FWFW 3 - 53 (Patreon)

Morgan sat on Bronwyn’s Hill, a few feet from one of the stone stairs leading up to the Town Stone. His hands were out behind him, resting on the warm blue-tinted grass, and his face was toward the sun. It wasn’t hot, and there was a definite hint of coolness in the breeze that tickled his exposed skin, but the sky was cloudless, and the bright midday sun felt wonderful. His wings were partially splayed behind him, so he didn’t sit on them, and he marveled at how they soaked up the sunlight and the amount of sensation he had at the base of each of his thousands of feathers.

He’d finished with his ring order, sampled some cider someone was selling from a cart near the crafting pavilion, and now he was simply waiting for Issa. “Nothing else on my plate,” he said, enjoying the feeling. He opened his eyes and looked to the north, a smile quirking his lips when he saw his tower. It had gone from an imposing, brooding place to a bright, almost inspiring edifice. It reminded him of something you might see in a fairy tale or fantasy novel. “Should I keep it bronze? Maybe I should try steel or silver. Maybe gold?” He chuckled at himself, realizing he’d find something even shinier to be too garish. Who was he to live in a golden tower?

While staring at the tower, he realized he was still sort of aware of it. He could feel movement within, and when he concentrated, he realized it was the work crew that Alicia Washington had brought in to work on the home for Ykleedra. He wondered how far he could be from the tower and still sense things within. Would he be able to do so from anywhere? Would it fade away as he moved further afield? “Something to experiment with, I guess.”

He’d started to relax again, closing his eyes, when he felt a surge of Energy, darkly tainted with something like death from within the tower. “The hell?” He opened his eyes and concentrated on the tower again, searching through it with his mind, almost like he could see the inside of his storage ring. There, near the middle, he could sense Ykleedra and her sisters, the human work crew not far away. He couldn’t see the source of the Energy surge, though there seemed to be a dark shadow near the bright, warm signature he associated with Ykleedra.

Morgan stared at the obscured space, trying to pierce its veil, and with an effort of will, he started to unravel the shadows. As they fell away, he became aware of another Core, another being with the same kind of dark, decaying Energy he’d felt surge up. As he tugged more of the shadows away, the Core surged again, and Ykleedra’s warm, familiar Core signature dimmed. “What the fuck?” Morgan leaped to his feet, and his wings cracked as he launched himself into the air.

He’d just begun diving down the hill when he winked out of existence in a rip through reality, reappearing, hurtling through the air, much closer to his tower. He dove toward the door atop its short set of stairs, but before he could close the distance, he cast Void Step again and suddenly crashed into the door with a resounding gong. He wasn’t phased by the collision, though, yanking the door open and charging into his tower.

#

“I know. Hush, now.” Ykleedra softly ran a tentacle along the back of Pkril’s head, gently smoothing her long white hair. “He’s mean and short-tempered, but we won’t have to deal with him much longer. When Morgan gets back, I’m going to confess everything to him. He’ll know what to do about Tkron.” Pkril just sniffed, pushing her face into Ykleedra’s stomach, and, not for the first time, Ykleedra wondered at the trauma Tkron was visiting upon the little ones. She wondered at the wisdom of her mother and grandmother in raising her away from her father.

She stretched out another tentacle, gently rubbing at the hairline crack in Pkril’s chitin. If Tkron had hit her much harder, he’d have caused a severe injury. “This will heal soon, Pkril. Little sweet one, just keep your distance from him, all right?” The little girl sniffed and nodded, a testament to her quick and clever mind—she’d been the earliest talker and could already clean after herself when she voided.

“Is that so, sister?” a deep, hoarse voice asked from the shadows of the nearby ferns. Ykleedra’s heart nearly stopped, and she scurried to face the voice, pushing Pkril back behind her.

“Tkron! You shouldn’t be out here! What if someone sees you?”

“You mean before you have a chance to report me to your Human? Before you ask him to slay me?”

“I’d never, Tkron! If I spoke to Morgan, it would be to ask him to help you leave! To help you find a home away from the Humans!”

