Nonetheless, it was all they had. One by one, he and Aldasair and the big man, Bern, had carried the pods in here, settling them into the musty silk nests. There had been fourteen in all, not including Vostok, but a number of them were small, and cold to the touch. This had been one of many things they had resolutely not spoken of as they set about their work – along with the return of the Jure’lia, where the queen had been exactly all these years, and what had happened to his sister.
It was the next day. The sky was overcast now, and the palace was inordinately quiet. Tor had grown used to the people on the lawns, the gentle noise that you barely noticed, and now most of them were gone. Aldasair had told him that some had left when the corpse moon had charged down out of the sky towards them – Tor could hardly blame them for that – although a few had remained, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of the slightly desperate belief that Ebora could still protect them in some way. Or perhaps the newly birthed pods were a symbol of hope. Tor frowned and touched his fingers to the cut on his burned cheek. We can hardly protect ourselves.
‘This will be the next to hatch, I think.’
Aldasair was at one of the nests. He had a fine purple bruise on his cheek, and a lot of his confidence appeared to have ebbed away again, but he spoke quietly and firmly, with little of the absentness of the old days. The pod that he stood in front of was very large, the size of a small cart, and heat came off it in waves.
‘I think you are right,’ Tor squeezed his cousin’s shoulder. ‘We will be here when they are born, all of them. For what it’s worth.’
‘Vostok said – Vostok said that those that are dead should be given to her, to eat. To bolster her strength.’ Aldasair patted the surface of the pod lightly. ‘She said she can feel them growing, some of them, but that others are absent. They were just the start of something, unfinished.’
‘Is that what she said?’
Tor looked down the other end of the long room. The dragon who called herself Vostok was there, her great bulk curled around on itself, her long head lying on the thick carpet. Noon was there too, also sleeping, curled up against the dragon like a baby lamb with its mother. She had no fear of the dragon – had not been apart from it since the battle, in fact.
‘She also said . . . some other things.’ Aldasair straightened up, grimacing. ‘I think you should talk to her, Tormalin.’
Tor sighed. ‘I expect you’re right.’
‘You have questions, son of Ebora?’
There was no ignoring the summons in that voice. Tor turned away from the pod and walked down to the far end of the room. Noon had woken up too, and the look she gave him was uncannily like that of the dragon – piercing, confident. Certain.
‘More to the point, do you have answers?’ Tor paused, shaking his head. There was too much he needed to know. ‘The other war-beasts. Why have they not grown properly? What will happen to them?’
Vostok grunted, raising her head on its long serpentine neck so that it was on a level with Tor. Noon stood up and leaned against the dragon’s great bulky shoulders.
‘A short question with a long answer. My brothers and sisters and I, we are born from Ygseril, and we go back to Ygseril when we die. Our spirit returns to him, and eventually, our souls move up from the roots, through the trunk, and into his branches, where we are born again. When we are needed.’
Tor realised he was blushing slightly. ‘You have to understand. Ebora is not what it once was. The knowledge we had . . . it has died, with our people. You must forgive my ignorance.’
The dragon tipped her head slightly to one side; it did not matter.
‘The Eighth Rain. New war-beasts were born, and we went to do battle, as is our purpose. There were hundreds of us then, and we flew out across Sarn to drive the invaders back, as we always did. But this time, mistakes were made.’ Vostok’s eyes flashed, with anger or some other emotion, Tor could not tell. ‘The Jure’lia encroached deep into Eboran territory. They came here. The queen herself came here.’ Scaly lips peeled back to reveal shining teeth; there was no mistaking a sneer, thought Tor, even on a dragon’s face. ‘Ygseril took it upon himself to end the war. When the queen sank into his roots, seeking his power and knowledge, he let himself die, trapping her down there in the icy web of his own death. As long as he was dead, the queen could not escape. And she has always been the very heart of what the Jure’lia are. Without her, the Behemoths failed, and all her little creatures died.’
Noon caught Tor’s eye then. ‘When we see Vintage next, we’ll have to tell her this. Can you imagine the look on her face?’
She was smiling, just slightly, and Tor was filled with a terrible urge to kiss her, to take her to him and— he looked away. The blush hadn’t left his face.
‘Unfortunately, when Ygseril died, it left us stranded,’ Vostok continued. ‘We are as deeply connected to him as the queen is to her minions. We died too, yet this time, our souls were lost. With no comprehension of what we were, we wandered, unknowing things of light and sorrow. I . . .’
Vostok trailed off, and Noon carried on for her. It was impossible to miss the connection between them now.
‘They were the parasite spirits, Tor. All along, they were the souls of your war-beasts, cut adrift from their home. Their souls couldn’t return to Ygseril.’
‘Even we did not know what we were. All we had was a sense that the Behemoths were important somehow, dangerous, that we should be . . . near them. We felt a great loneliness, and a need to be within living flesh. Something we could never achieve.’
Tor felt his stomach lurch. That was why the spirits turned people inside out; they were seeking their physical bodies.
‘And this is important, son of Ebora,’ said Vostok. When the dragon spoke, her mouth hung open and the words were there, although Tor did not understand how – she had no human lips and tongue to form them. ‘I am here because Noon carried me back inside her. I know who I am and our history. These others, my brothers and sisters that remain alive in their pods. They will not have their true voices. They will not have their root-memories. In short, they will not be complete. It is important you understand this.’
Tor blinked. ‘Noon carried you back here? What do you mean?’
‘It was in Esiah’s compound, Tor.’ For the first time, Noon looked mildly uncomfortable. ‘When I absorbed the parasite spirit, that was Vostok. I took her inside me, and she has been with me since.’
Tor raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn’t think this was worth mentioning at the time?’
‘I don’t know if you remember, Tor, but you weren’t in much of a state for deep discussions.’ But she turned her head away as she said it, and Tor thought he wasn’t the only one feeling wrong-footed.