85

Relatives

"I have to go," said Candle, to her friends, "this is my fault. I must have been followed."

"What do you mean?"

"From the Night Nation," she said, twisting her head to peer after Jotham's rapidly disappearing form. "I was followed," she repeated, almost to herself. "I have to go." Then she raised her voice, almost barking out orders as the cold snare of terror bit into her stomach. "Keep Murmux safe, don't let him get away whatever happens. Zephi – stay with these people, they are friends! Look after her!"

She leapt into the air, transforming as she went. Someone screamed behind her, but she didn't stop to look.

"Followed by what?" shouted Locryn after her. His voice receded as she left the ground behind, beating her wings hard as she clawed her way upward to gain height. Candle didn't reply because she did not know the answer. The answer to that question lay on the other side of the range, amidst the scent of burning smoke.

Her heart lay heavy in her chest. She had been followed, despite her best efforts. She had been clever, but not clever enough – but then it seemed to Candle that the dragons and the necromancers had been waiting for just such an arrival as hers. From Jotham's stories of the Night, she had expected a wasteland, populated by spirits and the dead with only the occasional dragon's keep dotting the wilderness. Perhaps she had just been unlucky, arriving at the winter solstice and the gathering of the dragon clans. But no, the Necromancer Queen had been waiting as well as Hezekiah. Perhaps she had been waiting since Jotham and Jowanet themselves left the Night. It seemed likely. Candle's breath hissed through her nostrils as she expelled a steaming breath, readying the flame in her throat. What would she see when she crested the ridge? Who was Jotham fighting and what would she be able to do to help?

Four final pumps of her wings and she burst over the mountain rocks and out over the empty air of the valley below. The scattered lights of a Lochlanach settlement were gleaming below, and above the town was Jotham, encircled by five great dragons.

Candle's stomach twisted in on itself as she recognised the familiar forms of Asher, Zebulon and Orin among them. Relief and fear warred in her gut – relief that he was not holding off the entire might of the Night Nation, that the Necromancer queen and her minions were nowhere in sight – fear at the sight of her former friends attacking Jotham. Jotham, their uncle, and her best friend and protector. The person who had accepted her, cared for her and loved her when she had been lost and alone. The person who was more a father to her than her birth father had ever been – the only person in the world she could fully trust without reservations. Jotham was bleeding from a great gash in his side, inflicted by these vindictive brats, who had no business being here. They had no business being in her world, hurting her friend.

Before she could decide what to do she became aware that there was momentary calm. The great winged serpents were circling each other with lazy wing beats.

"Uncle," said Orin, mockingly, his voice ringing in the vaults of Candle's mind. "Get out of our way, or join us."

"Is this what you've been doing?" Asher said, casting his golden eyes over the Lochlanach settlement below. The people below were running in every direction, screaming. One of the odd-shaped houses had caught fire. "Living with the slaves?"

Jotham snarled, his lips peeling back from his jaw to show his fine, long canines. He didn't take his gaze off the young dragons before him.

"Children," he said, his tone scathing enough to cut through bronze. "I will only warn you once. Harm a hair on one human's head and you will suffer the consequences."

"Our mother told us what you had become," said Asher. "We did not believe it. But here you are living with the cattle."

"Some of the humans here are your cousins," said Jotham, "the descendants of my sister, and you aunt, Jowanet of the Black Dawn. Her blood runs through their veins." He flared out his wings aggressively. "And I am sworn to protect them."

"Fine words, from an old fool. However you and Jowanet chose to debase yourselves, it is none of our business. Jowanet is long since dead, by our mother's hand. We have a thirst to live in the sun. Why should we not do as we please? We are the apex predators, it is only right. You should know this, or has your mind gone soft in your dotage? We are here to rebalance the scale, and to re-establish the natural order. Stand aside, or we will kill you. And then we will return with the full might of the Night Nation clans to claim this land as our own."

" No," said Jotham. "You won't."

And that was that. The young dragons dove for Jotham, coming at him in a pack. He let them come, his eyes alive with feral intensity before he disappeared in a cocoon of black bright darkness. It exploded outwards, blasting the aggressors away and Jotham sprang on Orin, raking his side with flame before twisting away.

