Chapter 2: The Choice

  Rasshun drew his claws together. “Father, you said that I would leave the cave someday, but where will I go?”

  The great Ironglass dragon sprawled out on the shelf beside Rasshun, his massive wings folded against his sides. His sharp, bright blue eyes pierced Rasshun.

  “My son, do you remember the mountains I showed you? The ones to the north?” he asked, “There is a mountain amongst them. The One. That is where you will go. That is where all Ironglass dragons must go.”

  “Then why are we down here amongst the sand?”

  “The mountains are for grown dragons, my son. Ones who can survive the winds, the desolate paths, and the lack of meat and metal. As a young Sor such as yourself, you are not yet ready to go into the mountains. That is why Mother and I had you here.”

  Rasshun looked down at his siblings. His sisters played around under Mother’s watchful eyes, wrestling and tumbling, and his brother waited somewhere in the dark, out of sight. They all had their fire, their gifts, and the starts of their wings—their drakí. That made them Tsao. Soon, they would fly. But not Rasshun. He was still a Sor. Fireless, ungifted, and wingless.

  “But I am only a wyrm, father, I don’t have my drakí,” Rasshun said, “How can I climb the One?”

  Father rumbled, releasing a cloud of smoke to the cavern ceiling.

  “Tell me, Rasshun, do you use drakí to meet me on the ledge when I come back from hunting? Hm?” he asked, “No, you use what you have. Your raa, your ríl. Your will. That is what you can use to climb the One once you are ready.

  “Remember, my son, it is not about having drakí, or fire, or claws. It’s about what you do with them.”

  -

  Rasshun snapped awake and turned to where Father sat, excitement gripping him, but not even Father’s scent remained. What he had seen had only been a memory.

  Rasshun sighed.

  He checked his back to see if drakí had begun to grow, but neither membrane, nor bones, nor even a bump showed. His sandy scales gripped his back, a pathetic flatness. Who would even see him as a normal dragon? How could he ever soar? What mate would ever accept him?

  “Great Sun, you wyrms are so loud in your sleep.”

  Rasshun turned to the human and his worries faded.

  The human laid with her leather boots kicked up on a mossy stalagmite, tossing the same cubes into the air as before. She smelled calm—careless. Was she planning something? Rasshun jumped to his feet, guarding the ledge.

  “I’m not a wyrm,” Rasshun said, “I’m a dragon. My name is Rasshun.”

  “Did I ask for your name? No. Still a wyrm anyway.”

  Heat boiled in Rasshun’s veins and steam escaped his nostrils. “What do I call you?” he asked.

  “Why would you care about that, wyrm?” the human asked, “What you want me for is all I am to you, aren’t I?”

  “I am not a wyrm, I’m a…”

  “A dragon. Yeah. You all have the same attitude, don’t you? No humor, either.”

  The human sighed. She rested her head against the wall, dropping her hood and letting her mangy, black hair down. Her hair looked as though she had hacked it off in a fit of rage, leaving nothing behind but sickly, uneven strands.

  “Elara. That’s the name I call myself,” she said, “Though I’m widely known as Thief.”

  “Thief?”

  “I take stuff, dragon. Stuff nobody cares about enough to keep in their hands. Stuff I like. Stuff the Fire Wheel sends soldiers after me for.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The name sent a shiver down Rasshun’s spine. He looked away.

  Elara went further, sensing his vulnerability. “Oh, and last I remember, the Iron Wraith is with them,” she said, “The Man of Ironglass, finally coming down from his throne to take matters into his own hands. What matters exactly? I’m not sure. Though I am sure he would enjoy a new scale rug.”

  The smells of the cave, once soothing Rasshun, crumbled in. It was just as that fateful day had been long ago. Blood coated the walls and ran across the floor, bones lay scattered and snapped, and the shadows moved and threw spears at him. There had been nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere safe…

  The world caved in. Rasshun shrunk back.

  If the Wraith was around, nowhere would be safe now.

  Time to go on with the plan.

  Rasshun straightened. “Take me to the mountains.”

  Elara stared at him. “What?”

  Rasshun stepped forward, his tongue stuck behind his teeth.

  “That’s why I brought you here,” he said, “You told those humans in town that you could get anyone anywhere. That you could get in and out of any problem without anyone knowing. You said you were the best smuggler in the Wastes.”

  He stiffened. “I need you to get me into the mountains.”

  Elara’s thin eyebrows rose, one of them higher than the other, though Rasshun didn’t understand the gesture in the slightest. “I don’t drag wyrms around, especially not ones who knocked me over the head!”

  “Can you?”

  “What?”

  “Smuggle me. Or did you lie?”

  Her eyebrows dropped. The scent of sweat caked the air.

  “I can get anywhere,” she said, “But I don’t do things for charity. So, what will you offer?”

  “I—I won’t eat you,” Rasshun said.

  Elara scoffed, a release of old stench up Rasshun’s snout.

  “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me, wyrm,” she said, “What’s your offer?”

  “A scale.”

  The words rolled off Rasshun’s tongue before he could stop them. A scale of an Ironglass dragon, as golden as the sand itself. Some humans searched across the sands for their beauty, that they might wear or sell them. Taking one from his coat would make that place vulnerable for a long while, but it would be worth the trouble.

