Their plan, their terrifying plan, was made.
First, they had to ensure Nibo would remain safe. He could not return to Sidastra, nor travel to the royal estate at Beordan to warn Talia’s mother. Although he didn’t know the contents of the letter, if Harroway’s faction took him they might discover Leofric had reached out to Talia and would then be forewarned of her arrival. They might be scared into accelerating whatever plans they had. So, Talia urged Nibo to stay with Alexander Knight and offer what service he could in the meantime. He agreed.
Brode cautioned against a hasty departure from Midbell as Holt needed his bond to recover in relative safety, and it would be better for them to slip away under the cover of darkness. He also wanted to spend some time dropping hints as to a false plan, telling everyone from Lady Ebru herself to other ranking members of the town, that the three dragon riders would make for the capital by the rough country to the south, when in fact they would be heading north. He even lied to Alexander Knight who had given them no cause to doubt him, but the less he knew the safer he and they would be.
The hope was that anyone sent to tail them would be thrown off and any information sent to Harroway would be false. Silverstrike might not be welcomed in Midbell or at Fort Kennet anymore but there were plenty of other outposts he could visit where his treachery was not known. If he did, then he too would receive the wrong information.
After another day’s rest, Holt felt that his bond had recovered enough to get moving. Its beating had not yet returned to a smooth second-heartbeat, but it felt whole again, and he could see Ash’s core clearly. Resupplied and
refreshed, Holt felt physically well too. Were it not for the gnawing worries over the colossal tasks before the three of them, he might have been cheerful.
When they’d left the Crag just surviving had seemed hard enough. Now a Novice, an Ascendant and their old dragonless tutor had to not only outrun a Storm Lord, but a mounting scourge incursion and most of the royal army. And all this before arriving at the capital, somehow confronting a group of treacherous nobles, and readying the city for the inevitable siege. Holt hoped that word of his involvement wouldn’t make it to Sidastra.
Few knew who he really was and so his father – if his father had made it there – should be safe from Harroway’s reach.
Given how personal this had become, Holt thought Talia must feel even worse than he did, but she hid it well. She spent almost every waking moment quietly Cleansing and Forging to keep Pyra’s core in peak condition, and perhaps avoid facing what lay before her. Holt watched her carefully, knowing he would have to master these techniques soon.
On the third night after the Battle of Midbell, Holt, Brode, Talia, Pyra and Ash, left the town in the dead of night. The gatekeepers would report their departure but not until the morning, and by then they’d be well away. Anyone hoping to tail them would have a difficult time of it. Brode took the extra precaution of leading them off road the moment the glow of the town vanished behind them. He spurred them on to cover as much distance as they could, walking through the dawn and day. When at last they stopped, the moon was shining, and the Withering Wood was still days away.
Yet it hardly meant a chance to rest.
“You’ll train and meditate every night,” Brode said.
Groaning, Holt got back to his feet. It had been so nice to sit by the fire and dine even on their modest meal of salt pork and barley bread. A lot could be said for having a full stomach. But long hours on the road or not, he was a rider and was expected to cope.
“You wanted this, remember,” Brode said.
“I don’t have the extra strength yet like you.” “Then think how easy it will all feel once you do.”
Brode trained Holt further in swordsmanship while Talia meditated.
Puffs of fire burst from her body as she purified Pyra’s core.
After what seemed an eon of being battered, Brode called a halt. “Enough for tonight,” he said. “I still need you to walk.”
Holt let his sword arm drop, panting. He wasn’t sure whether he was getting any better.
“Now, meditation,” Brode said. “Come sit. You’ll enjoy that.”
Lacking even the energy to scowl, Holt sheathed his sword and sat down. He glanced at Talia who sat cross-legged and so he imitated her. Brode placed his green rider’s blade on the ground and then took up a space on the grass opposite Holt.
“When starting any session, you should always begin by slowing your breath and clearing your mind.”
