Eldermost Storm

Kyrie hunched inside the extra-big waterproof parka Ginkgo had brought, trying to reason with Anan. Which felt a whole lot like talking to himself. Because ever since Opal’s last revelation, the thundercloud had stopped responding. He’d also stopped drizzling, but that was probably only because Hurricane Dima more than made up for his efforts. He was probably cheering her on.

Shortly after Grandfather Hajime brought Pim to fetch Sibley, Ginkgo excused himself to check on things at the house. So for the moment, Kyrie had the beach and three winds all to himself.

“Nobody can make you descend,” he reasoned. “It would be your choice.”

“Choice,”Anan scoffed back. “I was tricked once. I won’t listen to any dragons.”

“What about half-dragons?”

After a longish pause, the thunderstorm asked, “Is that what you are?”

“Yes. My sire is a dragon, but my biological mother is human. An unregistered reaver.”

“Reaver?”

“People with bright souls …?”

“Those descended from stars and hills and trees and tides.”

“Yes. We have stars and trees here. And beacons and baby rock imps. And now you.”

“I’m not someone you can simply have.”

Kyrie didn’t really want to sit in the rain, quibbling terms, but this was so much better than silence. “Do you have me, then? Because I can tell there is a connection.”

“A small connection. Barely worth mentioning. A stringy, stingy link. It could be better. It could give more. Haizea needs more.”

“I wonder if that is wise. Boon says that would mean bond-building.”

“We need more, and that’s the truth, dragonling. I can’t help it if you happen to be unusually pretty.”

Kyrie was curious. “Am I tempting?”

“You’re a little terror. Do these others know you’re a storm unto yourself?”

Heat briefly suffused Kyrie’s face, for that felt like a compliment. “Most people do not see me from the inside. And I try not to show the parts that make me a terror.”

It was the strangest feeling, that Anan was rummaging through his secrets.

“Better you than that bard. He’s a menace. All those pretty words. All his pretty songs. But ….”Anan’s next words came more slowly. “But becoming music was … yes, that was tempting.”

The imp’s shiver of delight surprised Kyrie. “You like music?”

“Not just any music. The wind instrument. That’s how I was caught and kept. I couldn’t resist it song. I couldn’t resist becoming a song.”

The Bamboo Stave was a wind instrument. A flute as long as a man’s arm. Kyrie could imagine a wind wanting to pass through it, coming out as notes. He thought maybe it was a little like tuning a whole forest full of remnant stones to carry his song.

“So you were lured by the flute? By the Bamboo Stave?”

“How would a child know about something so rare?”

“I am a rare child.” Stray raindrops slipped under the tarp and smacked Kyrie’s face. “My family says I am loved by winds.”

“I do not love you.”

“Are you certain?”

“If I did, I cannot imagine admitting it.”

“That, at least, is honest.”

“I’m no liar. I’m not even clear about how lies work.”

Kyrie laughed. “I like you, Anan.”

“Nooo. You shouldn’t like me. You should tremble before an eldermost storm. You should cower in awe before my might.”

“I know how you could impress me.”

“I may have been stranded for half of forever in a bottle with nothing but the memory of a melody for company, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. Spare me your attempts at trickery.”

Kyrie wasn’t done. “Do you like challenges?”

“I don’t recall. And I said no tricks. Are you defying me? That’s asking for trouble, little terror. Inviting disaster.”

“Yes. I want to invite disaster.”

Anan missed a beat, then asked, “Is this about Dima?”

“Yes. I would be impressed if you could help me woo her to our side.”

“Our side? Ours?”

“Mine, then. I am not trying to trick you. I am trying to make peace with Dima. But she only rages.” Kyrie quietly admitted, “I am cold and wet and willing to admit that I need help. Can you help? Or do I need to ask Mother to call Lord Beckonthrall? He might have advice, since he has wooed winds before.”

“I have half a mind to descend, simply so I can throttle you.”

“If you were to join me here, I would send for the Bamboo Stave.” Kyrie didn’t have the authority to do that, but Dad did. So he went further, lacing all his wheedling with vows. “I will give you the stave, and I will sit at your feet. I will listen as every breath you draw becomes the melody that was your only company for too long, and I will be glad for you.”

“Do you know what it would mean for an eldermost storm to hold one of the Four Storms?”

“Tell me.”

“Do you understand the Bamboo Stave’s purpose?”Anan pressed.

“Music?”

“The four storms are weapons, little terror. You should tremble more, or aren’t you part dragon?”

