The Lost Lands Page 12

  Out of exile.

  At last.

  They flew only ten minutes before Valkea suddenly tensed. The spines along her crest seemed to ripple, and she let out an excited, high-pitched bugle. D’Mara glanced over her shoulder to see the other Raptors still neatly lined up behind them.

  This was it.

  All at once, the scale on Valkea’s forehead lit up like a beacon, and then the sky at her nose began to part. It twisted and pulled back, and next thing D’Mara knew, they were shooting through a tunnel of light. Her skin prickled and her hair rose. She gasped and clung tightly to Valkea, not blinking for a moment. It felt as if they had dived into the heart of a tornado. Valkea seemed to be struggling, smoke streaming from her nostrils, her muscles seizing. D’Mara leaned forward and saw the Silver scale was burning so hotly it was giving off smoke.

  Had something gone wrong? Had Tamra’s instructions been faulty?

  Alarmed, D’Mara looked back to see how the other Raptors were faring—but they were alone. No other dragons darkened the tunnel of light twisting behind them. The other Raptors hadn’t made it through.

  “Valkea!” yelled D’Mara.

  But the Red didn’t seem to hear her, and instead released an earsplitting roar. She pumped her wings furiously, snarling, as if she might reach the Lost Lands by force of sheer fury alone.

  Then they burst into blue sky, over a quilted landscape.

  It had worked.

  The world below was not D’Mara’s. It was green and lush and—blood and bone, there were several hundred fat, lazy sheep waddling around just below! D’Mara had never seen so many in one place.

  “The stories were true,” she said. “All the stories were true. Valkea. We’re home.”

  “Fala Terrana,” confirmed Valkea. The Lost Lands.

  “It’s beautiful,” D’Mara whispered. “And soon it will all be ours.”

  She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, which startled her. Blinking them away, she looked all around as Valkea spiraled to the ground. There was a settlement nearby, and a few small houses, but mostly they were surrounded by hills of green. She wished Krane were here to see it. Tentatively she reached for her Lock, wondering if she would send him a mental picture of what she saw, but she felt no connection to him at all. That left her feeling hollow and uneasy, as if she’d left behind half of herself.

  “I need to eat,” said Valkea. “And rest. The passage … it was not easy.”

  The Red did look unsteady on her feet, her eyes slightly unfocused. The Silver scale still glowed faintly, like a star on the dragon’s brow.

  “Very well,” said D’Mara. “Then I shall have a look around.”

  Leaving Valkea to take her pick of the unattended sheep, D’Mara began hiking toward the town she’d seen. She had to think, and decide what to do. Because clearly, there were limitations to crossing portals with only a Silver scale. The other Raptors had failed to make the crossing. D’Mara could well imagine what had happened—her and Valkea vanishing while the rest of them scattered in confusion, still trapped in their own world. They’d have returned to the fortress by now and told the others. A Forged dragon could cross through a portal, but only alone.

  Nonetheless, as D’Mara picked her way across the field, avoiding piles of sheep dung, she considered this mission to be a success. They’d reached their goal. Now they just needed a way to get the rest of the Raptors through.

  They would need more scales.

  Which meant they still needed the Silver dragon after all. The search wasn’t over. But where could he be? In D’Mara’s world, hiding out with the Red or Yellow clans? Or might he and his wretched boy, Joshua Moran, be in the Lost Lands too?

  “Where are you, Lysander?” she muttered.

  The town slowly came into view, and D’Mara circled it before entering. She watched the humans walking around, getting in and out of strange, horseless carriages that spit black smoke from pipes and made a terrible racket. Children shouted and kicked a ball around in the street, until an elder yelled at them to clear out. A mother pushed a baby in a little wheeled contraption while taking loudly into a small metal tablet she held to her ear.

  Some of the things they used looked strange to D’Mara, but the people looked like any other people she’d seen. How much fun would it be to drop into their midst atop Valkea, spreading flame and smoke and destruction? She savored the image a moment, then stepped out from behind the fence she’d been hiding behind and strode boldly into the street.

