Page 42 of Dragonbound

He’d never practised landing in the open before. It took him a few tries to get both front claws down at the same time and he came to a stop with a loud, ungainly thump on a rocky outcrop. He detected no caves hidden in the vicinity. He looked at where he’d chosen to make his bed for the night. He was near an exposed ridge, stretching for a long distance to either side of where he lay. Below the ridge, he suspected, was the glacier close to his home, and which the light shield surrounded. He’d managed to fly against the force of the wind for longer than he’d thought. He wasn’t far from home after all. But as the wind continued to howl, and the snow to fall in huge sheeting gusts, he decided the correct decision had been to stop and wait out the storm. There were currently none of his kind who shared his unique ability. It would be catastrophic if he plunged to his death because of the storm and left no one to govern his kind. There had been no need for a new Testing to take place. Not yet. Not when he was so young and so newly come to his position.

Satisfied, he curled up for the night, his mighty head tucked under his majestic wing, knowing his thick scales would protect him from the cold wind, just as they did when he flew high. His wing would keep his head warm all night long, provided he curled his head beneath it. At daybreak, he’d be able to resume flying. Happy with his plan, he prepared to rest.

But sleep eluded him. He’d never spent the night outside rún-ketill before and he couldn’t help peeking over his wing spur as an initial splattering of snow quickly became a full-blown storm. It landed on his wing, and he smiled. It felt soft. He idly wondered if, when he woke, he’d look like one of the Others’ snow-encased dwellings. It amused him; he found himself laughing. He felt free and powerful. It was intoxicating.

He also found he was in pain. All across his long back, there was a stabbing sensation he’d never experienced before. He supposed it was because he’d flown a long way and he wasn’t used to it.

He hoped the pain would lessen by the sunrise, as otherwise, it would be painful to fly home. It was already more than a little uncomfortable to curl his head under his wing. He tried changing wings, but they both hurt his back the same. In the end, he resolved to keep his head out from under the protection of his wings. It was too uncomfortable to keep curled up. He’d be warm enough. He’d be able to watch for the first rays of sunlight. He felt too exhilarated to close his eyes anyway. He was outside rún-ketill. He was lying on the snow.

At some point during the long night, he became aware of a strange ‘something’ pressing on his mind, as if it was shouting for his attention. And there was a noise. It rose or fell, depending on which way the wind blew, but it was always there. He tried to ignore it but found he couldn’t.

Eventually, he lumbered to his feet. He followed the wail, for he realised that’s what it was, which swelled with the shifting pressure in his mind, hoping to find its source. It was deepest black all around him. His keen eyes allowed him to pick a path. The wind continued to screech, and he squinted against the constant blowing snow.

As he came closer to the source of the noise, he noticed a trail of small prints in the snow. They made him wonder if one of the Others had come this way and were lost. He hesitated, wondering if he should continue. He’d been warned so many times to stay away from them and remembering the depictions of the way they’d slaughtered so many drekki before their separation, he was tempted to heed the advice.

But his curiosity overcame his caution. He followed the noise.

It weakened as he approached. Perhaps the Other was overcome with exhaustion. He hurried on, despite all the cautions, despite everything he’d been warned about by Naer-Vera. He had to help, if he could.

After a few more dragon lengths, he found a small bundle on a rocky outcropping. The persistent noise had fallen to a soft whimper, and within his mind, the call for help grew fainter. He hurried forward. Peering over the bundle, he saw a cold white face, with red spots on exposed cheeks. Its eyes were slowly closing and opening as it fought the cold and the snow which fell onto it. Its thoughts must have been trying to reach out to him before, but now those impressions had become hazy.

He reached out to touch it with his front claw. He felt the cold emanating from its body as though it had the strength of the wind. He retracted his claw. The Other caught sight of him and let out a pitifully brief cry before lapsing into silence. It seemed to have kicked free of most of its coverings, which lay scattered around it. It lay with its body exposed to the freezing air. It was also perilously close to the edge of the rock. He peered over and saw the long drop to the glacier below. He felt sure the drop would kill this little thing.

