“Play.” Dominic flicks the reins and the horses take off. Bard breaks into a tune in harmony with our wagon’s pace, his fingers flying over the strings in a beautiful yet eerie melody. The dragon takes the bait, snapping its shadowed maw before launching after us.
I hardly dare to blink as the Shade gains on us. I imagine it could close the distance in an instant. Surely it doesn’t need to run on its reptilian legs, for it’s an incorporeal being unrestrained by the laws of physics. So perhaps it likes the chase. Or…the music.
Bard doesn’t balk, doesn’t slip up as his song draws the monster after us, back up the road we came down mere minutes before, weaving along the moonlit road far faster than we’ve driven before. Only then do I recall I’m supposed to be plotting my tale, coming up with something to convince the Shade to change shape. I angle myself toward Harlow. “What creature should it be?”
“I…I’m not creative,” she says, voice trembling. “I told you this.”
“We have to work together. My story must coincide with what you’re drawing.”
“Then you take the lead. I’ll draw what you describe, that’s all I’m good at. Please.” The pleading in her tone sends a pinch to my chest, reminding me that despite her frequent bravado, she’s a seventeen-year-old girl who only took up art to survive after murdering her abusers. And while I saw evidence of her creativity when she drew in the clearing, what I recall of her drawing only deepens that pit of sympathy. When Dominic told her to draw something that made her feel safe, it was a girl alone in a field. No houses, no people. Just a field and a girl with her face hidden beneath her hair.
“Fuck, I…” I heave out a heavy sigh. “I’ll take the lead.”
“Hold on,” Dominic calls out, just as the wagon swerves to the side at a fork in the road. The path is just wide enough for our wagon, but far bumpier than the main road. The Shade follows us, slithering beneath the tree boughs, snapping off branches in its wake. “It’s almost time.”
My heart lurches into my throat. I still don’t know what I’m going to say, what story I can tell the Shade to convince it to calm down. Still gripping tight to the ledge, I turn my head to see where we’regoing. All I can see is dark, the lanterns that flank the driver’s seat illuminating only a sliver of the narrow road.
“Calvin,” Dominic says, and the younger man springs into action, climbing into the front seat and taking the reins from the Shadowbane. Dominic steps down into the wagon bed, feet spread to maintain his balance, then takes a vial from his belt. With his gaze locked on the ever-approaching dragon, he uncorks the vial and takes a swallow of its contents. “Get ready,” he says, unsheathing his sword with one hand while the other turns the vial over, thumb pressed to the opening. Moonlight glints off the silver blade. “Now.”
Calvin brings the wagon to a halt, the horses whinnying as they stomp against the soil, eager to flee.
“Inana. Harlow.” Dominic doesn’t meet our gazes as he strides to the back of the wagon. He presses his thumb to the base of his sword, near the hilt, gifting the blood from his vial to the astrotheurgical diagram he showed us earlier. As he runs the same finger down the length of the blade, it illuminates with flame. Just then, the Shade reaches our wagon, its head whipping back at the sight of the burning sword. “Story time, sinners.”
“Fuck.” I’m even less prepared than when I told myself to start preparing. Bard rises to his feet, his frantic tune slowing the slightest bit. Dominic maintains a fighting stance, sword held steady toward the Shade, but makes no move to attack, only to keep it from lunging. The dragon shies away, then takes a tentative step to the side, jaw snapping in irritation. Dominic shifts with it, ever so slowly. Carefully.
“Speak, Inana,” Harlow says, voice pitched high. Her sketchbook lies before her, bathed in the light from Dominic’s sword. Her quill shakes in her hand, dripping ink. “Tell me what to draw.”
I step between Bard and Dominic, fingers fisted at my sides. I’m half tempted to take my cloth hearts from my bodice to busy my fingers, but I’m not sure I could hold anything in this state. I swallow hard and speak a hesitant first line. “In the darkest, quietest forest…”
My voice is weak and not at all in harmony with the pace of Bard’s melody, but the dragon whips its gaze to me.
I clear my throat and try again. “In the darkest, quietest forest, beneath the light of Vanna’s pale moon, there lived…a squirrel.”
“Really?” Harlow says from behind me.
The Shade lashes out with a foreclaw, gouging a deep gash in the side of the wagon before Dominic angles his sword to ward the dragon back. The wagon rocks from the momentum of the attack.
“I don’t think it wants to be a squirrel,” Dominic says, voice calm and oddly soothing.
“What the hell does it want to be?” I mutter, and the Shade lunges to the side. Dominic leaps to mirror its moves, keeping it from lashing out at us again.
Something firm and heavy presses against my legs. I know what it is at once, the distinct feel of a canine body. This time, I’m not alarmed by Sloth’s presence. I’m comforted. Not that Dominic’s Shades have proved to do anything particularly helpful, and right now Lust and Pride are nothing but twin pools of darkness at the Shadowbane’s feet.
All right, all right. I can do this. I just have to meet its current state before I can convince it to become smaller.
Bard repeats the same measure as I gather my composure.
“In the darkest, quietest forest, beneath the light of Vanna’s pale moon, there lived a majestic salamander. As tall as a mountain, with flesh made from blood-red jewels, it was the most beautiful creature around.”
The dragon’s form ripples, its silhouette wavering in time with the song. It tilts its head to the side in what I assume is fascination. I force more words from my lips, drawing its interest with mundane details about the magical forest and the other creatures who live there. About the sentient trees who greet the salamander as it makes slow progress across the land every night, exploring the world. Little by little, both my story and Bard’s tune slow. Soften. So does my own energy. My voice no longer shakes, nor do my limbs. The monster’s interest inspires a flicker of the same pride I felt at the Wretched Lair when my art enchanted my audience. I know this is a joint effort, but witnessing the Shade’s subtle shift from aggressive to captivated feeds my artist’s longing.
Harlow approaches with shaking hands and holds out her sketchbook. Upon it are several drawings representing scenes from the story.Dominic takes a slow step back to allow the Shade a closer look. But not too close.
“You’ve calmed it,” Dominic whispers. “Now try to offer it a different shape. Slowly. Weave it into your tale.”
I infuse my tone with the same longing I feel now, the same I’ve always felt for that which is forbidden. Beautiful. Sinful. I turn myself over to my tale, no longer worrying over the right words to say. “The salamander wandered for an era, seeing every beautiful thing his forest offered. He was the king of beasts, and the most majestic of creatures. Yet he yearned for something he didn’t have.”
The dragon lowers its head, level with my face. A phantom tongue flicks out as it inches closer. There’s no threat in its posture. No frenzy. And as its onyx eyes lock on mine, my nerves are soothed further. Or perhaps the Shade is the one that is soothed. Whatever the case, my fictional salamander’s yearning echoes in the monster before me. I can almost feel its desperation to know more. To learn what it yearned for.
