He snatched the second bear in his maw and lifted it, muscles straining in his neck from its weight. He threw his head back, biting down hard, and broke the bear’s back, killing it quickly. Because of its size, he couldn’t swallow it whole, so he had to chew on it for a while. When he was finished, he attacked the first bear, still pinned under his weight, and devoured it more leisurely.
Then Dhamon drank his fill, savoring the taste of the bears. They were far more palatable than anything else he’d eaten lately. After a few minutes of washing his claws, he headed upstream and made quick work of tracking the cinnamon brown bear. He wouldn’t need to eat again for some time.
Feril and Ragh sat across from each other on a large rock at the headwaters of the stream. They were at the edge of the Qualinesti forest, the Kharolis Mountains looming to the east. Strewn on the rock were the contents of the larger satchel—colored ceramic vials, clay jars, scroll tubes sealed with thick gray wax, small leather pouches filled with crystalline substances, and an assortment of metal and bone beads and tiny figurines carved from soft green stone.
“All of this is going to help Dhamon?” The sivak was studying Feril as intently as he was regarding the assortment of objects.
She didn’t meet his gaze at first as she moved the figurines around with her index finger, lingering on one that resembled a raccoon. “There is some faint magic in these pieces, and in these.” She was touching the beads now. “Stronger magic in the bone. Honestly, I don’t know how these things are going to help.” She raised her eyes. “I will find out, I promise you.” Feril stood and reached for the other satchel, rummaging around in it until she pulled out a stoppered flask. “Leave these things be, sivak,” she ordered, pointing to the objects. Then she slid off the rock and started toward a weeping cedar, the main branch of which looked like a robed man, one arm outstretched as if pointing to something.
Ragh had seen her holding that particular flask before on and off during the journey here. Sometimes she cradled it like a baby, other times she studied her reflection in its polished sides and cocked her head toward it, as if she were listening to something. At no time did she let the sivak take it in his own hands.
“Hey!” Ragh quickly caught up to her, pointing at the flask. “What’s so important about that flask? What are you going to do with it?”
She slowly let out a deep breath. “I keep telling you, what I’m going to do is none of your…”
“Concern? Business? I’m tired of your attitude. You bet it’s my concern, elf, because it concerns Dhamon. He’s the only friend I have, and I want him to be human again as much as you want it. He needs to be human before whatever’s left of his humanity slips away, and it is slipping. You can see it, if you’ve a care to look, so you don’t need to be keeping secrets.” He pointed again at the flask.
“You have no secrets, sivak?” Her eyes seemed to float inward, and she ran the fingers of her free hand across the stopper. “Do you really want Dhamon to be human? Would he still remain your friend? You can’t go everywhere with him, you can’t fly around with him, sivak, if he becomes a man.”
A meaningful silence passed between them, and when, after a long pause, the draconian spoke again, his whispery voice came from somewhere deep inside him. “Dhamon was the only man ever to treat me fairly. He never treated me…never talked to me…like I was a monster. He treated me, still treats me, as an equal.” His voice contained a mix of pride and pain. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I trust we will remain friends, no matter what. Whatever you’re going to do with that flask—if it concerns Dhamon—I want to know about it.”
Feril stood motionless for several moments, then nodded. In the light of the late morning sun her wide eyes had taken on a hard blue shine. Those eyes were severe, forbidding. Ragh stared, as though seeing her for the first time—noticing faint lines around the corners of her eyes and also at the corners of her mouth, a thin crease on her forehead. Those facial lines were something new, something she’d acquired since her dives to the bottom of the Lake of Death.
The Kagonesti had aged considerably since they first met, the sivak realized. Something in the Lake of Death had added more than a few years to her look. Those added years were noticeable. Her eyes, with hard bright edges, had seen something terrible, or she’d been through something that stole part of her life.
“What happened down there…in the lake?” he found himself asking.
She glanced back at the rock and the assortment of magical treasures she’d collected from Qualinost at the bottom of Nalis Aren. She didn’t answer; Ragh heard only the stream flowing along at a fast pace, churning white around the knobby roots of a long-dead willow. The sunlight sparkled gold against the water and cut into the stream, illuminating patches of dark greens. In other places the stream looked clear as glass, with colorful pebbles strewn under the shallow water.
Feril was gazing at the stream, but Ragh wondered if she was staring at something remembered from the depths of Nalis Aren. She still didn’t answer. All right, then; he changed the subject. “Are you going to tell me what’s in that flask? A magical potion? Some arcane elixir Dhamon’s supposed to drink?”
Another length of silence.
“All right,” she said finally. “You deserve to know. It’s nothing like that.” Feril returned to the rock and sat cross-legged. She waited for the sivak to join her before, watching his reaction, she pulled the stopper off the flask.
The air shimmered and a face formed between Feril and Ragh, looking like a cloud settling to the earth. Ragh edged back and the muscles in his arms tensed. The misty face grayed to take on the substance of smoke, then details appeared—pronounced wrinkles, long pointed ears, deep-set eyes that looked more like vacant sockets. Thin lips parted and a pale blue wisp snaked out.
The misty face broke into a wide grin.
“Glory be, elf-fish, I am free of the lake!” The spirit face brightened. “Mountains! Magnificent land! Trees! It worked, my pretty puzzlement! Free!”
Wide-eyed, Ragh tentatively reached to touch a clawed finger to the apparition, then quickly pulled it back, shivering. Cold, he mouthed to Feril. Like ice. “What in the deepest levels of the Abyss is that thing? ”
“Ah, a draconian! In life I was never close to one, only saw one of gold from a considerable distance once. You are a sivak, right?” The spirit didn’t wait for an answer. “Yes, obviously a sivak, but I thought your kind had wings.”
Ragh glowered at him. “What are you, wrinkle-face?”
“Obelia,” the apparition said proudly. “I once was a Qualinesti sorcerer of considerable renown. I died in the heart of Qualinost’s Old City when the great dragon Beryl descended on us and ruined our good and noble home. Now, freed from Nalis Aren, I have a new purpose. I am going to help the friend of my elf-fish become human again, then she is going to help me find my dear sister Elalage.” He hovered excitedly inches in front of Feril. “We have much work to do, my pretty puzzlement.” To Ragh’s astonishment, he then read over her shoulder as she carefully pulled the first scroll out and smoothed it against the rock.
For the next hour or so, Feril and the spirit went through each object and scroll, discussing various magical theories and spells. Ragh, keeping at arm’s length, listened carefully. Though Feril was only passingly familiar with the kind of magic that Obelia and his peers had practiced in life, Ragh boasted more understanding, having associated with several sorcerers over the centuries, so he paid attention and learned to heed the words of the ghost sorcerer.