Page 55 of Dragon Gods

Then again, as he re-examined the pile of bones against the wall, he knew they couldn’t sleep out here with them, either. So he turned to his self-imposed task with a heavy chest, mind unsettled. He wasn’t usually squeamish about death, but these weren’t enemy soldiers or terrorists that had been killed. He was looking down at the bones of children and families, and it didn’t take much to recognize it was likely his ancestors—the Dereyans—who had taken their lives.

Even his people learned this part of their history—when, after decades of warfare going nowhere, their ancestors had been forced to kill the last few tribes of Dragonborn that refused to bow to the king. It had been a last resort to finally bring peace to the area and save people from the constant threat of attack and death. But the killings had been brutal. Anyone not willing to submit was killed. Fox wasn’t sure he agreed with the measures taken, even if it meant he had the home he had now. He would have never admitted this out loud.

He removed his cloak, ignoring the shiver that ran up his spine at the cold air against his bare arms, still damp from the lake. It would be faster to move the bones in the cloth than try to carry them in his arms. He moved them slowly, gathering them into the center of the cloak gently. They were fragile in his hands and he didn’t want to break them any more than they already were. He was happy that at least time had done its job, leaving truly nothing but bones. Though the bite marks he noticed on some were slightly disturbing.

More disturbing were the small bones he picked up. Not the jaw bones or the fingers, but the small femurs and thin ulnas that he knew couldn’t have belonged to adults. The more bones he carried back to the dragon hall, the more it became clear that the majority belonged to children. He imagined the adults had died off fighting the war, leaving the children behind only to be slaughtered.

Did these children pose such a threat to the king that they warranted a massacre?

“Do you ever wonder why your king doesn’t do just that? Let us go free into the rainforest?”

But Fox knew all too well, peace came from unity. Without unity there would always be war. Even now, the differences between their people continued to lead to suffering and death. The Dragonborn and Dereyans could never live side-by-side in peace. They needed to unify under a single belief.

Didn’t they?

Even these thoughts couldn’t stop the guilt from clawing at his chest as he moved the bones and laid them out at the altar for their gods. And underneath the watch of the dragons, he couldn’t stop himself from counting the number of skulls. Each life taken was a blade in his heart.

When he was done, the bones stretched along the entire room. He took a minute to clear the two altars Sofia hadn’t and light the candles there. Something about leaving the bones alone in the dark felt wrong, superstitious beliefs or not.

Sofia hadn’t returned by the time he was done clearing away the remains, but he managed to find a functional broom in the kitchens and used it to sweep a large swath of ground clean. He found the best leaves he could and made two small beds. They wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping, but at least the leaves would protect them from the cold tiles below.

He laid down in one. It was the most uncomfortable he’d ever been, but if it meant not waking up to a faery demon or wolfshifter attempting to kill him, he’d deal with it.

He was lying on the ground, staring at the painted ceiling and wondering if there was a position to make it more comfortable when he heard Sofia’s call.

She carefully, yet quickly, walked down the stone steps back into the cenote, two dead rabbits hanging from her neck, tied with a vine.

She helped him prep the rabbits. They’d put together the fire, with Sofia quite vehemently pointing out each mistake as he placed the twigs, as if it mattered how the wood looked before they burned it. But he didn’t argue, already thinking about the smoky taste of the meat to come. He’d even managed to find them a sealed jar of salt in the kitchens area—one of the only things that hadn’t rotted with age. It didn’t fix the chewy texture of the wild meat, unfamiliar to Fox, but it helped with the taste at least.

He could have even called himself content by the time they’d eaten their fill. He buried the rest of the rabbit on the other side of the cavern while Sofia took the hearts to the altars as offerings. Why dead gods needed offerings, he wasn’t sure, but he chose to keep quiet and not start a fight.

She was quiet when she returned, stoking the fire and checking his burial work without comment.

“These are terrible,” Sofia said sometime later as she laid down on the small pile of leaves he’d put together for them. Her tone wasn’t as harsh as he expected.

“They are,” he agreed. “It was that or dirt.”

“At least the fire’s warm.”

“And there are no faeries down here, just ghosts.” He meant it as a joke, but even saying the words sent a shiver through him and he wondered if he’d just imagined the air around him growing colder.

“I saw what you did for the bones.” Sofia’s voice was soft.

“They were people. They deserved the dignity.”

“Thank you.”

They were silent for a while, the only sounds the whistling of the wind above and the crackle of the wood burning between them.

“Did your parents teach you about the dragons and the old ways?” he asked.

The question was born of pure curiosity, but she stiffened at his words.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I—I have to wonder how you know so much when...” He trailed off, uncomfortable.

“When my people aren’t allowed to know such things?” she said after too long.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

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