Chapter Thirty Seven

*****

Mirelle thumped her maul down as Aylaryl stalked away from them. She set a hand on Revaramek’s shoulder and glanced up at the dragon’s face. Concern etched itself in crinkled lines across his pebbly-scaled muzzle. “Rev, what does…what does that mean?”

“Hrrm?” The dragon blinked his bronze eyes, glancing down at Mirelle.

“About Enora.” Mirelle snuck a peek at the older woman, standing with Asterbury and the gryphons. She turned her eyes back to Revaremek’s. “How old is she?”

The dragon shrugged his copper-splotched wings, they rustled at his sides. “I’ve no idea.”

Mirelle scrunched her face. She supposed she should have guessed, since Revaramek didn’t know his own age, either. “Do dragons just not keep track of ages?”

Revaramek cocked his head, furrowing his eye ridges. “How would I do that?”

“What?” Mirelle rubbed her forehead. “You just…what? Do you know your birthday? Or…the day you hatched, or whatever it is you dragons do?”

“We hatch.” Revaramek snorted, scratching his neck with a wingtip. “And no, I don’t. Do you?”

“Yes! Mine is the fourth of Bright Sun.”

“I don’t think dragons use your calendar.”

“That’s not the-” Mirelle clamped her jaw shut. Getting frustrated at Revaramek for being Revaramek wasn’t going to do them any good. That frustration was deserved elsewhere. “We do it so we can celebrate the day of our birth, or the birth of our loved ones. And that way we can count our years.”

The dragon tilted his head in the other direction, flattening his ears back. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So we know how old we are!”

“You can’t tell you’re getting older without counting?” Revaramek flicked his tail tip back and forth a few times. “Humans are weird.”

Mirelle glared at him. She folded her arms and drummed her fingers, waiting for the question.

“So…”

“Yes?”

“How old are-”

“If you think it’s weird why should I tell you?”

The dragon lowered his head to her, smiling. Mirelle wondered if he had any idea how infuriating that toothy grin was right now. “You asked me my age, back in the cave.”

“And you didn’t know!”

“But I’d have told you if I did.” Revaramek swiveled his ears towards her. “And you do know, so how old are you?”

Mirelle took a slow breath, growled through grit teeth, and unfolded her arms to poke Revaramek right between his nostrils. “Twenty nine. Happy?”

Revaramek lifted a hind paw to scratch at his side. “Thought you were younger.”

Mirelle’s eyes widened, and she stomped a patch of grass flat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Revaramek pulled his head back, necking curling. “Is that an insult? I just…I don’t know human ages! I know Enora’s older than you but…wait, how long do humans live?”

“Enora!” Mirelle clapped her hands together. “That’s what we were talking about, before your damn distractions.”

“You’re the one who asked me how old she was.”

Mirelle ignored him, and took a few steps towards the others. She froze, then whirled around as whispers of an idea drifted through her mind. She furrowed her brow, murmuring silent thoughts to herself. Moment by moment, a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve pieced itself together in her head.

“Yeah…I was.” Mirelle picked her maul up, and rested it on her shoulder. “And you’ve known her since before the truce, right?”

“Her and Aylaryl both.”

“Mmm.” Mirelle tapped a finger on the maul’s haft. “When Aylaryl was still living with her parents. But back in the cave…” She gazed up at the dragon. “You said you thought you were an adult when they made you sign the truce. But Enora called you a lonely adolescent when they captured you, told you weren’t really old enough to be a threat yet. Rev, do you know what adolescent means?”

The dragon licked his nose, considering the word. “Old enough to mate?”

“Well…sort of. Wait.” Mirelle shifted the maul to her other shoulder. “What do dragons consider adulthood?”

“Same answer.” Revaramek tilted his head. “Old enough to mate.”

“No, you horny idiot-” Mirelle cut herself off when it hit her. “You thought…you thought were an adult, didn’t you? Or…you see it differently than we do. But if you were only an adolescent…” Mirelle’s head spun. Something cold and unsettling coiled in her belly. “Rev, don’t dragons live longer than us? Age slower?”

Revaramek shrugged his wings. “No, dragons age by the year just like you.”

“That’s not what I meant. How long would you say it takes a dragon to go through adolescence? Say, from the time you first reach it, to the time you’d be…completely grown and leaving your family?”

“Mirelle, our families were-”

“I know!” Mirelle stomped, then softened her tone. She set her free hand on Revaramek’s nose, just between his nostrils. “I’m sorry, Rev, but please, just try to focus. How long does it take a dragon to go from reaching adolescence, to being a full grown adult, living on their own?”

“I don’t know. I…I didn’t have anyone to teach me these things, Mirelle.” Revaramek turned his head away, his frills drooping. “Everything I learned about dragons…well, the tales don’t usually discuss things like that.”

Mirelle’s heart cracked when she realized what that meant. She pulled his head back towards her, and pressed her face to his muzzle. No wonder he acted the way he did. She cursed Asterbury for forcing her to gloss that over and promised herself she’d talk to him about it, later. Mirelle stroked his jaw, then offered him a smile. “I’m sorry, Rev, I am. But this is important. Can you take a guess?”

“I don’t know, thirty years?” Revaramek’s bronze eyes crossed, trying to focus on her. “Maybe more like forty. We could ask Aylaryl.”

A shiver rolled down Mirelle’s spine. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of. Was Enora a girl, or a grown woman when you first met her?”

Revaramek eased his head back, tilting it, shining eyes shifting as he inspected her. “Grown. Your age, I should think. Maybe a little older. She owned a bookstore, you know. She used to provide-”

The shiver became a cascade of ice pouring through Mirelle’s every vein. “That’s impossible.”