“Is that right?” Suddenly a surge of Energy erupted from Tkron, and Ykleedra felt a horrible pain on one of her tentacles, the one she’d been pushing Pkril back with. She yanked it back, tucking it under her robe, but not before seeing the open, rotting sore Tkron had inflicted with his decay-attuned Energy.

“Brother!” she cried, using the word for the first time in weeks.

“Now I’m ‘brother?’ Not Tkron?” he lurched forward, crashing out of the ferns, his long, powerful, front walking legs digging into the turf as he stomped toward her. Ykleedra cowered, hoping to assuage his wrath with a show of submission. It usually worked, allowing her to escape his anger with just an injury or two, but he’d never used his decay Energy on her before. As she bent low, folding her own walking legs so that she seemed even smaller, he lifted his front forelimb and smashed the hard, chitin claw into her back, driving her down into the soil.

“Brother,” Ykleedra said again, between sobs, struggling to pull in air. She’d never learned any spells for fighting—her mother had deemed her too young, and she’d hardly cultivated any decay, not even forming an affinity for it. No, she had just a weakly throbbing Core of simple Energy and knew nothing but a few utility spells that the Human teacher had taught her. What good was a ball of light when your giant brother stomped you into the soil?

“You call me ‘brother’ only when you want something, sister!” he sneered. “I think your influence on my other sisters has turned sour. I think it’s time we all left and that I taught you some respect!” he pressed down on the heavy, sharp, hard claw, driving her into the ground and pushing out more of her air, then he turned to the cowering Pkril. “Fetch your sisters, runt. Hurry!” Pkril scampered back but didn’t leave, looking from Ykleedra to Tkron with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“She, uh,” Ykleedra tried again, “She can’t . . .” again, Tkron pushed down on her back, driving out the breath she’d managed to steal.

“She can’t what?” he asked, twisting his foreclaw back and forth, grinding it into her back, ripping through her silver robe.

“She,” Ykleedra wheezed, unable to pull in enough air to complete a sentence. She gasped, desperate to pull in more air, and then, suddenly, the weight was gone. A weird sound, like the air was eating itself, erupted above her, and Tkron was crashing through the ferns to smash into a narrow-trunked plum tree, cracking the wood and making the branches thrash back and forth, sending half-ripened fruit flying in every direction.

“Who the fuck are you?” Morgan growled, his gleaming broadsword in one hand, and his wings spread wide. Even Tkron’s oversized body seemed insignificant before him, his long legs scrabbling in the dirt for purchase as he worked to stand. Morgan looked at Ykleedra and her cowering little sister, and if his eyes were angry before, they turned to pure molten rage. He strode toward Tkron, sword held high, and a wave of pure murderous intent poured out of him. Ykleedra saw the demise of her people in that wave, saw the ruined bodies of a million Yovashi, and she cried out in despair.

Tkron, the direct focus of Morgan’s rage and aura projection, fell flat, uncontrollable sobs pouring from his throat. He might have been born with memories and knowledge, but he was still a child, and none of his racial memories could have prepared him for a confrontation with Morgan, the furious bane of Yovashi. “Morgan,” Ykleedra said, coughing with the effort. She tried again, raising her voice, panic driving her as Morgan closed the distance, and she could see his arm flexing, ready to bring his sword down. “Morgan!”

Morgan stopped, stiffening, and turned, glancing at her over his shoulder and wing. “Ykleedra?”

“Morgan, please don’t kill him. He’s my brother.”

“He . . .” Morgan stood there, chest heaving, staring at her. After several heartbeats, he made a visible effort to calm himself and lowered his sword. Ykleedra could feel his aura, his murderous intent starting to fade away, and he turned to Tkron. “Don’t move. If you threaten Ykleedra or her sisters in any way, I’ll take you apart.” He looked away from Tkron, cowering in the ferns, much the way Ykleedra had been cowering before him, and said, “Ykleedra, what’s going on? You had a brother? How’d he get into my tower?”

“He was one of my mother’s eggs, Morgan. I didn’t know, I swear! I didn’t know that male Yovashi are born with memories. I didn’t know any of it!” She sobbed then, unable to contain her emotions. Guilt, fear, and relief warred for dominance in her mind, and she cried, tears pouring out of her dark, fathomless eyes. She felt the warm, gentle caress of Pkril’s tentacles as her little sister curled up underneath her, also crying.

