Fay, You Have To Fly

FAY

At first, no one noticed which direction the dragon had taken. We were just spooked out of our minds. Only after two hours or three did Tyke tick for all of us, shouting, "Magnus, north!" Deon began laughing sarcastically, but soon stopped when Magnus, indeed, pointed his muzzle north.

From then, I can tell, with the shy moon above us, Magnus must have been flying for at least eight hours. Eight long hours of sparse conversation... Deon feeding Magnus a seagull, the highlight of the flight.

Everything spins: New Orc, my parents, my childhood, Quince...

Heat keeps lifting my skin, sweat bedded in every fold. The fever just won't quit. It's as if restless legs syndrome had taken over my body, an estranged longing to have my flesh kneaded, wrung... bitten.

I wonder if that's what an intense desire to die does to you.

No, not even close...

I'm flush against Tyke's chest, his heart pounding at the back of my neck, beating life into me, or... the swaying's coming from me, even maybe from the motion of this beast. There is no point in me settling on anything, anyway. My thoughts are too disjointed for me even to conclude whether I've exhaled or inhaled.

The swooshing sound of the dragon's wings rises and falls in my ears, drifting me in and out of sleepless nightmares or troubling memories. It's all the same. I'm barely a shell and what's in it is sickened, brittle, and weak.

With a weight on my eyelids that continues to gain, keeping my bearings is challenging, but what I do notice is the atmosphere. It smells like fire and salt, woven with gentle breezes running over my skin, making me feel warm and tingly.

The dragon must be flying high as my head spins lightly—a distraction I honestly welcome.

Tyke's engulfed me with his arms, holding me as I try just being. Like he's always done. The one-night stands, the alcohol, the police department, every fuck up and mistake I made, pouring into him, taking everything until I'm rebooted and new, and he's left hollow and struggling with my rot.

Not this time. This time, I'll be stronger.

I must.

A faint murmur leaks over my shoulder. "Deon, a word." Tyke hasn't spoken for a while. His voice is gruff, as if he were speaking for the first time in the morning after a long sleep.

I can't hear Deon's exact answer, but his elated tone comes through clear and recognizable.

They can free their voices, but Donna might be asleep, and that thought goes to waste. There's so much going on in my head that I don't know what to say. I may be better off remaining silent.

I shuffle ever so slightly, and Tyke's arms constrict around me.

My eyes hurt from tears that won't stop. I try to tamp down my tremors, but each time Tyke detects one, enveloping me tighter, and everything worsens.

I'm not even startled in the slightest. His hands become increasingly tense every few minutes, as if out of a secret fear that I may slink away, and this has been going on for hours.

My fog-ridden brain jolts to sudden hushes, whispers flowing from Tyke to Deon—saccadic breathing ping-ponging to each other.

"We used to date. Our relationship was a sham!" I feel my stomach drop as soon as I realize the person being discussed is Vine.

"Don't mix your bitterness with who she is. She backed me countless times during the mission... In all cases, I don't have time for this. I need to find a way to feed Magnus."

"Tyke, wake up, bro. Bell's a fucking psychopath. She sold me to Fidr!"

The tension in my body rises as Tyke's heavy blow pours down my neck.

"Traitor, I tell you!"

Tyke stays silent, only rumbling inwardly, his breath rolling around as though it were being sucked into me through the front of his chest.

My tears are stinging. I want to wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, but I won't for fear of breaking this private exchange.

"Turn your goddamn voice down," Tyke says under his breath as his chin glazes over my head, fingers constricting around my ribs.

"And the wand, believe me, it..." I bite my lip as Deon muffles his remaining words, a glimmer of dread needling through me at the mention of my wand. What makes an accessory the highlight of a conversation?

"I'm not surprised. It could even be hers by birthright!"

Whose birthright?

"Birthright!? It's a fucking dangerous, might I say, mon-arch-ical weapon!"

While a stray tear drips down my chin, a visceral urge to laugh arises. There's no time to dwell on it as it quickly fades away.

As I dip my head a little, my eye slants as I notice my tear fell onto Tyke's arm.

He stiffens, causing the shadow of his head to rise above me in an ebbing motion. I'm short of gasping when his hand slowly swipes over my face, wiping off the wetness as a mother would with a child, leaving me vulnerable and numb. It's a feeling I hate and am tired of it. It's been like this all my life.

"I consider Fidr to be more threatening," Tyke says. I'd love to make heads or tails about all this. I can grasp its meaning, but I don't have enough information to understand the whole picture—and it seems they don't, either.