“Alright, so it was just a book cart at the time. But that still counts as store, does it not?”

“Rev, if you were that young and she was that old when she met you, she should be…” Mirelle turned away from the dragon to stare at the others. Aylaryl had rejoined them and settled on her haunches near Enora and Asterbury. The purple dragon turned her head, and flashed Mirelle a knowing smirk. “She should eighty, if she’s a day. Hell, she ought to be older than Jekk. I’m not even sure she should still be alive.”

“You think Enora’s a ghost?” Revaramek gasped behind her, his wings rustling.

“I think we’re going to wish it was that simple.” Mirelle strode forward, her jaw set and shoulders squared, maul resting upon one. “Let’s go ask her.”

“What was that name you said a moment ago?” Revaramek padded alongside her, his tail swishing behind him, its spined fan on full display.

“Jekk.” Mirelle replied but kept her focus on Enora and the others. “He’s a bitter old man who sits on the council whose lucky I haven’t knocked out what few teeth he’s got left. Been there as long as I can remember. Might be the only one left from the original founding council.”

“Jekk. Jekk.” Revaramek muttered the name to himself as they crossed the meadow. “I know that name. Think he was a high ranking soldier or something, when they made me sign the truce. They made me agree to it at sword point, and then later they made me…sign some sort of document. I remember someone called Jekk arguing with Enora.”

Mirelle almost missed a step. “Who was older, back then?”

Revaramek rumbled, scratching at his neck with a wing tip. “Enora, I think.”

“Dear Gods.”

The dragon curled his neck to peer down at her as they approached the rest of the group. “Is that bad?”

“It’s not good.”

Mirelle swept her gaze across everyone as they reached Revaramek’s supposed friends and their cackling ally. She wanted to know where everyone was at all times, now. No way in hell she was letting Aylaryl or anyone else catch her by surprise again if things went south. Enora stood towards the back of the group, with Aylaryl off to one side, and the gryphons to the other. Asterbury paced in front of the everyone, turning towards Mirelle when he saw her coming.

Grimacing, Mirelle shifted the maul to her other shoulder. Its weight dug into her whenever she rested it for too long. Her arms ached. When they were done with all this, if there was a village to go back to she was going to have to hire someone to teach her to fight with a maul. And a sword. Maybe an axe. But definitely a maul.

“Ah!” Asterbury walked out to meet Mirelle, a big smile on his gray-furred muzzle. “You’ve rejoined our company at last. Ready for our big chat?” He glanced at Revaramek. “I can take care of those little cuts and broken stitches for you, if you like.”

Mirelle walked right past Asterbury without even giving him a glance. She glared at Enora, lifting her maul as if expecting the woman to attack her. “How old are you?”

Asterbury stared in the direction Mirelle came from without turning around to her. He lifted his voice. “Well, that was rude.” He dropped it back down. “It certainly was, Mirelle Two.”

Mirelle shot back at him without looking. “Shut up and heal my friend.”

“I could do that.” Asterbury spread his hands, his big gray ears perked around his horns. “But he’ll have to let me touch him. And it’s not going to feel very pleasant.”

Revaramek lowered his head, glaring at Asterbury. “You keep your paws off me.”

“And here I thought you’d be chomping at the bit to get a shot at me when I’m all weak and stumbly after using my powers to heal someone.” Asterbury shrugged, flicking his bushy tail. “Your loss.”

“Just let him heal you, Revaramek.” Aylaryl turned her head towards the green dragon. “I want you at full strength for our next fight.”

Revaramek met her glare. “I’m fine.”

Chir’raal jumped to his paws and put himself between the two dragons. He spread his black-barred wings, hissing at them both. “You’re not fighting anymore!”

Mirelle kept walking until she was standing right before Enora. She shifted her grip on her maul, working her hands back and forth against the handle. Her fingers were cold, her palms slick. Something agitated twisted in her belly. “You didn’t answer me.”

Enora sighed, glancing away. She wrung her hands. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“The truth!” Mirelle grit her teeth, snarling. “Everyone’s just dancing around it!”

“Don’tcha just hate it when that happens?” Asterbury cackled behind her.

“How old are you?” Mirelle lifted her maul, fire flickering in her eyes.

Asterbury’s voice rose once more to a high pitch. “I won’t ask you again!” He glanced at the dagger on his hip. “Oh, Mirelle Two, you beat her to the punch. But she doesn’t realize that’s far more threatening if she’s already killed someone.”

“The truth, my dear councilwoman…” Enora turned her face back to Mirelle. Something new and hard shone in her eyes, like a wall carefully constructed around an old sorrow. “Is that I stopped counting decades ago. I suspect I’m somewhere around Revaramek’s age. I was thirty four when I was banished from your village. That must have been at least fifty years ago. Maybe longer, given how long Rev’s been fully grown.”

“How…” Mirelle’s arms went limp. Her grip slacked, she nearly dropped her maul. “How is that...?” She couldn’t help but stare at Enora. A few strands of gray marked her dark hair, and small crow’s feet surrounded her eyes, but the woman looked at most twice Mirelle’s age. Maybe younger. “That can’t be. You should be…so much older.”

“You know, Jekk said that exact thing to me, when I paid him a visit.” Asterbury strode around Mirelle to stand next to Enora.

Enora scrunched her face, glancing at the Urd’thin. “That old bastard’s still kicking around?”

“For now.” Asterbury cackled again, then flattened his ears back. “You never told me-”

“You specifically asked me not to give you names.” Enora folded her arms, staring down at him.