  A few people glanced at her curiously, but no one spoke or called out. In her own world, D’Mara’s presence would be met with screams of terror and people throwing themselves down for mercy. But here, she was no one. It was like being in disguise. These country folk had no idea their future queen was walking among them. D’Mara laughed aloud at the idea, and that got her a few more odd looks.

  Then D’Mara’s laughter cut short, as she stopped in front of a building with a large glass window. It had a sign that read THE WINKING SHEEP TAVERN & RESTAURANT. Inside, people were sitting at a counter, drinking from mugs, and large glass tablets on the wall above them glowed with magic. D’Mara kicked open the door, startling the patrons. She ignored their grumbles and instead watched the shining magic tablet. On it, pictures moved and people spoke, looking as real as if they were truly trapped inside the glass, but D’Mara figured this was some Lost Lands sorcery at work.

  But there was no doubting what she saw on that glass.

  “It’s a prank, obviously,” said one of the patrons, an old man with several empty mugs in front of him. He gestured at the picture-glass. “Some publicity stunt.”

  “My cousin lives in Oxford,” said another man. “He saw the whole thing!”

  “But dragons?” said the first man. “Really, Harry, you’ll believe anything.”

  D’Mara watched the picture-glass as it showed a shaky view of three undeniable shapes—each of which D’Mara was intimately familiar with.

  A Green hatchling.

  A Silver dragon.

  And the traitorous, black-hearted swine of a former Lennix Grand, Bellacrux.

  They were swooping over a crowded street, picking up three children. D’Mara recognized Allinson and Joshua Moran right away.

  They were here, in the Lost Lands! And there, on Lysander’s gleaming hide, were the shining scales D’Mara still so desperately needed. Forget the Silver himself. With his scales, she could rescue the entire Raptor population out of exile.

  “You!” snapped D’Mara, grabbing the one called Harry by his collar. The man choked, eyes wide. “You said your cousin lives in this Ox Ford, where the dragons were spotted. So tell me—how do I get there? Speak fast, man, or I’ll prove to your friend that dragons can be very, very real indeed.”

  She listened closely while the terrified man stammered out directions. The other people in the Winking Sheep Tavern & Restaurant watched them with expressions of shock and confusion.

  Soon, D’Mara Lennix would finally have the Silver in her grasp. No bumbling children or husbands or Raptors would mess it up this time. She would take care of it herself, swiftly and decisively.

  She would have the Silver … and every one of his gleaming scales.

  Allie was glad to be on Bellacrux again. The smell and crush of the city had been suffocating to her. All those people, and those rumbling cars, and Joss looking around as if they’d reached paradise … She couldn’t stand it. And then, of course, there was Sirin, smugly pushing them around from one shop to the next, gloating in her familiarity with this world. Rubbing in the fact that they were outsiders here. Calling Allie bossy! Honestly!

  Is that quite fair? asked Bellacrux. You have been on edge ever since we got here.

  Allie grumbled under her breath and glanced up at the silhouette of Lysander, flying above them. All she could see of Joss and Sirin were the soles of their shoes. Sammi flew alongside them, her small wings fluttering like a moth’s compared to the Silver’s long, gliding form.
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  The land below spread like an endless quilt, pleasantly green and wrinkled with shimmering rivers. Town after town appeared, some no bigger than the village Allie had grown up in, others a hundred times as big. The larger ones they avoided, so she only saw them in the distance. She wondered if news of the dragons’ appearance was spreading.

  All the more reason to find the Heart as quickly as possible. They were running out of time.

  They flew low, to avoid being detected by what Sirin called air-planes, and so their pace was slower due to the more turbulent air. Sirin had said they could probably make it to this Scotland place in six hours flying at their fastest, but at this pace, it would take twice that. Allie saw several air-planes above, silver birds rumbling and snarling through the air. They made her shudder.

  Near evening, Sammi zipped down to squeal at them. Still lacking the gift of dragonsong, the hatchling’s high-pitched voice was mere babble, but it was the signal from Sirin that Allie had been waiting for. It was time to land.