He looked all around him for whoever had brought the bundle to this desolate spot but could see nothing. The tiny Other was alone.

It had stopped crying. Its eyes were closed, but it was still breathing. His mind was free from its thoughts. Skaldi had never seen such a small Other before. It fascinated him. It looked just like those who dwelled within his cave, but it was just a hatchling. Although, it seemed much more feeble than drekki hatchlings. It seemed unable to move on its own. How had it come to be here?

His eyes alighted on a collection of prints in the snow. They seemed to lead here and then away from the ridge. His stomach twisted in horror. The bundle had been left on purpose. Why? He couldn’t comprehend why an Other would abandon their young in this way.

He reached forward and picked the bundle up in his giant front claws. He hobbled away from the wind-exposed outcropping while holding the bundle in his one front claw.

He retraced his steps, sweeping away his giant claw prints in the snow with his tail as he went. He didn’t want one of the Others to find his prints and wonder where they came from.

Once he was back in his hollow, he quickly settled back down and studied the tiny bundle. Its features were perfect. One of its tiny claws had curled around the tip of one of his talons with a grip tighter than he thought possible for something so small. He couldn’t just leave it here. It would surely die. He made a decision. He’d warm it and take it back with him when the sun rose.

Decision made, he wrapped his head and the bundle under his left wing, to protect it from the screaming wind and steady snowfall. Resolutely, he ignored the pain shooting along his back. His pain was nothing to the needs of this small, abandoned Other.

Morning arrived, eventually, in a profusion of pale pinks and purples, stealing silently across the land. The seeking streams of colour missed the glacier entirely, keeping it in darkness for longer. The wind had stopped; the snowstorm had blown itself out. Shaking the snow loose from his giant body, while cradling the bundle, he stretched his wings and leapt awkwardly into the frigid sky.

By the time the sun had skimmed over the horizon, he was already landing on his home ledge, piled high with freshly fallen snow.

Once there, he was unsure what to do. The bundle had woken on arrival and made a pitiful noise. Why had he brought it back with him?

Its whimpers turned to howls. He wondered what it wanted. It was certainly warm enough now. He stood there, confused, for some time. Skaldi could feel its panic building, and beneath it, hunger. He stared at it, and it batted at his claw, while all the time screaming. He turned his head to look at it from a different angle, seeing it for the first time in full light with its tufty hair and bright blue eyes, but it continued to scream. He wished he knew what to do.

The sunlight seeped slowly onto his ledge, distracting him with the glistening view of the frozen glacier in front of him. The cries abruptly stopped. Only when he looked down did he understand why. One of the Others had come to look at the source of the noise and now cradled the bundle in their arms.

It was the same one he’d met on the day of his predecessor’s death. He tried to look encouraging but wasn’t sure if his expression reflected his hopes that they’d care for the hatchling. The Other slowly backed away, taking the bundle with them. Skaldi hoped it meant the Other would look after it. Moments later, he received the flash of an image of the hatchling being fed and warmed before a massive fire.

He retreated from the ledge and into his cave as full sunrise shaded his world white and blue. He needed to consider what he’d done. And why he’d done it. He needed not to feel compelled to fly his land again. Not yet.

28

SKALD DREKKI

But it was impossible. He ventured out once more having only rested briefly. There was a nagging desire to be active after so much inactivity. The presence of the hatchling within rún-ketill chipped away at his resolve. He wanted to know more. He wanted to see more. He felt as if he’d been awaiting such freedom all his life. He refused to squander it now. And he was determined to find more answers. The Others were terrible creatures, weren’t they? They’d left a hatchling, alone, to perish in the storm. What other awfulness would they do? Or was it something else? Had it been a mistake after all?

He’d considered his motivations in rescuing the hatchling. It had been instinctive. A need to save something too weak to fend for itself. But he felt uncertain about himself for the first time since accepting his future role as Speaker.