“So I did. I do love a good pleasant surprise. Oooh, and the look on his face when he recognized me!” The urd’thin shivered, his fur bristling.

Mirelle worked her jaw, but could not find words. The rest of her body was stiff, unresponsive, frozen by the ice pumping through her veins. The lunatic knew Jekk?

Asterbury smoothed his hands back over his ears and gave Mirelle a smile. “You’re wondering how, right? But how her?” He pointed to Enora. “Or how Jekk?”

Mirelle looked between Enora and Asterbury several times, struggling to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. “How anything!”

“How anything indeed.” Asterbury’s voice remained infuriatingly level. He held his hand up towards Enora’s face, flicking back an ear. “May I demonstrate? It’s just easier that way.”

Enora’s face twisted up. She swallowed a few times as if trying to force herself to down a bitter tonic. “If you must. But only a little.”

“Of course.” Asterbury reached higher, and cupped the older woman’s cheek in his gray-furred hand. “It’s only ever a little at a time for her, you see. She’s leery of the concept.” Asterbury glanced back at Mirelle, his dark eyes whirling like mournful spirits borne of black ink. “You think all I can do is heal a wound, jump from a high place, or sidestep a maul?” Asterbury stroked Enora’s cheek. She sucked in a breath, tensing. As his furred fingers brushed her skin, the wrinkles around her eyes smoothed out. The gray streaks in her hair darkened. Her dark brown eyes sharpened. Everywhere, her skin tightened. Enora grit her teeth, trembling, till Asterbury pulled his hand back once the years had melted away. “But I can do so much more.”

Mirelle dropped her maul. That was impossible.

Enora took a few shuddering breaths as Mirelle just gaped at her. “Think you…took off a few more than I expected.”

“Well you’re going to have a lot of work to do on that new council.” Asterbury smiled, and squeezed her hand. “You’ll need plenty of years to do it.”

Revaramek stepped up alongside Mirelle. His frills all stood on end, gold edges displayed in shock, as though he couldn’t decide between confusion and terror. He pushed his muzzle to Enora, nostrils flaring. “You…you smell. Different. Not just younger, but…like him, like…burning vellum.”

Asterbury waved his hand. “That will fade.”

Mirelle finally tore her gaze away from Enora to stare down at Asterbury. A thousand questions fought for dominance in her mind, each struggling to reach her tongue first. She soon blurted out the only thing that seemed to matter in that moment. “What are you?”

“Now that…” Asterbury jabbed the air with a clawed finger. “Is a good question!”

“She says you’re not a god.” Alyaryl’s voice was filled with more smugness than wonder. She must have known Asterbury would make that demonstration. Just how many times had he done that before?

“And she’s right.” Asterbury waved at the female dragon, smiling. “If anything I’m more of a…” He circled his hand in the air. “Minor demi-god, I think.”

“I need to sit down.” Enora’s knees wobbled. Aylaryl reached out a foreleg to help ease her to the ground. “Always leaves me dizzy.”

“How long have you known him?” Revaramek joined Aylaryl in helping Enora down.  She rubbed his muzzle and he sniffed at her again.

“Not as long as she’s known you.” Asterbury answered for her, flattening his ears. “Though I don’t keep track anymore, I’d guess three or four decades. But it’s rude to butt in, Mirelle asked a question first. And to get back to it…” The urd’thin spun on his heel, his purple and gold cloak swirling behind him. “I don’t truly know what to call what I’ve become. I’d call myself The Storyteller but I’d sooner jump off a cliff and onto a sword blade groin-first than associate myself with those monsters. I’m a hundred years old if I’m a day, and everywhere I go, I get stronger.” He lifted his hand, staring at his gray furred fingers. “I decided I don’t want to age, and so I don’t. I’ve seen a dozen worlds, and four dozen stories if I’ve seen one.”

Images sprang into being above Asterbury. She saw an urd’thin, nearly naked, wandering a desert. Then the same urd’thin, a little older, shivering in a snowstorm. Then again, lost amidst the bustle of a crowded street. Standing atop a castle tower. Staring up at a gleaming palace of shining crystal. On the edge of a red wasteland.

“I try to set them right, but there’s always another fracture.” The wasteland became two images. One with a dragon in a collar, one without. “They change things, and I want to put them back the way they should have been, but…I can’t.” He snarled, his dark eyes burning. The grass around his feet rippled. Green blades dissolved into sand. “I try so hard to fix it, but I can’t unmake what already exists. Once the new story is born, it will continue to exist until it reaches its new ending. A story wants what it wants, but the fractures…they…they change it. And then there’s two, there’s four…” He trailed off, staring across the meadow for a moment. He worked his muzzle but no sound came out. He licked his nose, and gave a heavy sigh. “All our lives are a story, Mirelle, and they twisted mine into something terrible. All I can do now is ensure it stops happening. And make sure that somewhere out there, the happy version of him I see in my dreams gets to exist after all.”

Mirelle backed away from Asterbury one slow step at a time. Her breath came in sharp pants, her heart threatened to crack her sternum. This was so much worse than she’d imagined. She knew he was crazy, but this was an entire ocean full of insanity. And he had so much impossible power. Where did it end? How could they ever stop someone like that before he went one step too far?

“It’s not as crazy as he makes it sound.” Kurekka ruffled his red-brown feathers, and took a step towards Mirelle.

“You too?” Mirelle stared at the gryphon. Then she looked at Chir’raal, hoping he might yet have some sense in his head.

Chir’raal unfurled his black-barred wings, looking at one. “I thought he was crazy, too. Thought his…healing abilities had…ruptured something in his mind.”

