The Nothing: A Book of the Between (10 page)

A shadow came between Vivian and the sun. Wind from Giant wings buffeted her about, and she tried to evade. She was no match for a winged creature, though, and braced herself for the death blow, curling protectively around her belly. Instead, talons snagged the back of her shirt, wide wings beat the air above her head, and with a little jolt, she felt herself lifted up, up into the sky.

“Vivian!” Zee cried, struggling vainly to reach her.

Kicking and twisting in the creature’s grip, Vivian tried to get free. Her shirt refused to tear, and the resistance between her body and the griffyn pulled the fabric too tight at the sleeves to let her wiggle out of it.

Zee was far below her now, just a small, brightly colored toy, another griffyn circling just out of his reach. She tried to grasp the latent power of the Sorcieri, to use the Voice of Command, but her lips wouldn’t move.

She was too cold to feel the wind, too stiff to fight. Even as her brain searched for the medical condition—hypothermia—her body surrendered and she drifted into sleep.

A
THOUSAND
years Aidan had planned and schemed for exactly this moment: herself, triumphant, leading a flight of dragons through the Black Gates and into the Forever. All of the childhood tales her mother had told, she had taken as gospel. The golden river. The gemstones big enough for a dragon to perch on. Lush green grass, trees, plentiful deer.

When the Black Gates slammed irrevocably behind her, she’d laughed. Better and better. Nobody could follow, and what could she want with any of the outside worlds? She’d doomed them all when she’d killed the Guardian with dragonstone and spilled her poisoned blood over the Dreamworlds she was bound to protect.

But the growing realization that everything was wrong very nearly made her wings falter. Below, the land lay parched and barren, so dry that the soil was nothing but a network of cracks. The dragon wings raised a dust that came near to obscuring the landscape but still allowed her keen eyes to see what was not there. No grass, no trees, no boulder-sized gems.

Most importantly, no prey and very little water.

The bed of what must have once been the golden river was a long, winding scar cut into the bleak landscape. Here and there, the sun illuminated a liquid glint, but this turned out to be nothing but mud. At intervals on the dry banks lay the twisted tangle of bones. Some were deer and other small animals, dead in their search for water. Others were dragon skeletons, enough of them to inspire unrest in her dragon fleet. Aidan felt the discontent, the fear, all amplified in her own breast.

All of them had been raised on tales of the Forever. Aidan alone knew for certain that they were more than stories. She had them directly from her mother, Allel, who had actually been here before the Rebellion. Before the Giants and the Sorcieri had conspired to lock the Gates and separate the two factions. Back then, the river had brimmed with molten gold. There were more deer than the dragons could eat. Precious stones everywhere. Green grass. The City of Dragons was real, built beside the Pool of the Forever.

Aidan’s only problem with the ruins of the Forever was the hardship it created. An ugly world was fine. But she didn’t like to be hungry or thirsty, and it would be more difficult to keep her followers on course. Already her wings ached. Her hollow belly rumbled and cramped, the blood craving growing into a fierce drive surpassed only by thirst. She was well aware of the baby growing inside her, sucking at her resources, stealing them for his own use.

She allowed him. She needed her warrior son to be born healthy and strong. And for this, as well as quelling the rising worry from the other dragons, she needed to find water and food.

The land spread out below as far as she could see, an endless stretch of desert carved by dry riverbeds, pitted with dead lakes. But off to the east, her sharp eyes caught a glimmer of reflected light within the hollow of a cone-shaped mountain, probably an extinct volcano. Lakes formed in those craters. Perhaps there was some water left in this accursed land after all.

Shifting course, she made a pass low over the crater’s mouth. Not much remained of what had once been a full lake; little more than a pond surrounded by mud.

Thirst drove her.

Sending a command to the other dragons, she circled in and landed. Warm mud squished up around her feet, sucking as if it too were hungry and wanted to pull her down and devour her. The other dragons descended in ranks, arraying themselves according to age and prowess. The wind from their wings shattered the mirror surface of the pool.

Aidan cared only that the water was cool and laced with minerals and sulphur drawn from the belly of the earth. She buried her muzzle and sucked in a long draught, letting the cool tang slake her thirst and even abate her hunger. She took her time about it, even though rumbles of discontent emanated from the waiting dragons, arrayed several circles deep around the water. There would be rebellion if she denied them permission to drink for too long, but she needed also to assert her primacy. Timing was everything. She took one more drink, holding back the press of their desire with the strength of her own will, before she gave the order.

Tier one, you may drink
, she sent, feeling the tension ease as the first ranks stepped forward. A young dragon in the back, thirsty, angry, shoved his way forward.

Resume your place.

I have a right to drink.
He was young and insolent. Tempers flared all around him and Aidan waited until he had reached the water and the intolerance of the waiting dragons was at its peak.

Kill him.

Five large dragons fell on the young one, tearing out his throat and belly. It took only a moment and he offered no more resistance than a cry of alarm and a frantic, useless beating of his wings.