Holt tried this. Steadying his breath was easy enough, though it took a while given his recent exertions. Clearing his mind was never as easy as thoughts flicked in and out, and then he’d just think about how he wasn’t able to empty his mind. A vicious cycle if he got caught in it.
“Once calm,” Brode continued, “you begin by reaching for the dragon bond. Do so gently, not yet drawing on any power from the core.”
Holt did so. Once he was so focused on his inner mind, reaching for the core was relatively simple. Perhaps it got easier as the bond grew. This time, as he reached for it, and looked to Ash’s core, a brilliant flash of light made him wince. He opened his eyes with a start.
“What happened?” Brode asked. “It was so bright.”
“Hmm. Ash has likely been pulling in motes of his magic type, perhaps more rapidly given his growth spurt. A good thing we’re going to start tidying that up.” He frowned. “You say it was bright, in what way?”
“A bit like looking directly at the sun,” Holt said. “Only paler. Much paler.”
“Fascinating,” said Brode.
“His core is a sort of pulsing ball of light.”
“As is his breath and your Shock ability,” said Brode. “Light then. Although I find it hard to believe a power like this has never manifested before.”
“Do cores from other types look… different?” Holt asked, not sure if this was the right way to phrase it.
Brode nodded. “They tend to reflect the type in some way. Erdra’s was a rock formation that grew to a mountain as she gained power. Pyra’s core began as a candle I believe.”
“It’s a bonfire now,” Talia muttered, still with her eyes closed.
“It’s magic, Holt,” Brode said in answer to Holt’s confused expression. “Just as we sometimes hear the core as song, we view it as well as our human senses can understand. Now, assuming you aren’t blinded again, have another look at Ash’s core but don’t draw any power in.”
Holt closed his eyes and refocused. This time he was ready and while the light was still bright, he squinted, so to speak, and allowed himself to get accustomed to it. Ash’s bond was still comprised of the same smoky, pale light as before. It swirled around some central point with tendrils peeling off here and there, but it seemed hazier than before as though fogged by a mist.
“It’s grown,” Holt said, keeping his eyes closed. “But it’s not clear. Like looking through a dirty window.”
“That will be the motes of magic which are not Ash’s type,” Brode said. “You won’t be able to tell what they are unfortunately. If we could, we would have been able to detect additional power types before now.”
“How do I remove them?”
“You take in a little power, then remove the impurities, and put it back.” “A bit like sieving a consommé,” Holt said. “Only you skim the scum
off the top rather than draining the soup to a different pot and then returning but—”
“You get the idea then,” said Brode. “Now, drawing on the magic to Cleanse it requires more subtle control than using it for battle. You want to take in just enough, so that the power sits inside your soul and doesn’t actually enter your body.”
“My soul?” Holt asked. “That’s a real thing then?” He’d considered that’s where the dragon bond sat within him, as he had no other way of conceiving it.
“Soul, spirit, however you wish to name it,” said Brode. “I won’t pretend to understand it. Never did when my tutors tried explaining it to me. Doubt they understood it either. Now, draw on the magic carefully I say, not fully into yourself, but keeping it tethered in the space between you and Ash. When you manage it, you’ll feel it.”
Holt nodded and tried. His first attempt was much too forceful, drawing power into his body so that he felt lithe and strong. He shook his head, steadied his breath and tried again. This time went better, less magic flowed into him but he lost his tentative grip on the magic and it drained away. Thankfully Brode stayed quiet while he fumbled trying to learn. It was
something Holt had to learn alone, and he was determined. At last, after what felt like scores of attempts, he got it just right.
A sudden weight pressed upon his chest, right where the bond sat inside him. It wasn’t painful, but breathing suddenly felt difficult, as though he was deep under water but able to draw the faintest of breaths. Unprepared for this, Holt lost control. The magic slithered away; Ash’s core vanished.
Gasping, he opened his eyes.
Brode smiled. “There you go. Now I’ll tell you the next step.” “That was hard enough,” Holt spluttered.
“Remind me who said this was easy? Now, once the magic is sitting in your soul, you must take in as deep a breath as you can manage, hold it for a few seconds, then push it out faster. Don’t blast it out, mind, maintain control at all times but it must be faster than drawing the breath in.”