“I think they have!” Mirelle glanced from person to person. All of them but Revaramek looked at her as if she was the crazy one.

Kurekka took another step towards her, his crimson crown feathers raised. “Mirelle, he’s…proven to us he’s telling the truth.”

“Was that before or after he tried to take out Revaramek’s eye?” Mirelle surged forward to snatch up her maul, and swing it around just to keep everyone back from her. “He was your friend, and look what your little lunatic did to him!”

“And that was way too far, and we-”

“You think you and your village are free!” Asterbury’s voice was booming thunder, drowning out everything else. “That it was founded by good men who only sought to escape tyranny, to bring their people freedom!” He spread his arms, as if beckoning to his own echoing voice across the meadow. “But you’re wrong! So very wrong. The founders of your village are the tyrants! They travel from world to world, story to story, to spread their colonies. They believe themselves a better judge of when and how a story should end than the gods themselves! They ruined their old homes with their manipulation, and so they seek stories to conquer. Revaramek is not from this world, nor am I!” He sharpened his voice into a knife, poking and threatening Mirelle with every word. “And neither were your parents!” He waved at Enora. “Nor hers!”

Asterbury strode around Mirelle, spittle flecking his muzzle. “You ever wonder why your village has so many cultures? Why you have rice paddies alongside knights in steel armor? Why you have so many ‘old grans’ who know how to make anything you might need? No, I suppose you don’t, because that’s just the way life is for you. It seems normal, as it was meant to. But the answer is because they didn’t just come here from one world, but from many. They brought people who could build things, grow things, sew, forge, cook, brew, farm…everything they’d need for a new settlement in a new world. And they recruited the locals, too, people who already knew how to live in this world. They must have fallen through fractures in ages past and populated their little villages with bits and pieces of home. It’s an N-world, you see.”

Mirelle backed away from Asterbury, matching every step with one of her own. Revaramek moved to stand alongside her, growling. Asterbury stopped, and gave Revaramek a faint grin, anger and bitterness blackening his voice.

“Not all the natives, of course. Because they brought soldiers and slayers of monsters here to pacify the locals they deemed hostile. So they murdered the dragons, and the va’chaak, and the gryphons, and anything else that didn’t like the idea of giving up their homes. Of course, the native creatures fought back. They fought to protect their land, their families…” He cast a glance at Aylaryl, his ears drooping. “And that made them all the easier to smear as monsters. Till at last they were pacified. Dead, fled…” He gestured at Revaramek. “Or enslaved. You’re their first slave here, but not truly their first. Why, even in our old tales, the men in robes came astride great scaled beasts.”

Mirelle squeezed her maul, standing her ground next to Revaramek. Everything the urd’thin said pressed against her mind, uncomfortable and difficult to comprehend. It was like food she couldn’t swallow, stuck in place and growing more and more painful the more she tried to dislodge it. Some of what he said made a twisted sort of sense, and yet all at once it was far more than she could handle.

“You mentioned Jekk.” The urd’thin let that hang in the air.

The old man’s name snapped Mirelle to full attention again. Suddenly it seemed as if whatever else he’d babbled about could wait. “What about him?”

“He’s your proof.” A smug grin split the urd’thin’s muzzle. He perked his large, gray-furred ears. “Proof that while I am crazy, I’m also right. He was there, you see. In my world, my home. You see, long after Jekk’s people ruined it, we developed.” He put his hand to his chest, his muzzle twisting into a scowl, fangs bared. “They blamed us, but we came later, so it couldn’t have been us. We were made or…adapted…to be able to survive their mistakes, you see. Not to repeat them. Yet that’s exactly what they wanted us to do!”

Asterbury waggled a single finger as if admonishing a child. “To fix their mistakes! To heal the world they’d ruined, despite the fact that we were perfectly capable of surviving it. They wanted us to help prevent their story’s end.” His eyes lit up and made a happy cooing noise. “Urrrrhh, there you go! You asked what I was, and now I have an answer. I am…” He spread his arms wide, lifting his hands. “Their story’s end.” He blinked, dropping his hands. “The Storytellers, I mean. Jekk’s colonists. Damn, did I forget to mention them by name already? This went better in my head.”

A ruined world. A people made to survive it.

Mirelle sucked in a breath, her eyes shot wide. Revaramek shuddered next to her, his scales clicking. She looked up at him, and when he met her gaze he seemed to have come to the same sudden realization as her. Mirelle twisted and pivoted on trembling legs, gazing around the meadow. In the distance, she spotted a book with faded lettering and a blue cover. It couldn’t be. And yet…

“Vakaal.” She murmured the name as much to confirm it to herself as anything else. In the corner of her vision, Asterbury froze. Almost afraid to ask, afraid to believe it could be true, Mirelle slowly turned back towards him. “Vakaal.”

Asterbury’s left ear twitched. Everyone else went silent.

“Vakaal?” Mirelle spoke the name again, this time as a question.

Asterbury stared at her, a strange, haunted look in his eyes, cold and pained. The corner of his mouth shifted, halfway between a smirk and a scowl. His fur bristled. “Now there’s a name I don’t hear often.”

Mirelle took a step towards him, her mouth dry as the desert in the story. “That…that’s you, isn’t it?”

“Is that who you think I am?” He tilted his head, a few fangs exposed. “You think that’s possible? He’s a character in a story, Mirelle, and surely you don’t-”

“Are you Vakaal?”

