Page 13 of Skyshade
Wraith straightened immediately. The ride was smooth for several minutes, until he began lowering.
“You’ll remember, his landing needs some work,” Grim whispered behind her, shadows circling her waist once more.
“What—”
Her voice was swallowed by the wind as they suddenly dropped what felt like a mile in one fell swoop. Her body lifted from Wraith’s back, hovering, until the shadows tightened, pulling her back in place. Her breath caught in her chest as the ground came into view. Closer. Closer.
Wraith’s wings spread for just a moment before they landed, and then they were sliding through the dirt, his talons ripping up a slice of farmland, dirt exploding everywhere, before finally stopping at the edge of a village.
The dragon looked over his shoulder at them, grinning.
Grim sighed in a long-suffering way, then portaled them off his back.
The village was comprised of quaint houses constructed from either river stone or wood. She could see the edge of a modest square, with wagons selling produce. There were the beginnings of a fence built around it all, stopping just shy of complete, as if someone had given up just before finishing. A few people were visible beyond it, but they weren’t moving. No, they were stopped. Staring.
The man closest to them dropped the harvest he was carrying, his mouth falling open as Wraith flipped onto his back, shaking the ground itself, hoping to have his stomach scratched. Grim ignored him.
Silence, then screaming. Mostly coming from children, who yelled excitedly as they flooded through holes in the not-completed wall, followed by mothers who screamed with far less excitement.
When they saw Grim, even the children paused. Bowed. There were whispers—ruler.
Then, their attention turned to Isla. More whispers. They bowed again. Some eyed her with suspicion. Some mothers looked at her with more fear than the dragon behind her.
She was used to it.
Whereas the others seemed frozen in shock, an old woman stepped freely beyond the small crowd that had formed. She used what looked like a fire poker to support her gait. Her hair was silver, her eyes were sharp, and her smile was kind.
“What brings you to our village?” she asked, her booming voice completely at odds with her age.
Grim turned to look at Isla. He was going to follow her lead, apparently.
She straightened. There was so much blood on her hands, but stopping the storms could mean saving hundreds of people. She needed to know what she was up against. “We—we had some questions regarding the storms a few years ago, and the beast it brought. Do you remember it?” Grim had filled her in before they left the castle. This village had been attacked by a creature no one had ever seen before, or since.
“Remember?” the old woman said. “I’m still finding blood stains in my floorboards.”
Isla swallowed.
“Follow me.” Isla and Grim exchanged a glance; then Isla nodded. The woman led them down the long dusty road, the villagers’ eyes following them all the while, until they arrived in front of her house. She pointed at places on the floor of her modest kitchen that were undeniably stained crimson.
“Snuck through the window. Attacked my husband. He survived, somehow, though not with all his limbs. He’s gone now.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Isla hesitated. “What did it look like? The creature?”
The woman pursed her lips. Wrinkles sprouted from them like roots across her pale face. “Teeth. That’s what I remember. Lots of teeth. Oddly shaped too...crowding the mouth. It looked like a shadow, almost, slithering across the floor.”
The creature was eventually killed, Grim explained. Its teeth had been sold over time. There was nothing left now for them to look at.
The old woman shook her head. She sank into her seat with a groan. “I always said those damn storms were getting worse. They’re harbingers of the end, I tell you.”
The other villagers told them similar stories. Some died by running out of their homes into the night, thanks to the curse. Others were mauled by the great teeth that were described slightly differently, depending on who was speaking.
Most were far less welcoming than the old woman, at least, to Isla. She didn’t miss the way they studied her when they thought she wasn’t looking, like she was yet another creature, come to ruin them.
She also noticed how they looked at Grim—not with fear, which she expected, but with reverence. Some used the opportunity to air grievances, and Grim took notes. He promised solutions. He made plans to have people in his court follow up on every concern. She didn’t know why this shocked her, but it did.
All of the villagers seemed terrified of the start of another storm season. Some got to work packing their most valuable belongings and leaving them by their doors. There were tunnels built below Nightshade during the curses, to allow for nighttime travel. They had been used as shelters before, but the tempests were unpredictable, coming down without warning. Killing before anyone had a chance to run.
As they left, Isla turned the old woman’s words in her head. She had called the storms harbingers of the end. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