"The enemy will flock to us if she's a magnet!" Deon spits.

Enemy?

"Shut up!"

The silence comes back. Rather than veering heavier, it's more agonizing, and there's a sense of urgency I can't explain.

Another sob racks my shoulders as the image of my dead parents keeps stabbing at the sides of my head.

"Jor'kahal?!" barks Deon.

"Don't raise your voice. I warn you."

"There's nothing there. No electricity, no ways of communication, no nothing! What if we need help?!"

"What help?" grates Tyke. "Have people in the back of your mind? Share, I'm all for it!"

"The RMB."

"The Revolutionary Monster Brigade..." Tyke sniggers coldly, removing the little blood left on my face. "You mean teens messing up people's minds and letterboxes?"

"It's real."

"If it's the case, got their little phone number because I don't?"

"No."

Once more, silence. Tyke's low voice breaks it. "Are you sure about her?"

"Listen, don't you find it strange that Helbenixon was being engulfed by an armada of soldiers, even as the skies ripped open? Timing is strange, don't you think?"

"She sided with me when she could've not."

"Tyke, truth is my specialty. "

I can't discern what Tyke is whispering, only "...cuffs."

"Careful, bro. She's equipped."

I move, curiosity driving me out of my stillness. "Where are we going?" I ask. It's as if Deon and Tyke are thrown into a stupor. Too many unsaid words in this stillness have me paranoid at once.

"I'm taking you to the place I told you about," he whispers softly.

"Jor'kahal?"

"Jor'kahal."

I blink a few times and try to wiggle my legs, but I can't. As I look down, I understand why. Cerberios is on me, fast asleep.

I stroke his head and, as I do, look around.

My gaze falls on Deon's lap. This skirt-chaser is petting Donna's hair, and I want to frown because he's acting out of character. He's not playing with her strands like a flirtatious hitchhiker; he's handling them as if the threads are made of water and gold. It's nearly too intimate to keep watching. And when his eyes catch mine, I realize my mouth is hanging because I shut it at once.

"Hello, sleepy girl," he murmurs.

I loosen my lips, "Hi," and surprise myself, smiling a little. Donna's wearing the change I put in my bag. No wonder. She was very werey on the roof.

Still, I frown. She took a bag with her, did she not?

I suck in a deep breath and lift my head to the sky.

It's dark, but I catch the tracings of the moon behind the brume. It isn't much of a moon, more of a thin ribbon shaped like a bow. I can hardly see it. The horns of this dragon cast an eerie glow on the night sky like two oversized fiery torches veiling the sky with an orange hue.

Tyke's chin brushes my shoulder. "Fay, try to stay calm because something's about to happen."

I do as he commands, fixing my gaze on the golden fur of Cerberios waving in the wind and breathe, "Okay."

One firm hug from him triggers a freeing whimper as if he'd squeezed out some of the sorrow that's corroding me inside. A sigh accompanies the growl in his voice, and it seems he's waiting for something. There's a flutter in my chest as his hand detangles from me, sliding down my waist. Fingers fork into mine, waving and stroking, and a gush of emotions blur my eyes. "I will be with you. We'll talk for hours, and you can shout at me, cry your heart out..."

I fold my fingers over his grip. "I'm alright." Not really, but I won't be a liability anymore, not to him—not now nor ever again.

Tyke removes his arms from me, and I lean to the right, my stare going to Deon. He shuffles from side to side in silence, rubbing his knees against the scales to gently remove them from under Donna's snoring head.

"On the count of three," Tyke whispers.

My head knows what's going on, but my heart doesn't. There's an old flame in Deon, and it's a bad fire burning here. She's been described as a traitor, and gargoyles don't lie.

"Three..."

"Hey!" Vine yells at the top of her lungs.

I keep staring at Cerberios. Keep my breathing steady.

"Grab her rifle!" groans Tyke.

Bang!

Bang!

Cerberios barks at the gunshots, and I jump up on him, holding him by one of his collars, trying not to fucking lose it.

Donna's profile jumps into my side vision. "What's going on?!"

Immediately, I grab her wrist. "Don't interfere. Look ahead."

"Remove your hands from me, asshole!" Vine yells.

I shudder at Deon moaning in pain. He must have taken a bullet!

As I glance sideways, I notice Donna gripping her mast, and of course, she's looking behind her shoulders, her knuckles covered in fur. "I'm gonna push her off this beast."

My clasp on her wrist shakes. "Don't."

She freezes, and I know she's looking at me, but I can't return her stare. I just can't. All of me is focused on what's in front of me, horns on fire, the sky, pushing through whatever I'm pushing through.