  Lysander took the lead, following instructions from Sirin. She had a large map purchased from the library shop earlier and had been navigating their trip. Now Allie saw her point to a lake below. Long and very narrow, its waters seemed to shift in color, gray to blue to green. The dragons angled for its shore, flying fast and silent.

  They landed on the sloping western bank in a tangle of trees and brush. The wind howled over the water, sending choppy little waves breaking over its rocky shore. It was easily the wildest spot in the Lost Lands Allie had yet seen. She’d been starting to wonder whether there was any true wilderness left in this world.

  “Well,” said Sirin as she as Joss walked over to Allie, “here we are. Loch Ness, home of the Loch Ness Monster, or if we’re lucky, the Loch Ness Dragon.”

  “Do you really think there’s a two-thousand-year-old Blue hiding out down there?” asked Joss.

  Sirin shrugged. “All I know is that that squiggle Allie drew looked just like the old photos people said they took of the monster. Some of those photos were proven fake, but not all of them. And there are hundreds of stories, people claiming they saw it. Sometimes it was in the water, sometimes it was in the trees or crossing the road.”

  “This lake is massive,” said Allie. “Where do we even begin?”

  I think, my Lock, Bellacrux sent, it is time for us dragons to take over for a bit.

  Bellacrux exchanged looks with Lysander, and the Silver nodded. Sammi squealed and darted into the air, as if eager to begin.

  “Right,” Allie said. “You three probably know best.”

  “How will they do it?” asked Sirin.

  In response, Bellacrux tilted her head back and released a long, ululating trumpet. Allie had heard a similar sound echoing across the Blue islands, when the dragons had been calling to one another. It was not a roar, which would be throaty and terrifying; instead, Bellacrux’s call was more like dragonsong, musical and articulate, warbling notes that might have come from a bird, had the bird been the size of a house.

  After a moment, Lysander joined in, and then Sammi’s high, young voice also joined in, though her notes weren’t quite on key.

  Allie, Joss, and Sirin moved closer together, watching their Locks with wide eyes.

  “Incredible,” said Sirin, speaking loudly to be heard even though the Morans were standing shoulder to shoulder with her. “They’re magnificent.”

  “Yes,” said Allie. For once, they were in perfect agreement.

  After a few minutes of calling, the three dragons fell silent. They stared at the dark water and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited …

  Until ten minutes had passed and nothing—dragon or monster—appeared.

  “It’s not here,” whispered Allie, first to break the disappointed silence. “It probably never was!”

  “No, I swear there are stories!” insisted Sirin. “There’s something here, there has to be! If people can tell stories about dragons for hundreds of years, and those stories can turn out to be true, then surely this one can too!”

  “Stories!” retorted Allie. “Of course it’s all just stories to you!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Joss put up his hands. “Allie, Sirin, don’t fight! Not now!”

  “I want to know what she means,” said Sirin, still glaring at Allie.

  Allie crossed her arms. She wanted to unleash it all on Sirin right now, tell her exactly what she thought. She was about to do just that but was stopped by a snort from Bellacrux.

  Listen, the Green told her.

  I don’t want to listen! Allie sent back. I’ve listened to her too long. We should be back home, looking for the Red or Yellow clans to see if they know anything about the Skyspinner, not chasing Lost Land legends at the word of a girl who still treats all of this like some storybook adventure!

  No, you hotheaded hatchling of a girl. LISTEN.

  Allie frowned and looked toward the lake.

  The water was rippling more than it had been … as if something were moving toward them. The waves lapping the shore got stronger and harder, slapping the gray-and-black rocks and even reaching high enough to break on the trunks of the slender trees.

  “What,” said Joss, “is that?”

  Looking from the shore to the lake, Allie saw a high wave rushing toward them. It was taller than even Bellacrux and moved too swiftly for them to possibly outrun. Allie yelled, remembering the wave in the Scroll of the Banishing that had swept her and Tamra from their dragon guide’s back. She turned and grabbed Joss, trying to shield him, as the water finally dashed over the bank and washed them all off their feet.

