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The hawk flew. Arcing through the sky with wings spread so wide, she called out and he called back with his own lungs and he flapped his feathery arms to catch up to her, to be there with her, to find her, to escape, to freedom.
He felt no pain and the sun shone so bright. Flying with the she-hawk, his lungs expanded and his eyes became wide enough to take in the whole sky, the whole world beneath, the vast expanse of everything and nothing surrounding him. They flew in sync, almost as one, with every beat of their wings bound. Their very hearts pounding as one and every breath the same. The sun burned against his feathers and he felt so warm. Encased by feathers, by sky, his soul embraced.
The she-hawk trembled and he tumbled out of his reverie. She dove and screamed and flapped frantically. He followed after before he felt a thrum in the air, coursing through his body. Not knowing why but feeling the answer, he looked back to see the white dragon tearing through the air.
Its snakelike body and its feathered wings and mane emanated fury, danger, hunger.
The she-hawk screamed again and the terror, cold and immobilizing, gripped his chest, but the dragon soared past him. The typhoon of the dragon’s wings, of its great passing body, cast him adrift. The wake of the dragon pushed the air like a wave into him and he flapped to stabilize himself in the air, to find purchase with his wings that now seemed so tiny.
When he righted himself and found the she-hawk once more in the sky, far below, it was only to see her disappear within the jaws of the dragon. He screamed with his own hawk lungs and only then did the dragon notice him.
It coiled in the air and turned to him, flapping its immense and extraordinary wings. The underside a brilliant blue that dazzled him like he stared into the heart of a churning maelstrom. The dragon opened its great mouth and said, “Run, little bird.”
When he flapped his wings to run, they collided with gold bars. The sky dissolved in an instant and he stared rapidly around, finding himself in the golden cage hanging from the ceiling. He screamed and thrashed but the bars didn’t care or notice.
At the far end of the room, a door opened.
Mari said, “Emrys, what is wrong?”
Gasping in the dark, he reached out and took hold of the iron bars holding them. Her small hands gripped his shoulders and he melted back into his body. Into the stark physicality of her. How he wanted to reach up and hold her face in his hands, to feel her lips upon his own.
Only when he caught his breath did he say, “Nothing.”
His dream returned to him while he cut vegetables with Granny and Sionnach. Granny cracked egg after egg into a heated pan while bacon and ham fried on another. Watching her cook, she sometimes seemed to have extra hands that appeared as if from nowhere and disappeared whenever he tried to focus on her movements.
Sionnach kept shooting him glances, likely begging him not to reveal to Granny that she’d visited him in the night. Even had he wanted to tell her, he couldn’t imagine what there was to tell.
As the eggs took shape, she turned to Sionnach and said, “Let the captain know breakfast will be ready soon.”
Sionnach nodded, gave Emrys another glance full of fear and meaning, and then hurried out of the kitchen.
When she was well enough away, Emrys said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question about Sionnach?”
The cook didn’t turn from her eggs. “Grab that platter. The white one. Porcelain.”
He did. Stood beside her as she loaded it with eggs and bacon, not looking at him. He said, “Why does she have fox ears?”
“Wolf ears.”
“There a difference?”
She turned to him, scowling. “You’re a fool.”
“They keep telling me.”
She grunted. “Have you ever seen anything you cannot explain?”
“I told you about the forest.”
“Do you think whys and hows will make you understand?”
“Do you think ignoring the whys and hows will make life easier or better for her?”
The corner of her mouth twitched and the slightest, briefest smile appeared there for a moment. “There’s a story. An old one. Wolves came to the earth from far beyond the stars. Some say they fell from a moon that no longer hangs in the sky but plummeted down to the earth. The Eye of the World is said to be the place where that moon crashed. The devastation from the moon falling killed everything and everyone on earth. The wolves poured forth from the moon and covered the entire world.
“Alone and hungry, some began planting seeds and crafting new creatures to serve as the Hunt. That was part of their religion of old, on that fallen moon. These new creatures spread and were protected by the wolves to ensure a bountiful harvest. Those wolves who began planting seeds and eating plants slowly shed their fur and snouts and tails and ears and stood upright. They began caring for the livestock born from their sisters but they also began harvesting them as well. In time, discord grew between the different wolves and they went to war.
“The wolves who shed their fur became human and found shelter and built walls. Those other wolves remained themselves.”
Emrys looked down at the mountain of eggs and meat in the platter. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “You believe that?”
“Those born touched by wolves are blessed by the gods of old. They see through the veils of reality and can commune with the gods themselves. They have eyes to see and ears to hear and tongue to taste the gods.” She sighed. “No, I don’t believe.” She turned to the empty door to the hall. Sionnach had not yet returned but Granny’s eyes filled with tears. She said, “With her I am allowed to catch my breath and even believe that I’ll escape unscathed.”
“How do you escape?”
Granny laughed a short, bitter laugh. “Ask Dorian.”
“Where’s he?”
She shook her head. “It’s a joke, fool. Dorian’s the first my cousin collected and he remains bound to her, unable to run. Unable even to remember his name or family. There is no escape from the captain. She may discard you, though.” She nodded, sniffed. “It’s a hard thread to balance. You make her mad, she may throw you from the ship to dance through the skies. You give her too much, she may keep you forever. Tell me, what special skills do you have?”
“I can sing.”
The cook shrugged. “Go on, take this to Bronach and the rest of the crew. They’ll be there soon, if not already.”
While he served Bronach and her daughters and granddaughters, he remembered his dream and the dragon and the cage. It had felt real. So very real. Realer than any dream he’d ever had.
But his entire life seemed to bob between the dreams and strange magics of the world that was once so familiar, now turned ever in upon itself, spinning away from everything he believed he knew.