“Dragons do fear the Four Storms.” That had been interesting to Kyrie, but he didn’t find them ominous. “What was the Bamboo Stave made to do?”

“Steal voices.”

Kyrie sat up a little straighter. “It silences people?”

“Not that. I should have said disarm. These weapons are intended to disarm a dragon’s voice.”

“Swaying words!”

“If the Bamboo Stave is singing, all those who can hear it are safe.”

Kyrie laughed again, happy to have made such an important discovery. “The Four Storms are not weapons. They are defenses!”

“All depends which side of the conflict you’re on.”

“Do you know what the others do?”

“No. I’m not even sure how I know what the Bamboo Stave does.”

“Maybe you know because it was always meant for you.” Kyrie firmed his resolve. “I will get it for you.”

“Swear it.”

“I promise. It may take some time, but Father will surely see the necessity. Yes. I promise, Anan. I will set the Bamboo Stave into your hands myself.”

There was the faintest scrunch of snow and sand. “I believe you.”

Kyrie turned to stare for several moments at an angular man with ebony skin and an unruly cloud of curls. Then he jumped to his feet, surrendering his borrowed parka. “Anan …?” he asked, even though he knew.

The imp’s eyes flashed silver-bright with amusement. “Surprised you, did I?”

“You descended.”

“I made room for Dima.”

Kyrie pondered this while he fastened the parka, which didn’t suit Anan at all, but at least it covered his nakedness. “Was there no room for another storm?”

“You are bursting with potential, but you are still a boy. And she is a tempest like no other.”

“She does seem very strong. She has not stopped storming, even though it has been hours.”

“This?” Anan scoffed. “This is nothing. Dima is weak as a naked hatchling, quivering in its nest. At her best, she could raze cities, then wash away their rubble. The world drowned once, you know.”

Kyrie whispered, “The Flood?”

“But in this state? I doubt she could manage four days and four nights.” Anan slowly reached out, setting his fingertips against Kyrie’s cold cheek. “Are you afraid, little terror?”

He shook his head. “I think … is it foolish to say I would be honored to make her acquaintance?”

A crooked smile flashed—there and gone—as if Anan didn’t want to let on that Kyrie’s answer had pleased him. He turned his face into the rain. “I hope you appreciate my sacrifice!”

“You have lost the sky.” Kyrie was shivering without the second coat, but he left the shelter of the fire and its covering to stand at Anan’s side. “If I gain it one day, I could carry you.”

The imp favored him with a sidelong look, then pressed the flat of his hand to Kyrie’s back. “Do you mean these wings?”

“Are they wings? Nobody c-could say for c-certain.” His teeth were beginning to chatter.

“I was a ruler of those skies, gliding effortlessly through the firmament, darkening lands and lashing them with lightning. The sound of my approach sent humanity burrowing for cover, and none could withstand my strikes.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. Just a little. “I know the shape and feel of wings. Yours are not fully formed, but isn’t that how it is with dragonkind? Cursed, they were, to cling to the earth.”

“I remember the story.”

Anan warned, “I’m going to test you, little terror.”

“All right. How, please?”

“A kiss.”

Kyrie brightened. “Oh, I know about that sort of kiss. An imp’s regard shines brightly on the one they love … unless their love is not wholeheartedly returned.”

“A rare child, indeed,” Anan grumbled, bending closer.

“Wait. C-could … could it be in a s-secret place?”

“Choose,” Anan ordered.

“S-s-someplace I c-can see, but others will n-not notice.” Kyrie really was very cold. “Even if they are a f-fox. Or the F-first of Wards. Or … or another imp.”

“Why?”

“I want to share a secret with you. Th-th-that is another k-kind of b-bond.”

Anan frowned, but then he said, “Show me your hand.”

Kyrie lifted both.

With another flicker of a smile, Anan pressed warm lips to each palm. They watched together as filigree sparkled across Kyrie’s skin, twirling into patterns that reminded him of the work of spiders. It was so beautiful, he gasped in dismay when Anan rubbed at them with his thumbs.

“Now I’ll know the truth,” Anan said ominously.

Kyrie couldn’t have been happier. “You want me to love you.”

“You are allowed to love Haizea and Dima. I need very little. Hardly anything. Except … perhaps a bit more of that pretty soul of yours.”

His teeth were chattering worse, so he simply nodded.

Anan straightened, faced the storm, and shouted, “Dima! He believed me!”

Kyrie’s brows drew down, and he wanted to ask Anan what he meant. But he was too distracted by the fact that the typhoon, with a final patter of raindrops, simply … stopped.