The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre
<- Death, Birth & Change | ->
Tried talking to Hatsuko-enzidh but I was wrong. She felt no ill-will for the truth of me, but she did not know the words. Not Kin. Just coincidence, or fortune. Fate, perhaps. Amahanam Iduth working by strange hands. But she honours the Viridian Angel and bears Her in battle, and that is enough. I will fight by her as long as her pack will have me.
I thought that was balm enough on my fear, but then more truths came spilling forth in the dawn light. Didel woke, panicking and expecting to rend us all. Tried to calm her by telling what had been done. That was fuel to the fire. She spoke of the Pealing in utter horror, that it cuts free the Beast bound in lycan skin and gives it unto the Hoarmother to fester and grow until it stalks the land and brings ruin. She would rather we had killed her. What have I done?
Could find no more words for her, just offerings of help and an effort to undo this sin. She told us her story – just a farmer who fell under the curse, could not control herself any more so was sealed away to be forgotten five centuries ago. She mentioned Elders whose names scratched at the tatters of my memory but stirred nothing. And that she went into the tomb with her wife and family. No, Ama, please, not that… That pain cuts too deep. That emptiness. I know its dimensions. Its jagged weeping-blood edges. Yriantha…
She left for Brolko with provisions and gold and pain enough to burden a giant. May she find peace.
I asked the pack if they still wished me among them after all that had happened. What I had done. What they had seen I could be. They did not chase me away. Did not reject me for being monstrous. Drashi-irmirska even looked at me bright-eyed and fascinated. Why? I do not understand.
I don’t trust myself. Can’t trust myself. Why do they trust me? They can put me down if they need to. There is peace in that thought. Someone can stop me when I become a monster.
Leera-ninna‘s keen eyes saw it at first. We were still a half-day away from Ugroccoz when she noticed a ship wedged between mountains several miles north of us and even more north of the sea. Strange sight, worth investigating but would as a day to our journey and time felt pressed. Charlotte-zaazi was so anxious her Miss that haste on to Ugroccoz felt wise.
But viewing with a spyglass showed signs of life on the ship and wyverns circling, agitated and territorial. People on the ship may not last without help. Lishan-azah cast a divination of the best course of action. The ship had greater urgency so we began to climb, slow and careful and stealthy up the rugged slopes and scree toward it.
Ninna‘s cunning and wise magics kept us well out of sight of the great farasmirska for most of our climb. Too well. One landed to rest atop where we were hiding from their gaze. Enzidh, bold as silver, decided to talk to it. With clever words, assistance and advice, she convinced the wyvern we meant no harm and allowed us to approach the ship.
The remaining climb was particularly hard and we will need to rest well to recover from it. Prefer running through woods to scaling mountains, but we reached the ship and met the inhabitants. Three travellers – Hellman Drake, Grishnak and Shimmer – from the Astral Sea lost here by teleportation accidents and trying to get home. Beyond our skills or magics but we decided to ask the wyverns, made somewhat friendly by Enzidh‘s cunning tongue, to help get the ship off the mountains to start the three on their way.
Enzidh and Azah, assisted by translation magic, put the request to the farasmirska. The largest of them, a beautiful dark-scaled creature, agreed but gave them a task in return. One of its eggs was unhatched though all its broodmates are born. We are to watch it, keep it safe and until it hatches and bring it back once grown enough it will not be eaten by hungry siblings.
The deal was sealed with a pact of names. Strange magic to be used by a wyvern, but also strange that they can speak. Pacts. Like that hungry Ky’trrix forged with dead Cormund? Essence flowed between the sworn. Enzidh and Azah gained a flash of dragonscale and bright sharpness while the wyvern gained something of humanity. Still a dragon, great and powerful, but blossoming with humanoid traits and a mind sharpened like claws on whetstone. She gained words we could all understand, the common tongue tinged with Enzidh and Azah’s dialects, and used them to explain.
She called herself Formika now. Said she once served a powerful dragon and learned the art of pacting. They – she and the other wyverns – were proud and brilliant creatures, unshackled by the prison of towns and civilisations. Familiar words. Ky’trrix spoke of the Manticore who sent him to Brolko to cast down civilisation. Coincidence? Or echoes of deeper patterns.
Formika’s throngmates, the sleek red who Enzidh had spoken to before and a powerfully-jawed white, descended while she spoke. They approved of her pact and offered the same. Hands and words are useful things, I suppose, even to mighty dragons. Two of us accepted that offer. I do not know Leera-ninna’s reasons but I was curious. Civilisation is a cage. What place does a monster like me have in it?
There are shining white scales across the knuckles of my hands now and the roots of my claws are faded silver-pale. They glint like ice, pale scale against pale skin against pale tattoo-markings. My fangs feel sharper and the air is warmer against my skin. Or I am cooler. A core of cold moonsilver ice has settled deep where my soul should be and my Rage burns cold there.
The farasmirska, Formika and her mates, used their new strengths to lift the ship away to safe water to help the lost three find their way home. And one among them – the wizard Hellman Drake – offered a reward of magic and knowledge. Scrolls and lore. I asked for what he knew of the Hoarmother, that we may know the scale of my sins and how they may be undone.
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