Candle opened her mouth to scream her rage, to dive into the fray and fight but then she hesitated, holding back. They had not seen her yet, so intent were they on their attack. And despite being outnumbered Jotham was holding his own, albeit with some difficulty. His attackers were young and fierce, but Jotham was old and canny. He had had centuries to perfect his craft, far longer than any of the Night Nation dragons had realised, due to the strange flux of time between the Nations. Jotham fought with ferocity and controlled anger, his spells unexpected and creative, while the younger dragons had the advantage of numbers and the vitality of youth. The air above the Lochlanach settlement was soon exploding with light and flame, crackling with bursts of starbright energy that seared Candle's eyes, so she had to turn her face away. Jotham was the better fighter, but he was still outnumbered. He would not be able to hold them off forever.

Candle wavered, indecisively, an idea forming in her mind. She turned away from the battle, praying to her Ancestors that Jotham could hold his own till her return. As fast as she could she flew, swift as an arrow back towards the sea and the beachside bothy at Polkerris.

She landed hard, the air leaving her lungs in a great whoosh as a great cloud of sand skittered over Carantok who swore and fell over. Transforming back into her human skin, she strode up to the started group of Own who were gathered around the cold fire pit engaged in anxious conversation. Zephi leapt up from her seat on the sand and threw her arms around Candle's waist.

"I need you to listen," she said, without preamble, gently disentangling Zephi and setting her to one side. She glanced at Murmux who was trussed up like a hog ready for slaughter. Someone had stuffed a sock in his mouth. He mumbled at her cheerfully and tried to wave one hand.

"What's happening?" asked Locryn, his eyes narrowed.

"There's no time for me to explain properly," she said, as they all opened their mouths to ask questions. "What's happening is that Dragons have followed me through the Gate." She swallowed hard. Now was not the time to get emotional, not while she could still do something. If she could just persuade them... "From the Night Nation. Dragons and probably –"

"Dragons like you?"

"Sort of – "

"And Jotham – he will fight for us?"

"Yes. He is fighting right now. That's why we have to hurry. There is only one of him, and at least five of them. I haven't seen Borlowen yet," said Candle, her gaze drifting back to Murmux who was watching her intently. "The Necromancer. But I fear she will arrive at any moment. If we don't stop them," she swallowed. "I fear they will lay waste to everything they find."

Locryn shrugged. "Let the Lochlanach burn," he said.

"They will burn," said Candle, rounding on him, "and then we will burn. All of us. The Night Nation does not distinguish Havi and Lochlanach. We are all the same to them. Inferior. Delicate. Easy to kill. And once they gain a foothold we will never be rid of them. These aren't troublesome wights or skinwalkers that can be dispatched with the right runes and the correct placement of salt." Carantok opened his mouth to protest but Candle hadn't finished, ploughing right over him. "And it's worse than that. If they go back through the Gate and bring more Revenants if they bring a whole army's worth – they'll destroy us, Havian and Lochlanach alike, and enslave anyone who survives. We can't let them go back."

"So what can we do?" asked Delen, her face pinched and strained. "We sent word to the Mester, but there's only us here. It's too far away, the moongates won't work for another hour." They all looked back at the empty stone circle. "You could carry us, I suppose, but I'm not sure how much good we could do against–"

"Iron?" said Steren. Candle nodded.

"I'm sensing Candle has a plan," signed Pasco, the pale-skinned man was still seated serenely atop Murmux's broad back. They both looked quite comfortable. Candle nodded, her face tight.

"Do you trust me?" asked Candle, looking around at them all. There was a long silence.

"Yes," said Delen and to her surprise, Locryn and Pasco nodded slowly. Steren reached out to squeeze Candle's arm encouragingly.

"What's the plan?"

"Are you mad?" said Carantok, glaring about him. Everyone ignored him and Candle drew in a deep breath.

"Get in the sea," she said, "all of you. Oh except Pasco, and you." She pointed to the barbarian boy, who was watching without comment.

"Ansel," he said.

"And you Ansel. It won't work on you."

"What won't work?"

"Just – " She flapped her hands at them but they all just stood there. "I don't turn into a dragon because I made a deal with a demon," said Candle. She looked back at the smoke that was just visible in the light of the old day, rising over the mountain ridge. What was happening to Jotham in her absence? "Long ago, I had an Ancestor who could fly. She had many children, and they had many children in turn. This was long ago – a thousand years maybe."

"What do the Ancestors have to do with anything?"

"I'm willing to bet," said Candle, "that we are all related, all of us in Havi. If you go back far enough."

"I'm no Aetheling," said Locryn, his face twisting in disgust.