Holt blinked. “Okay…” he said, very unsure how this was supposed to work.
“As you breathe out,” Brode continued, “that magic in your soul will vibrate and motes of magic not suitable to Ash – and therefore you – will feel rough. They show up as rattles or crackles in our breath as we breathe out. Let’s start by having you find one.”
Once again, Holt underwent the process of gathering some magic into his soul, keeping it just outside his body. It didn’t take so many attempts to understand how the breathing technique worked. On his third attempt, after only a few seconds of breathing out, he felt an unmistakable rattle in his own throat. His breath crackled and he faltered, losing his concentration and his position in the breathing cycle.
“It will be easy to begin with,” said Brode. “Ash will have many impurities around his core. Over time you’ll have to empty your lungs to find those crackling spots but it’s necessary work.”
“What do I do next?”
“Once you find a crackle, breath in again, nice and controlled. You want to return to the spot just before the troubled energy, ready to push on it again on your breath out. Try, I’ll talk you through it.”
Holt repeated the process, getting all the way to pushing his breath out until he felt and heard the crackle. He was so happy to have found it again, he almost forgot the next step, and breathed in too hastily. Still, he felt a slight rattle as he did so indicating he had passed the impurity on his way back up.
“That’s it,” Brode said. “And out again.”
Holt pushed his breath out, faster than before, and he felt the crackle shift. It felt to him as though it had moved up, higher in his chest, and when he next breathed in, he had to do so for longer until he felt the impurity again.
This is so delicate, Holt thought. He had considered at first that it might be like using a rolling pin to flatten out dough, constantly rolling over the same spot. If only. Using the pin was quick and easy work – Cleansing felt as though the dough were playing hide and seek with him.
“The reason for breathing out faster,” Brode continued, “is that this shifts the impurity up and away from the rest of the magic.”
Struggling but determined, Holt kept the process up. “Slowly, step by step, we keep raising it until—”
Holt nearly choked. He’d felt the crackle move substantially, as though it were now sitting at the back of his throat.
“A final effort will dispel the impurity,” Brode said.
Holt strained. The feeling in his throat was like a blockage but he breathed out as hard as he could, and the impurity shifted. It was much like clearing his throat of a bad cough. A light flashed from somewhere. He saw it through his eyelids and blinked them open, not realizing quite how forcefully he’d had them closed this whole time.
“What was that?” he asked.
“That was the energy expelling from your body,” Brode said. “It was a flash of the same white light you and Ash produce.”
Now the irregular streaks of fire that peeled away from Talia as she Cleansed made sense. Holt also understood why the riders spent hours at this. It seemed laborious and it required immense amounts of concentration just to get started, never mind purifying for hours on end.
“How long should I do this for each day?”
“Ideally until you hear no more crackles in the magic and Ash’s core appears crystal clear to you, although it’s something of a never-ending task.”
“What about Forging?” Holt asked. “Shouldn’t I know that too?”
“One thing at a time,” Brode said. “Cleanse first, Forge second. Work on this technique and we’ll tackle Forging later.”
Holt nodded. He stood up, stretched, and heard his back crack and pop. “You’ll need to sit with better posture too,” Brode growled.
Holt sighed, ran his hands through his hair several times then looked for Ash. The dragon was dozing happily by the fire.
“Is there anything Ash should be doing?”
“If dragons could actively Forge motes into their own cores, they wouldn’t need us. Their natural process of doing so takes them a lifetime to achieve what we can in years.”
Ash yawned. “You are doing very well.”
“Thanks,” Holt said bitterly. He was jealous of Ash’s leisure, but the moment passed quickly. This was the least Holt could do for dragging Ash into the world, and it was his side of the partnership. In return, he got to use magic. To be a rider.
After warming his hands by the fire and giving Ash a scratch down his neck, Holt sat himself down to Cleanse, intending to do so until he collapsed from exhaustion. Or until Brode ordered him to bed.