“Maybe.” Asterbury straightened up. The cold anguish lingered in his eyes even as a twisted smile returned to his muzzle. “Or maybe Vakaal was my son. Maybe I am one of them but I can’t remember which. They’re both important characters. You could read on and see, but…I don’t think you want to read that far, anyway. Terrible things happen to them both. Terrible, terrible, things.”

Asterbury blinked, and the pain was gone, replaced once more with whirling-ink madness. He clapped his hands together. “Oh, I know! Maybe I’m both!” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Keep reading, and you might see a familiar face! Jekk was there, yanno. For the terrible things.”

Revaramek swung his head around to stare at Enora, his bronze eyes as wide as Mirelle had ever seen them. “Is he that little pup?”

“Now that’s not fair.” Asterbury spun on his heel to shake his finger at the dragon. “Asking her? Luckily, that’s a question Enora won’t answer for you, if only because she doesn’t know for sure herself. And she’s read all the stories.” He clapped his hands again, and pivoted back towards Mirelle. “Oh! I forgot to mention that, didn’t I.” He snapped his fingers. “Damn me and my memory sometimes. It’s all the transitions, you see, they mess with the mind. But there are at least four stories, Mirelle, it’s important you know that.” He lifted his voice a notch. “It’s not always four!” He patted the knife at his hip. “Quite right, Mirelle Two. But it’s usually four archetypes, four basic stories. Hero, villain, everyone lives, everyone dies.”

Mirelle glared at him, wishing her eyes could burn a hole through his skull to let all the crazy out of his brain. “Why is it every time I ask you a question, every time I think I’ve got you figured out, all you do is make me even more confused?”

“It’s not my fault you’re slow on the uptake, Mirelle. Probably all that beer you brew. Impacts the brain, you know.” He waved at Enora. “So, young lady, which story did you give Mirelle and our overlord here?”

Enora sighed, folding her arms. She tugged at her hair, staring at it in her hand, as if unable to believe it wasn’t gray any more. “The first one I read.”

“Oooh, interesting choice.” Asterbury held his hand out towards Enora’s house. In the distance, the door opened. Three books floated through the air towards everyone. “They’re all the same at the beginning, you see. It’s the same story, the same characters…but at critical junctures, everything begins to change, and they all end differently. It’s fascinating, don’t you think? That one decision can change our lives so completely, that one act can re-shape our very existence. I should have been a hero, you know. And somewhere out there, in some other story, I am.”

Mirelle stumbled back from Asterbury as the books floated towards them. The book she’d been reading with Revaramek rose up and joined the other three. The dragon slipped his green and copper striped arm around her, pulling her up against his body. She pressed herself to his warmth, seeking comfort in his stability. Strange as it sounded in her head, Revaramek suddenly seemed the most sensible creature in the marsh.

Asterbury waggled his fingers, and the four books all settled onto the grass in two rows of two books. Each book had a blue cover, with similar faded lettering down the spine. One looked in good condition, while another looked as if it had been left out in the rain. The third was weather beaten, scarred by blowing sands. The fourth was that which they’d been reading. The urd’thin waved his hand, and all four books opened together. Mirelle leaned over Revaramek’s foreleg to scan them. Each book had the same opening line.

The pup danced in swirling sands.

“They’re all the same story. But they all end differently.” Asterbury crouched down, and swiped his hand across the books. They tumbled through the air, aligning in a new, mixed up order. He tapped a book. “One dies a hero.” The book closed. He tapped the next. “Survives and becomes a villain.” He tapped the third book, and the fourth book. “Everyone lives. Everyone dies.” They both closed. “Hero, villain, they live, they die.”

“That doesn’t…” Mirelle glanced up at Revaramek. The dragon only flexed his wings. He cocked his head, frills half lifted as he stared at the books. If anything he looked more confused than her. “How is that possible?”

“There’s rarely only one story, Mirelle.” Asterbury settled back onto the grass, leaning onto his palms. He looked so lost in thought Mirelle had to resist the urge to try and bury her maul in his skull while she had the chance. Somehow she knew that wouldn’t end well. “There are parallel stories, born from what I’ve come to call fractures. I stole the term from the Storytellers, though they originally used it to mean a sort of, hole between worlds. Let’s say a story is told.”

One of the books floated into the air. It opened, and the pages flew by in a whirlwind of brittle vellum. “That story becomes a world, the characters come to life. To them, their lives are real. You finish the story. Now, let’s say you decide you don’t like how it ends. So you go back…” The book’s pages flipped back halfway through. “And you re-write it.” The book returned to the ground, and another took its place, floating before Asterbury. “You change things. Instead of fighting the villain, your character joins them. The story plays out differently now, and in the end, everyone dies.” Asterbury tilted his head, smiling. “What happens to the first story?”

Mirelle blinked, struggling to follow the furry madman’s every leap across logical chasms. “What?”

“The story was a world, Mirelle, so what happens when it’s re-written? Does their world burn away in a flash, incinerating everything that was, only to be reborn anew, with no memory of what once happened? Does everyone die there too?” The first book floated back up to join its brethren. Both opened halfway, and then flipped through themselves, page by aged page. “Or do they both exist now, alongside one another? Where they live parallel lives forbidden by the gods and their unseen rules from ever meeting.”

Mirelle rubbed her forehead. “You’re murdering my poor brain.”

