Page 108 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I approach him, my heart beating faster than it should.—Ready?
He lowers his head. His large eyes fix on me, obsidian pupils growing until they seem large enough to swallow me whole. Each eye is wider than my entire body. The jagged scar over his right eye looks particularly vivid in the dim light.
—All right.I wipe sweaty hands on my thighs, take a deep breath, and step closer, placing my palms against his snout.
Closing my eyes, I push past our familiar mental connection, the everyday link we use for conversation. Slowly, I reach deeper into territories I’ve respectfully avoided.
The barrier between us thins, then dissolves completely. Suddenly I’m falling, tumbling headlong into an abyss that stretches back centuries, ancient and powerful, threatening to drown me in their vastness.
I plummet through an endless sea of memories, each one a blinding fragment—light flashing through water, scales glinting in sunshine, blood on snow, mountains rising and falling like breathing chests, oceans swallowing land, forests burning to ash only to rise again. Faces blur past—humans, dragons, creatures I can’t name. I grasp at them, but they slip through my fingers like smoke.
The vertigo overwhelms me. I can’t tell which way is up, which way is down. I’m drowning, losing grip on who I am.
—Zephyros!I scream, though my mouth doesn’t move, can’t move. The void swallows my voice.
A deep, resonant hum vibrates through the chaos. It surrounds me, cradles me, slows my terrifying descent. The sensation is like being wrapped in a blanket during a storm, protected from the fury outside.
—Slowly, little one. You are safe with me.
The tumbling slows. The memories still whirl past, but no longer a disorienting blur. I can breathe again, can feel myself separate from the ancient consciousness I’m swimming through.
—Look at anything you want, he says.Start slow. Avoid what was taken for now. It might be too risky.
I accept the invitation, letting instinct and curiosity guide me. I think of Merrill, Silas’s brother, and memories swirl into place, colors and sensations blending until they coalesce into a vivid scene. Sky, endless blue punctuated by wispy clouds. Wind rushes past me—no, past Zephyros—as he soars through the air. Below, mountains rise like serrated teeth from the earth.
I watch a healthy Merrill atop Zephyros’s head. He’s grinning, eyes wild with excitement as they charge toward a horde of Screechclaws. His wind magic swirls around him like a tempest.
“We’ll take them all!” he shouts, standing upright instead of staying low against Zephyros’s scales.
—This is reckless.
I hear the thought, which Zephyros can’t speak into Merrill’s mind since he isn’t a Weaver like me.
He banks sharply to avoid talons. Merrill laughs maniacally, leaping impossibly high off Zephyros’s head to strike at a Screechclaw. His wind magic propels him through the air like a missile. He takes down one harpy, then another, Wind Spears slicing through their wings. Zephyros beats his wings faster to position himself under Merrill. It’s an impressive attack, but totally rash.
—He’s going to get himself killed,I whisper into the memory.
Merrill spins midair, killing a third Screechclaw, but doesn’t see the one diving from above. Zephyros roars a warning, lunging upward to catch his falling rider, but the Screechclaw—her body already riddled with wounds—plummets directly into Merrill’s back with shocking force. The sickening crack echoes through the memory as they collide.
I feel Zephyros’s terror as he catches Merrill’s limp body in his claws, the Screechclaw’s corpse falling away. Blood soaks through Merrill’s uniform.
Merrill screams in agony. “I can’t feel my legs,” he gasps, face white with shock. “You were supposed to… catch me. Can’t... feel...”
My stomach turns as I witness Zephyros’s frantic flight back to Fort Ashmire, his rider’s life force fading, too damaged for any medic to fully repair.
I gasp as the memory shifts, tumbling out of Merrill’s tragedy and into something even older.
Zephyros appears younger, his hide gleaming without blemish. No scar yet mars his eye. He carries no rider. Below him stretches a verdant valley nestled between gray mountain peaks. Fragor soars beside him, both dragons patrolling high above the land.
A disturbance catches Zephyros’s attention. His vision—sharper than any human’s—zooms in on movement within a distant mountain pass. My breath catches as I recognize what they must be. Land dragons. Massive, wingless beasts with armored hides and tails like battering rams. Their scaled bodies slither through the pass with terrifying purpose, dozens of them.
—Fragor! Look!Zephyros’s voice carries no trace of his usual sarcasm.Land dragons entering the northern valley! They are heading straight for the nesting grounds. They got past the defenses!
Fear spikes through Zephyros, a visceral panic that makes my own heart race. I feel his desperate concern for something precious beyond measure.
—Oh, no! The eggs!I shout into the memory, sharing his horror.
Fragor banks closer, his eyes narrowing.—There are too many, Zephyros. We cannot defeat them alone. We need to get help.