"That doesn't matter, that's just... politics," said Candle. "What matters is we all share blood, all of us here in Havi." They all stared at her, and behind them, the smoke rose in the night sky. "There's no time – look I will show you. Just get in the sea. Please, just trust me."

Behind her large waves crashed against the shore, illuminated by the last dying embers of the day. Far out in the bay, a seven gilled shark jumped out of the water, returning to the depths with a blood-stained mouth full of some fleshy prey. Delen shuddered.

"Just get in, there's no time..."

No one moved. Steren laid a consoling hand on Candle's arm.

"I'm sorry," she said. Candle shook his hand off in frustration, staring around, looking for inspiration. There was no point trying to drag one of them into the water, every single one of them was stronger than her. Her eyes lighted on a metal bucket. She grabbed it with both hands, and strode towards the water, ignoring the sting of the iron against her hands.

"Candle? What are you doing?"

"Showing you."

She scooped a large pail full of seawater, praying to her Ancestors that it would be enough, and heaved it back up the beach towards the perplexed group atop the dunes.

"Candle, what are you doing?"

Candle ignored Delen's shriek of protest and sloshed the whole pail full of seawater over the older woman's head. She waited, breathing deeply, as Delen stood there, eyes wild and trying to squirm away from the water that dripped down her curls and into her skin. Everyone stared. Nothing happened, so Candle marched back to the water and sloshed another full pail full over Delen's spluttering head. Pasco and Locryn locked eyes, exchanging worried looks, while Delen swore and protested. Locryn touched Candle's arm, hesitantly.

"I know you've been through some things–"

Candle shrieked in frustration and transformed into her dragon body. They all stepped back warily. Out of patience Candle lunged, grabbing Delen by the back of her shirt. Delen screamed and her friends, all started yelling, running to and fro like bees who had discovered a hornet in their hive. Candle ignored them, with some difficulty as she knew how painful the iron of their weapons would be if they turned them on her, hoping she could move fast enough. She half flew, half strode towards the sea with Delen swinging awkwardly from her maw. She dumped her friend headfirst into the salt waves and stood back.

"She's fine," she snarled back at her friends who were clustered on the dunes, bristling with iron. Locryn raised his bow, aiming the iron-tipped arrow at Candle and started to yell something but he was interrupted by the commotion in the water below. The waves started to glow, luminous light coalescing around Delen's transforming body as she elongated and grew, scales erupting from her skin, her face lengthening, her torso thickening. She grew larger with every second until Delen the dragon stood knee-deep in the lapping tide, a look of bemused wonder on her scaly face.

"I knew it!"

Candle's heart jumped with glee and she turned, grabbing her friends one after the other and tossing them into the briny waves. It was easy now, they were limp and weak with shock, their eyes staring. She paused to grin up at Delen's surprised dragon face before grabbing Steren tenderly and depositing her with care in the shallows, being mindful of her missing leg.

"What in the holy name of the Ancestors is going on?" asked Pasco, who was standing holding Zephi's hand as Candle rushed past. In the water, Locryn's and Steren's bodies were changing, growing, shooting upwards and sprouting great leathery wings. Zephi whooped and cheered while Pasco looked as if his eyes might fall right out of his skull.

"What dark magic is this?" he signed.

"Not dark magic," said Candle, "merely the dragon blood of our Ancestors that has lain sleeping for many years. I told you – we are all related. Probably almost everyone from Havi. Now, do you all understand?"

"Ancestors preserve us," signed Pasco looking up at the three new dragons, that were standing in the water, flexing their new wings.

Delen flapped her wings, experimentally, and whooped with joy as she was lifted a few feet into the sky before nose-diving back into the water.

"This is incredible," she yelled and Candle felt like her heart might burst.

"I'm sorry, Pasco," she said, "because you are Teurek, I don't think you will share our Ancestor. You too," she said to the barbarian boy, who shrugged, his eyes wide.

"Don't mind me," signed Pasco, bemused.

Candle looked up at Carantok, who was standing up on the ridge clutching his spear, his mouth open a little as he watched Delen and Locryn. Delen was a glittering black dragon and Locryn was a deep, midnight blue. "I know we've only just met," she said "so I don't know if I can ask you to trust me or to fight alongside me. But would you like to see if we are related?"

He stared at her a moment, then up at Delen who was circling with clumsy wing movements above their heads, the starlight glittering off her copper-tipped scales.

"Night, yes," he said.