Asterbury gestured at the books, and they settled back down. “We are all part of one world among many. Many of the stories that have reached this world are at their core, historical documents. All those tales Revaramek shrouded himself in throughout his youth? The books Enora and the others read him? Those were stories of other worlds, of other dragons who once existed. They’re histories of the places the storytellers encountered, lives lived the way they should have been. Or in some cases, not.” Asterbury pushed himself back to his feet. “We are all part of one world among many. And every world has its parallel paths. I know this because I’ve walked them, I’ve seen these worlds. I see…”

He trailed off. Asterbury swallowed, his ears drooping. “I see the fifth story. Our fifth story.” Asterbury swallowed, his ears drooping. “I see the story never told.” For the first time, Mirelle saw a genuine sadness wash across him. His dark eyes shone with unshed tears. “Sometimes it’s…in my dreams.” The urd’thin’s voice wavered. “Sometimes it’s…right in front of me, as vivid as life.” He reached out, grasping at nothing. “It’s right there. Happiness for…” He sniffed, swallowing back a sob. A tear wet his fur, his voice a pained croak. “A loving mate, children, a family, a tribe. A hero. Happy.”

Enora got to her feet, and pulled Asterbury into a hug. Asterbury leaned his head against Enora, quiet as she stroked the fur of his ears. Aylaryl put a paw on his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. He whispered a thanks, then gazed down at his stolen dagger. “In that story…all of this madness and bloodshed never happened.”

Mirelle glanced up at Revaramek. He shrugged his wings, his eye-ridges furrowed. He tilted his head towards Asterbury. Mirelle pursed her lips, then stepped forward. “You can still stop it, Asterbury. You can still stop all this.” Mirelle didn’t expect him to listen, but, it never hurt to try.

“No.” Asterbury shook his head, pulling away from Enora. His voice slowly hardened again. “No, the only way it stops is when I end all this. Once, I wanted to fix my story, I wanted to stop them from ever finding us. But now I know better. That story already exists, it cannot be unmade, and it will always lead to me. So instead, I seek to stop them from ever stealing anyone else’s story again. And if I find a way to reach the Storytellers home...” Murmuring laughter escaped him, a wicked grin spread across his muzzle. “Oh, from there, I think I can set things right. I can start a new story…I can make sure at least one version of Vakaal lives a happy life…” He spun on his heel to smile at Revaramek. “So! How did you get here?”

“Wh-what?” Revaramek pulled his head back, his neck arching. “You’re back to that again?”

“It’s the one thing I can’t quite do, you see.” Asterbury glanced back at Aylaryl. “Transition. At least, not on purpose. Not like they do. Alyaryl said you mentioned something about a device.”

“Revaramek, don’t tell him.” Mirelle put a hand on the dragon’s scales, stroking his neck.

“I hardly remember anyway, Mirelle.”

Asterbury clicked his teeth a few times. “Like I said before, it’s the transition. We aren’t meant to go from one world to another, parallel or otherwise. When you do it…scrambles your brain, your memories. They come back but…as a hatchling, perhaps he had more trouble with it. Still, if there was a device…it should have been gated to storyteller blood. Unless it wasn’t a storyteller device. Or…unless one of your parents was one of theirs…” Asterbury turned away, muttering to himself. Then he lifted his hands over his head, clapped them twice. “Codex!” He flicked an ear back. “Which direction did you come from, once you were here?”

Revaramek glanced down at Mirelle. She put a finger to her lips to try and keep him quiet.

Aylaryl spoke up for him. “They came from the southwest, far at the edges of the marsh, where it grew wilder, darker. I thought that’s where he was from, until I got to know you.”

“Then it might still be there. I wonder if Jekk knows…” Asterbury swiveled his ears. In the distance, a whistling sound began. Soft and low and first, but gradually rising. “Ah, here it comes.” He waved his fingers at Revaramek. “If I was you, I’d duck.”

Mirelle grabbed the dragon’s ear and yanked on it, making him yelp. “Do what he says!”

No sooner had she pulled the dragon’s head down than a massive tome bound in dark leather hurtled through the air, streaking past where Revaramek’s head had been. The book came to an immediate stop just above Asterbury, and dropped into his arms. He smirked at the dragon. “Good think your heroine’s quick on her feet. You might have lost your other horn.”

Mirelle pushed herself back to her feet, fighting a wave of anger. For all the confusion, uncertainty and fear that little mongrel brought, he seemed to do a better job infuriating her than anything else. “Someday I’m gonna kick your little, furry balls into your nonsense-spewing throat.”

Asterbury only cackled. “Oooh, wouldn’t that be a treat for the readers!” He ran his fingers over the cover of the book. It seemed far too large for him to hold yet he had no trouble manipulating it. Whatever dark hide bound it, it was not leather as she knew it. It looked as if it came from something large that spent half its life in the water. Images of spheres and pathways between them were etched across its cover. “This, if you’re wondering, is the codex. Do you want to know what it is?”

“You’re going to tell me and brag about where you got it from even if I say no, aren’t you.”

“My, Mirelle.” Asterbury released the book. It floated in the air ahead of him. He slapped a furry hand against it. “And I thought I was the only one who knows where this story’s going.” He waggled his stolen knife, lifting his voice. “Maybe she’s not a dumb bitch after all.” He furrowed his brows and flattened his ears. “Now Mirelle Two, let’s not call names.”

Enora stepped forward, her brown eyes widening. “That’s…the real thing, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes.” Asterbury’s eyes glowed. A smug grin slathered itself across his muzzle. He glanced at the two gryphons. “This is what I told you about. No more glancing through children’s picture books and faux world maps and facsimiles. This, my friends, is a genuine Storyteller codex.”

He waved his hand over it, and the book creaked open. Pages flickered by, pausing here and there to reveal beautiful, full color illustrations of unknown places. Mirelle recognized some of them from the book she’d shown Revaramek, only now they were larger and far more vibrant.