“Ykleedra, it’s okay,” Morgan said, trying to console her while he stood guard over Tkron at the same time. “Tiladia!” he called. Suddenly the tinkling, misty form of the dragon spirit was there, and she whirled over to Morgan.

“Morgan?”

“I need you to tell me what the fuck is going on here!”

“I don’t know, Morgan! Are you referring to that Yovashi cowering before you? I didn’t see what happened! Was he your guest?”

Morgan sighed heavily and said, “No, Tiladia. He wasn’t my guest.” His voice was calm now, resigned, and the rage seemed to have left him. Ykleedra loved that about him—she’d never seen him carry anger for long. “Can you please watch this guy? I need to talk to Ykleedra.”

“Of course, Morgan. Should he move even an inch, I will alert you.” Tiladia took on the misty dragon form that Ykleedra loved so much and began to swoop and swirl around the cowering Tkron. Then Ykleedra felt warm hands and arms curling around her, and she was lifted into the air, her long walking legs dangling loosely.

“Come on, um, Pkril, right? Follow us,” Morgan said as he carried Ykleedra further into the atrium, away from her burrow and toward the large clearing where the house was being built. “I think I heard your sisters over here.”

“That’s right. They were playing. Pkril wandered off and angered Tkron. I was comforting her when he heard me say that I was going to tell you about him. Then he attacked me!” Ykleedra wanted to tell Morgan everything now, she was gasping for air still, though, and her words were pained and came slowly accompanied by breathy wheezes.

“Shh. Hold on,” Morgan jogged along the path, making quick work of the little trip to the clearing, and there were her sisters, playing amid the piled lumber that Alicia’s people had left. Morgan set Ykleedra down in the grass nearby then he handed her a small vial. “Drink this,” he said. Ykleedra did as he said, swallowing the warm, sweet liquid, and then heat flooded through her pathways, and suddenly, with an audible pop, her ribs expanded, and she could breathe easily again. She glanced at her tentacle, noting with relief that the decay-filled wound had also healed.

“Thank you, Morgan,” she sobbed, reaching out a tentacle to gently grip his wrist.

“Hush, it’s fine. You can tell me everything later, but for now, just tell me what you want me to do with your brother.” Morgan knelt in front of her, the rage and murder in his eyes completely gone, and he smiled, reaching out to gently rub her shoulder. “You’re okay, Ykleedra. He’ll never hurt you again, no matter what you say.”

“I don’t know what you should do, Morgan. I don’t know what is right. I don’t want him to die, but he’s grown more and more unstable in just the few months he’s been out of his egg. What will he be like in years? There’s something wrong with the magic that gave him his memories and made him mature so quickly, I’m sure of it.”

“Huh. So if I let him go, send him away, he could end up hurting innocent people.” Morgan scratched at his chin, eyes going distant. “Well, I’ll tell you this because you're his sister, Ykleedra. The wizard who built this tower wasn’t a nice guy. He had something like prison cells in the basement. I can feel them. Would it be okay if I put your brother into one of them until we figure out a better solution?”

“Yes! I think that would be best, Morgan! He’s become violent and unpredictable.”

“Alright, Ykleedra. You stay here with your sisters. Don’t worry about a thing, all right? I’ll come talk to you after I get things settled, and I’ll bring Issa. Would that make you feel better? She’d love to talk to you about this, to help you sort out your feelings. No matter what, you don’t have to worry—you’re not in trouble. I’ll never make you leave or anything like that, okay? This is your home,” he gestured to the clearing and the foundations sticking out of the soil. “Isn’t that right, little ones?” he asked the gathering of Ykleedra’s little sisters, all trying to squeeze closer and closer to her, somehow sensing her distress.

Ykleedra, feeling too emotional for words, just nodded to Morgan, and he smiled. He stood up and waved, then stalked away through the garden, back the way they’d come. Ykleedra watched him go, and though she knew he wasn’t going to kill her brother, she’d already started to think of Tkron as “gone.” She’d be fine if she never saw him again.