Maybe she's recognized the growing risk of her nosing in, because she finally aligns her gaze with mine, her hand folding over my grip. "We got this, girl."

My lips move, unconvinced, "Yeah. We got this," as my ears tune fast at what's progressing behind me.

"Sorry, sergeant, can't take any risks. Not anymore," Tyke says. "Deon, where?"

"A graze on the shoulder. I'm fine."

"Altitude affects your judgment!" Vine huffs as if crawling on her stomach.

"You haven't changed a bit. Still a lousy shooter," grates Deon.

My jaw tightens.

A snigger follows the sound of spit.

"But then again, you're still a good spitting machine." Deon's rage is building like wildfire, slowly sizzling and grinding. "Here, a nice gag for you. Nothing new for you, right?"

A cackle erupts, chilling me to the bone. "It won't make any difference now. They're coming."

"Shut up!" Deon stuffs something into her mouth, Tyke adding, "Wait!"

There's a coughing sound, followed by, "I knew you were different. Listen, Tyke?—"

"No, Vine, you listen. What won't make any difference now? Who's coming?!"

Silence again.

"Vine!"

Rumbling, frightening feminine chuckles follow.

"Easy, brother. You're going to break her neck."

As Vine's voice gradually drowsens, I keep my eyes on a piece of fur rolling between my fingers. No matter how often I rub it or get licks on my face, my heart still pounds.

"Gag me. It's better," she says in a sneering way.

A mutter in Orcish strikes through my skull. "Mog Irem Shra B'har Kah'less!" I'll behead you when your feet touch the ground... Or something along those lines, the words 'behead,' 'feet,' and 'ground' found in various expressions, although I have a gut feeling that ain't one.

"Don't, Tyke. Please," Vine cries. "Please!"

A growl rises, and a dry sound like a hilt on bone resounds in my ears. I close my eyes, the thud that follows, quick.

"Did you just kill her?" Deon speaks with a trembling tongue in harmony with his words.

"I put her to sleep. She's fine."

This whole mess is a fucking disaster.

"What are you doing?" Deon breathes before stifling a grunt of pain.

"I'm searching her. Her fucking phone. She has a satellite one. Pretty sure her phone is somewhat giving a signal."

There's a breaking sound of plastic.

"She must have called someone." There's despair in Tyke's voice.

I don't understand why they are in such a fuss over something like this. Leaning against Cerberios, I place my hand over my forehead, feeling nauseous, and focus on the dragon's neck before me.

I frown.

His scales are getting shorter.

Under my body, the dragon's skin moves as if shuddering. It feels as if it is vibrating from within his body. "Tyke..."

"Keep your eyes forward, Fay."

Cerberios growls, the hard skin receding under us, intensifying in speed.

"Donna, the dragon is acting weird," I mutter.

"What?"

I repeat as gale picks up at once, "Something's wrong with the dragon!"

My ears prickle to, "Fay, hold on tight," just in time for Tyke's chest to fall on me. "We're landing."

"Now?" I shout, the wind pounding on my eardrums.

The last time I looked up Jor'kahal on a map, it was 2,500,585 miles away from New Orc... Nothing but a twenty-hour flight by aeriojet. "Yes."

My senses sharpen as our level drops, starting with my hearing. There is a sharp, glassy sound piercing the air. Neither the gust nor the flames huffing in the wind, nor the dragon's breathing is causing it.

It's lighter, more crystallized, like the sound of scissors closing onto nothing, repeatedly, blade against blade....

"Bats. They're hounding us!" Deon shouts.

"I'm not too fond of that." Donna clamps her fingers on a scale that shrinks from the size of a door to one that now looks the size of an A4 paper.

"Oh, darling, there's no need to cling to this beast because you're coming with me." Deon snatches Donna's arm, lifting her as he takes off. Beating the air above us, he shouts, "Tyke?!"

Tyke nods silently at him.

Deon seems to pester him before plunging with Donna while I strive for a breath. It huffs out of me when Tyke takes hold of my wrists, forcing me to face him. "Fay, you need to fly."

Tyke is wingless! "I'm not leaving without you."

His face darkens, nostrils flaring. "Take off! Head to the ground as fast as you can and trill for Deon to get to you!"

"No!"

"Fay." Tyke dives on my lips, kissing me, and it hurts. I cry and battle in his grip, wanting his lips but refusing them because I know what he's doing. "Forgive me."

His skin leaves me, even as I scratch the length of his arms, the world spinning, land and sky whirlpooling before my eyes.

"Tyke!"