“You see, this is the sort of thing where those images in the other books Enora stumbled across were copied from. And here’s where I’m from.” He waved his hand over it again, and the book flipped to another familiar image. A beautifully depicted portrait of several urd’thin, including a pup, sitting around a fire at night, surrounded by a vast desert. “World 3-B.”

“What…what does that mean?” Revaramek took a step forward to stare at the book. For once, Mirelle saw no reason to chastise him for his question.

“I’m glad you asked, my benevolent overlord.” Asterbury tapped the number and letter. “A codex is sort of like, the Storyteller’s guidebook. It has information on all the worlds they know of. Places they’ve been too, places they’ve seen, worlds they’ve colonized or found unfit for survival. Even places they theorize. I stole this one from Jekk.” The urd’thin chittered in delight. “Didn’t even have to kill the old bastard yet! Now, the letters and numbers are what they call world designation. The number is the world, and the letter is which version of its story, if you will. Did the story swerve left, or right? Was it conquered, or freed? Was the world ruined, or was it saved? In my case, 3 is the world in which I was born, and B is the version of that world’s story that led to…well…” He pressed a hand to his chest, chirping. “Everyone’s best friend!”

Mirelle scowled, folding her arms. “You’ve got a really skewed definition of ‘everyone’. And ‘friend’.”

“Agree to disagree.” Asterbury flipped through a few pages. “I’ll have you know every knife in town can’t wait to get me into the cutlery drawer!”

“Yeah, I got some plans for my knife and your ‘cutlery drawer’ too.”

Asterbury cackled, his bushy tail twitching. “See, you can be fun, Mirelle!” He glanced at the gryphons, their feathered tails swishing and twitching across the grass. “Now, for those of you who are actually interested in my lecture, the letter designations usually run A through D. Hence, the four stories. Again, there are exceptions and-”

“Which world are we from?” Mirelle stepped closer, staring at the book. Gods-damn it, why did the little rat have to have some kind of proof that at least part of what he said was true? She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to see what his book had to say.

Asterbury jerked his head up, beaming. “Oh, Mirelle, suddenly you’re a believer?”

“Revaramek always buys into these crazy stories.” She put a hand on the dragon again. “And he’s the one who mangled you, and the one who saved me. I figure if I wanna get my chance to kick the shit out of you before you complete whatever crazy scheme you’re concocting, I oughta start acting more like Rev here.” She tossed her maul down and folded her arms. “Besides, it’s frustrating being the only sane person in a house full of crazies.”

“Well spoken, my fiery heroine.” Asterbury drummed his fingers on the book. “So when you say we, do you mean this world, or your parents?”

Mirelle froze. Memories flooded her. Riding in a covered wagon. Glimpses of blue sky above, and marshy road below. Traveling to…the village. But from where? She couldn’t remember anything before that wagon. Was she born there? She ran her hands back through her hair, wishing she could untangle the knots in her mind just as easily. It took her a few tries to spit out the words.

“My…my parents. If they weren’t from here…where were they from?”

“An excellent question!” Asterbury flourished his hands over the book me. “Show me the home of Mirelle’s parents!”

The pages flew by as if caught by a gust of wind, then came to a sudden stop. The book lay flat. A beautiful illustration of green hills rolling on into infinity stretched across the parchment. Spires of gray stone marked the hills. Silvery rain drops fell from silken gray clouds. Mirelle stared at the image. She’d never seen such a place. She scrutinized her mind, trying to recall if she’d heard her parents talk about their old home. They always seemed…distant. Muttering something about some western kingdom and trying to change the subject. They didn’t much like to talk about where they fled from.

“Ah!” Asterbury rubbed his hands together. “I do believe I know where that is!” He waved his hand, and the book flipped back a few pages. “Yes! 7-A. You see, the noble I killed and stole his name, he was from 7-A as well. You know, there was quite a war in that world. Things could have been very different, if but for one vengeful dragon. Amazing how thin the difference can be between A and B, hero and villain. I suspect your parents were fleeing the aftermath of that war. A world like 7 is too big, too populous to truly colonize. But they can visit, recruit people of need, with skills they require, people might be looking for a fresh start.”

Mirelle pressed her palms into her eyes, struggling to sift through everything. So her parents were refugees not from a tyrannical kingdom, but from another world? Her head ached and she groaned into her hands.

“So…what about this world?” Kurekka stretched a wing forward to brush bright red flight feathers over the pages. “You mentioned something about…an N?”

“Ah! Yes!” Asterbury brightened, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited pup. “Now that’s important! This is the first time I’ve come across one that’s actually been marked as such! Makes me wonder how old this codex is. This is a rather young settlement, in the grand scheme. And N is a special designation.” Asterbury swiped his hand through the air, and the pages fluttered by until they displayed a beautifully detailed marsh, filled with vibrant blue water, green reeds, and gray moss hanging from cypress trees. “So, our marsh here-”

“We all know where we live now!” Revaramek tossed his head, grinning. “Do my world! If I’m an alien I want to know where I’m from!”

“Wait your turn!” Chir’raal snapped his beak.

“But I’m the one he wants to know about so badly. So where am I from? Why’s my horrid swamp so special to you?”

Asterbury glanced up at the dragon. “It’s not so much the swamp, but how you escaped it. But wait your turn, won’t you?”

“Awrrrrrhhh…”

Aylaryl gave a heavy sigh. “Oh, show the stupid baby what stupid world he’s from. Otherwise he’s going to whine and moan and sulk until we do.”

“I’m not a hatchling, Aylaryl.”

“You sure as hell act like one!”

