also had bathrooms put in a few years ago. I’m going to brush my teeth. And my hair.” I reach up toward my dark locks. They’re not exactly wind-whipped, since I had scales instead of hair as I flew, but they’re not exactly smooth, either. “Then you go down the stairs and out the front door.”

“Ah. I see.” Ed answers politely, though the look in his eyes says his question wasn’t so much about the next practical steps for entering the city, but has something more to do about us.

Now what do
we
do?

I understand the question, but I don’t have an answer for it.

“Wren?” Ed smooths his hand along my cheek again. I’m pretty sure I got the tears under control. He’s not wiping anything away. His emerald eyes are studying my face with a kind of concern and attention that makes me want to tear up again. And what is it about his hands? They look so rough, but they feel so gentle against my skin.

“What?” I don’t have the vocal strength to actually speak the word. It’s just a whisper.

“Thank ye for all ye’ve done. ‘Twas a gift to spend these days with ye. A precious gift.”

I have to go now. I was going to stand here leaning silently on Ed’s shoulder for a while longer, but not if he’s going to get all sappy on me.

My feet are unsteady as I step away from him. “I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs.”

I don’t look at him again—I can’t. Instead I turn and stumble into my changing room, where I splash cold water on my face several times over, not that it really helps. And then I find a stiff canvas robe (don’t we have any burlap?) and make my way down the stairs, gripping the handrail as I spiral around the tower, until I reach the bottom.