  “A scale? Just one?” Elara asked.

  “That’s what I offer,” Rasshun said, “A scale for safe travel to the mountains, and then your freedom.”

  Elara looked at him, then his scales. She put her hand into her pocket, drew out the two cubes once more, and rolled them. Before Rasshun could see what they were, she swooped them up and hid them away. A grin spread across her face ear-to-ear.

  “Price is a bit low, but—fine,” she said, “One scale, one trip.”

  -

  Light flashed into Rasshun’s eyes.

  He stood at the entrance of the cave, his scales brushing against the smooth stone wall, wafting up scents that floated into his nose, soothing his muscles. Yet his throat tightened and burned as if the air was toxic. Elara stood ahead, gathering her things. Rasshun turned away, shutting his eyes.

  Out here, on the edge of departure, the pull to go back into the cozy dimness, the hiding place that had sheltered him from the pain of the world, grew bigger than a mountain. The weight dropped on his shoulders, straining his muscles and breaking his bones. His stomach twisted and turned with bile. When he had made the decision to leave his cave, he hadn’t thought much about how hard it would be to do so. He hadn’t even stepped out completely, but he wanted to go back and huddle in the dark. This was foolish.

  “You coming or not?” Elara growled. She had a cloth over her mouth to protect against the wind and sand, muffling her voice and hiding her face.

  Rasshun gripped the ground tighter. His muscles froze.

  Memories wafted out of the cave in waves, attacking Rasshun. The soft, warm scent of Mother, the kicked-up dust and sand of his sisters playing and fighting, and Father’s sharp yet pleasant iron musk—all of them still fresh. If he turned back now, surely, they would be inside, waiting for him. Surely, they would be standing there, ready to warm his heart and calm his mind. They would tell him that things would turn out good, that they were there for him.

  They waited inside for him. He just had to turn back now…

  They aren’t there.

  Rasshun turned north, toward the sand dunes shifting in the wind. In the distance, beyond the sands, the dark mass Rasshun sought after waited, sprawled on the horizon like a great dragon. Its spiked back rose over the gold lands around it, and its peaks arched into the air, breaking the clouds and ruling the sky.

  The mountains. Beyond them, the One waited, just out of view.

  Rasshun forced himself to his feet. Gently, he pressed his nose against the wall. The warm, metallic smoothness of Mother’s scent caressed his nose, lowering his scales, and Father’s hard-iron smell hit him, pushing him away from the dead memories. He parted with the wall, the scents fading, and turned to Elara, forcing all the air out of his lungs in a single, shivering word:

  “Lead.”

  Elara nodded and headed down the hillside. He followed.

  He looked back at the cave one last time. The dark, cozy hole once held a living dragon family. Hundreds of memories had been created within its chambers, molded, nurtured, and remembered. Memories that would live forever in Rasshun’s head.

  If only scents could live as long.

  “Farewell, friend,” he whispered, “Until we meet again, over or under the Saanrí.”

  Rasshun turned away, leaving behind the cave and the old memories of good and bad. Of life and death. Until, one day, he could come back again.

  Now, he was going to make Father proud.

  -

  Rasshun opened his eyes. Sickness hung in his belly.

  Just a day from home, and he still felt this way. Shouldn’t he feel pleased? He was heading to the One. He was making Father proud!

  Yet he felt stuck in the dune.

  Sand rushed away from Rasshun as he stood. Little grains stuck to his scales, though he didn’t mind the familiar itch. Across a small, poorly kept fire, Elara sat, smoking from a long pipe. She tossed those same cubes into the sand again, and over again.

  “What are those?” Rasshun asked.

  Elara glanced at him, her brow furrowing. She turned her attention back to the two black cubes.

  “Raider’s dice,” she growled.

  She rolled them again, then leaned over to see the results. Rasshun stepped closer. Elara grunted and swiped them up before he saw.

  “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  Elara kicked sand over the last embers and walked toward the dune above. Rasshun followed. The odd airy taste of Elara’s smoke seeped into his mind and left behind a dull pain in his head.

  Cresting the dune, they walked, keeping along the ridgeline. The sand went forever in all directions. A flat golden plain, reflecting the morning haze. The horizon rippled like water, flowing and splashing into the sky, hiding the distant crags, and putting the duo on an infinite sea of stillness. Rasshun squinted. Even with his desert tested eyes, the sunlight’s glare blinded him.

  “Where are we heading first?” he asked, hoping to occupy his mind.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Elara…”

  Rasshun stumbled into Elara, ramming into her back as she stopped. She lifted her mask to protect against the grainy breeze, watching the horizon. Before Rasshun could speak, she grunted and took hold of his neck, sending a rage through Rasshun. “Get down,” she said, dropping. Sand blew up his nose as she plunged him.

  “Keep low,” she said. She crawled to the top of the dune.

  He snorted. Humans.

  Rasshun peeked over the dune. Below, a man stumbled around. He wore a wide pack on his back, and a short, copper helmet with a spike on top. A Fire Wheel helmet. He dragged an empty bottle with him, and after a few lumbering steps, he lifted it to his lips.

  Dehydrated. Vulnerable.

  But why was he out here? Did he serve the Fire Wheel?

  Elara smirked. “A lone traveler,” she said, “Time to put you to use, scales.”