Asserting leadership, Aidan walked to the body, dragons shifting out of her way to clear a path, and claimed the contents of the belly, dripping with black blood and sulphur. Holding back her own hunger, primed rather than satisfied, she gave the command.

You who obeyed my command, the kill is yours. Eat.

Turning away, she ordered the dragons at the pool to step back, gave permission for the next ranks to step forward. A buzz of reaction flowed through the flight, but they acknowledged her right and justice.

Only one mind stood out in resistance, not even trying to screen his own thoughts. He was a male and larger than she, a red dragon, dusted with gold on his back and sides. He could easily have forced his way into the first tier, but he stood back, not out of fear or subservience, but because he chose.

Was that necessary? He was very young and no real threat.

It was not a direct challenge and he kept his thoughts only for her, closing out the others. Still. It would be easy for one malcontent to diffuse unrest among the others.

You presume. I will not tolerate this.

You would not find me quite so easy to kill.

Anger flooded her, and with it, a sliver of fear. There was something about him that the other dragons lacked. It wasn’t just appearance, although she had to acknowledge that he was beautiful. He ran deeper than the other dragons of the Between. He seemed older. The others would hesitate to attack him, and even if they did, a dangerous aura hung about him that implied he would not go down easily. If she ordered his death and dragons died in the attempt, there would be doubts about her leadership.

When she killed the upstart, it must be swift and decisive and she must do it herself. If she had still possessed her dragonstone, she might have shifted into human form and taken him that way. But she had given it to the Warrior in hopes it would entice him to help her. A mistake, a loss. At least he was shut away behind the gates and could not use it against her. So, she must bide her time and wait for the right moment.

You underestimate me,
she sent out to him then.
Do not test my patience too far.

If you don’t want a rebellion, take thought before you slaughter the young and the weak.

It wasn’t a direct threat, but the danger ran deep enough to chill even Aidan’s fiery blood. Where had this one come from? The long years of exile from the Forever had made the dragons of the Between ignorant and feral. They responded blindly to her leadership, expressing no ideas of their own beyond the demands of food and water. This male was different, with an intelligence and subtlety that matched her own. Had he really come through the gates with them from the Between? She couldn’t remember if she had seen him, but then, she had lacked the time to observe, to know them or their names.

Identify yourself,
she sent to him now.

I am who I am. Teheren will suffice.

You are strong, Teheren of the dragons. I have need for one like you. Here and now, I name you Lieutenant. Gather the ranks; it is time we move on.

She felt the hesitation as he considered her words. His thoughts, however, he kept well to himself, shedding not even a small emotional vibration as a clue. As her unease grew to the point where she knew she’d made a grave error, he lowered his head in deference.

As you will.

Aidan watched him go. Listened to his commands and the immediate response of the other dragons. He had their respect and their admiration, and she didn’t trust him. Let him help her now and be of use. She would know the right moment for his death.

W
ESTON
WAS
missing both his pickup and his shotgun.

Last time he’d seen the truck, it was parked near his favorite campsite, way up north in the middle of the forest. A lot had happened since then, including a forest fire, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be seeing the old Ford again. As for his shotgun, that had been a casualty of the dragon damn near killing him.

He’d spent the last two days holed up in A TO ZEE, pacing, thinking, and sitting for long, mindless stretches in front of Zee’s TV. He had a bed, a shower, water, and a stash of canned and dried food in the cupboards. Enough to get by on while he healed up and figured what he was going to do.

Go after Vivian.

That was the obvious thing. It was the course of action he’d already decided on before Flynne had stopped him and dragged him off to the hospital. But now he couldn’t make up his mind to do it.

The raven was getting increasingly restless and obnoxious. Time was, it would sit still for a long stretch of time, long enough to make putting a newspaper under the chosen perch worthwhile. Last night and this morning, the creature wouldn’t stay still for a minute. It interrupted Weston’s already-restless sleep, sitting on his chest and pecking at chin and cheeks. It fluttered around the living quarters, chair to counter, counter to doorframe, doorframe to bed. If Weston ventured downstairs into the store, it flew the length of the big room repeatedly, the whirring of wings a constant noise.

Bob. Now every time he looked at the damned bird, he thought about Lyssa. Not that he needed much reminding. About fifty times a day, he’d fumble for the pendant that wasn’t there, and then he would wonder how she was doing, if she was eating, if the foster people were good to her.

Whether the Nothing had caught up to her yet.

That morning, he’d put in a call to Flynne. The deputy was busy, he’d been told by the young voice on the other end. Weston called back three times before Flynne called back, sounding tired and stretched. Lyssa was all right. Not sleeping well. Not eating well, either. Things weren’t going well at all. Ten new cases in Krebston, and all of those afflicted earlier had died.

As the dark grew outside the windows on the second evening, he switched on the TV to distract himself. It was tuned to a news channel. The anchor’s forehead was creased with anxiety. Makeup couldn’t totally disguise the bags under his eyes. His gaze darted away from the camera once, as though startled from behind.