“Fine, fine.” Asterbury took the book into his arms, glaring at the green dragon. He muttered under his breath, paging through it. “Where’s your dirty poison swamp? 8, 9, 10…no. Where is it? Maybe I’m going the wrong way. This thing really needs an index.” The urd’thin growled in frustration, then held the book in one hand, and waved the other across its pages. “Show me Revaramek’s wretched swamp!”

The pages flew by in a blur of images. Revaramek craned his neck to see, and Asterbury turned his back to them. “No, no, let it be a surprise.”

The book came to a stop. Asterbury’s ears shot up, then he froze. Mirelle stared at his back for a moment, glanced up at the dragon. The urd’thin took another step away. His tail drooped. His arms shook as if the weight of the tome was suddenly too heavy for him. He muttered something Mirelle couldn’t hear, staring down at whatever images the book presented him.

The ground rippled around Asterbury’s feet. The grassy earth rose and fell, rose and fell, like little waves on a green pond. Mirelle’s pulse quickened, her stomach twisted itself into a cold knot. She plucked up her maul, and backed away from the urd’thin. She put a hand on Revaramek to get him to back away too.

“Asterbury…” Enora’s voice was soft. She reached out to him. “What is it?”

Asterbury growled, a low, menacing sound. The ground rippled beneath him again. The tips of every blade of grass around him withered, cracked. With each ensuing ripple, the grass dissolved a little further into sand. Asterbury slammed the book shut. The thud echoed across the meadow like a thunderclap. The sand at his feet swirled into the air, a twisting whirlwind spinning around him.

“What did you see?” Alyaryl stepped closer to him. “Asterbury, whatever it is, it’s okay. Look what you’re doing…”

“That’s not possible!” The urd’thin flattened his ears. He spun around to glare at Revaramek. Asterbury’s dark eyes glowed, embers behind ink piercing through the sandstorm around him. Bolts of blue lightning crackled overhead.

“What are you looking at me for?” Revaramek backed away a few more steps. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Asterbury, what is it?” Heedless of the twisting sands and sizzling electricity, Aylaryl approached him. “Whatever you saw, you need to calm down.”

“We’re going!” Asterbury turned towards Aylaryl, and in a single, impossible leap, bound over her head and onto her back. “I have to see an old man about a swamp!”

Without another world, Aylaryl sprang into the air. Wind swirled beneath her wings and blasted sand in every direction. Mirelle threw an arm up to protect her eyes, squinting. Arcs of light streaked across the sky alongside her in writhing blue spears. As Aylaryl winged away, the wind died down, and the sand settled against the meadow. The lightning followed her.

Mirelle lowered her arm and turned towards Enora, panting. “What the hell was that about?”

“I…I really don’t know.” Enora wrung her hands. Concern twisted her face till she looked as old as she had when Mirelle first met her. “I’ve...never seen him like this, the way he acted earlier, and just now. Not in all the years I’ve known him. It’s like…something finally snapped.”

Kurekka ruffled his red-brown feathers, squawking. “Or finally woke up again.”

Enora grit her teeth. She stomped her boot into the sandy mess Asterbury left behind. “Whatever it is, you all better start filling Rev and me in on-”

“Enough games!” Asterbury’s voice was an echoing roar, a landslide cascading down a mountain and rolling across the meadow. “You’re coming with me!”

“MMRAAAAAAAH!” Revaramek gave a startled scream, a noise like nothing Mirelle had ever heard from him, shock and horror all rolled into one terrified, mewling yowl. “Mirelle!”

Mirelle whirled around. Revaramek floated several feet about the ground, frantically scrabbling at the air with all four feet. Bits of grass, chunks of sod, and wispy clouds of sand floated around him. Panic shone bright in the dragon’s bronze eyes. He threw his wings open and beat them against the air to no avail, only succeeding in wiggling against an invisible grasp. Sparks fluttered around him, blue one moment, shining white the next.

“Rev!” Mirelle tossed her maul aside and ran to the dragon as he stretched a foreleg towards her. “Let him go, you maniac!”

Mirelle leapt for Revaramek, snatching at his outstretched foreleg. She wrapped her hands around his paw, struggling to cling to him. His fine scales there were slick, but she hung tight to his paw, her feet kicking in the air. Her grip slipped, her arms ached. She hauled herself up to wrap an arm around his, her grasp sliding against his scales. He rose higher, and she fought to keep hold of him.

“Mirelle!” Revaramek curled his head, his voice soft. “Let go!”

“But Rev-”

“Please! Let go!” He stretched his foreleg as far towards the ground as he could. “If you fall now, I can’t catch you! Let go while you still can!”

Mirelle grimaced, as much from anger as from the growing ache in her hands, her arms. Damn it, he was right. She glanced at the meadow below. “I’m sorry!”

“You don’t have to be!”

“We’ll come for you!” Mirelle took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and let go.

Pain thudded through her. First her legs, then up her spine, and through the rest of her body. The impact pressed her ribs to her lungs, squeezed the air out of her. She wheezed, writhing in a moment of pain. She rolled to her back, struggled to her feet, and looked up.

 Sparks whirled around Revaramek with the buzz of angry hornets, embers stirred from a blue-white flame. When the embers collided they erupted into indigo bolts that crackled and propelled the dragon away. In an instant he was past the meadow, moving as fast as he would in full flight, and faster still with every passing second. Aylaryl and Asterbury themselves were already out of sight, visible only by the distant flickers of blue lightning.

Fading sunlight glinted off Revaramek’s eyes, turning them from bronze to gold as he glanced back. The wind carried his voice back to her. “I know!”

And then he was gone.

*****

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