  In the chaos of the miniature tsunami, Joss was ripped from Allie’s grasp. She tried to scream but the wave was receding into the lake and dragging Allie with it. She rolled roughly over the rocks and roots and brambles, the wind knocked from her lungs and her limbs scraped and bruised. Then she was pulled into the cold lake and dragged under, and that’s when she realized it wasn’t the wave gripping her—it was a pair of jaws.

  Bellacrux! she called out silently. Help!

  Don’t move, Allie! Bellacrux replied. Go limp! Like a dead sheep!

  Allie did as she was told, letting her arms and legs go wobbly, though her heart continued to race against her chest. She saw bubbles streaming all around her, but beyond them, the water was too black to reveal anything more. The jaws were clamped around her hips, and though she stared through wide eyes, she saw only the occasional oily gleam of scaled lips around yellow, stubby teeth—the teeth of an old dragon, worn nearly down to the gums.

  Then Allie was pulled upward, as the creature holding her reared its head from the water and rose, high, high above the bank, its sinewy neck towering over the three dragons and Joss and Sirin below. Allie was hanging facedown, so it wasn’t till she worked up the nerve to turn her head that she saw the thing holding her.

  She saw the underside of a powerful jaw, and the gleaming dark blue scales lacing the dragon’s throat, and when it cocked its head slightly, she caught one glimpse of a gleaming, coal-black eye. Below her, churning in the shallows of the loch, was the rest of the dragon’s body—oily coils of scales and flesh and legs, and two wretched stumps where its wings had once been.

  It was the Blue Allie had seen in the story. Only this time, the dragon was definitely not made of paper and ink, but of scale and bone and the worst dragon breath she’d ever smelled.

  “Stehfa, malki, shefini lon tarralan,” said Bellacrux. Excuse me, friend, but that human is mine.

  The Blue snarled and released a hot cloud of putrid, fishy breath that rolled around Allie and made her gag.

  In dragonsong, Bellacrux added, “We honor your territory, old one, and beg your forgiveness for our trespassing here. But our need is great. Please release my human. She is small, but she is mine.”

  Allie felt the Blue’s jaws tighten, its stubby teeth pressing against her ribs, and she gasped. It would bite
her in half with barely an effort! Below, Bellacrux and Joss both stepped forward, her brother’s hands raised.

  “Please!” he called, before switching to dragonsong too. “Lafaarla!”

  “Lafaarla,” repeated Bellacrux, and then the Grand did something Allie never dreamed she would see: The great dragon lowered her head to the ground, eyes shut, then rolled onto her back, exposing her vulnerable white underbelly.

  It was the ultimate sign of submission, baring one’s weakest point.

  Opening her eyes, Bellacrux rumbled, “Leshi tamar lak asha-fetarla.”

  We come in the name of the Skyspinner.

  At once, Allie felt the Blue’s jaws slacken. The dragon seemed to sway, as if dizzied, and then a long, low moan sounded in its throat. Allie braced herself as another wave of hot, stinking breath rolled over her.

  Then the Blue gently lowered its head and let Allie drop onto the bank in front of Bellacrux. The Green rolled over, shaking mud and leaves from her scales, and then she quickly pulled Allie behind her wing.

  In a voice as old as mountains, rumbling like distant thunder, the Blue spoke.

  “Ness, old pal,” it rasped, as if it hadn’t spoken in hundreds of years. To Allie’s surprise, it spoke not in dragonsong, but in human speech. She’d never met a dragon who could speak it. “Are these … what I think they are?”

  Then, in a higher voice with a strong accent, the Blue replied to its own question: “Ach, no, Thorval, they cannot be!”

  Just as quickly, the Blue switched back to the first, deeper voice. “But, Ness—”

  “How many times have I told you?” he interrupted himself, changing tones yet again. “There’s no such thing as dragons. Obviously these are fakes. If anyone should know what a fake looks like, it’s us! God knows how many phony monsters have been dropped in our loch.”