Revaramek the Resplendent - Chapter One Hundred Eighteen (Patreon)

Mirelle scrambled away from the statues, and back towards the edge of the strange garden. She hopped over a silver stone, and onto one of the paths beyond them. Revaramek was right behind her, and before she could get out of his way, he scooped her up in a foreleg. Mirelle grit her teeth and clutched his limb, bouncing in his grasp as he stormed out of the garden. Nyra gave a squeal, somewhere behind them, and followed at Rev’s tail. Once they were outside the garden and back near the crowd of gathered urd’thin, Mirelle wriggled free and turned to face the dragon.

“Are you sure it’s a-”

“Sorry to haul you off your feet, but-”

“No, it’s fine, but how do you-”

“Nyra!” Revaramek called to his mate before she came up alongside him. He spoke to her in the swamp dragon tongue, and Mirelle strained to pick any of it. She was having enough trouble keeping up with the urd’thin. When the dragon turned his bronze gaze back on her, he returned to the common language. “I don’t want either of you going anywhere near those statues again!”

“Rev.” Mirelle took his muzzle in her hands to hold his attention. His pebbly scales were hotter than usual against her skin, the dragon’s equivalent of an anxious flush. “I appreciate your concern, but back your parade up a few paces.”

“Back my parade up?” Revaramek flattened his ears.

“It’s just a saying. How do-”

“No, it isn’t!” Revaramek snorted, lashing his tail against the sand. “I’ve never in my life heard someone tell me to back my parade up.”

“This isn’t the time for this, Rev.”

Revaramek cocked his head, and then gave her palms a gentle nuzzle. His pebbly scales tickled just a little. “There’s always time for banter, Mirelle. It calms my nerves.”

Mirelle cracked a smile, and pressed her forehead to Rev’s nose. She stroked his muzzle, and then lifted her face again. “How do you know that’s a gate?”

“Those silver stones around it, they’re the same in every gate I’ve seen.” Revaramek stretched a wing back towards the garden. “They’re buried in the sand, only the tops are peeking out, but once I realized what they were, it was clear. You can see parts of the ebony ring, too, where the sand’s exposed it. And those paths and channels around it, I’ve seen designs like that before, too. Both in the marsh, and in the swamp. Asterbury said they…they amplify whatever energy the gate harnesses.”

“You think those urd’thin have their own gate?” Mirelle leaned over to peer around the dragon. Ekki was still inside the garden, her head tilted, staring at them in confusion. “I don’t think she has any idea why we all suddenly ran away.”

Revaramek lifted his head from Mirelle’s hands, gazing across the gathered urd’thin crowd milling about, not far away. “They may not understand what it is. It looks like it’s been buried in the sand for decades, at least. But that place is clearly sacred to them, and…they can probably…” He swished a paw in the air. “Sense it. The power. If they’re shapers, anyway. You said…you said he brought them here, right? The Father? Maybe he used that gate. Or maybe they were wandering, found that thing alongside an oasis, and took it as an omen to build their village here.”

Mirelle wrung her hands, staring out across the blue-green water of the deep oasis. The breeze shifted, and carried the water’s scent, along with a hint of refreshing coolness. It made for a pleasant respite from the rising heat. “Maybe. That’s all we ever seem to have, though, maybes.”

“Especially where Asterbury’s concerned.”

Mirelle grit her teeth, watching Nyra nuzzle up against her mate. “Rev, we might have to consider that he’s not trying to help us save your mate. He might just want us to think that, while instead he’s got us doing…gods know what out here. I know you believe him about your family, but…I’m not convinced he’s trustworthy.”

“I think whatever he may want us to do, it’ll help save Nyra. But I…I didn’t expect to find a gate out here, I’ll admit.” Revaramek murmured to his mate, and licked her ear a few times. She returned the affection, and then Revaramek stretched his neck to bump Mirelle. “We should stay away from that thing, for now.”

“What do you mean for now?”

“It’s probably not even active, anymore. I’d have to dig it out to see.” Revaramek curled his neck, peering over his wings towards the garden. “Or put my blood to it and see what happens. It doesn’t have a crystal dome, and laying sideways instead of standing up, but, it might still work.”

Mirelle put a hand on the dragon’s neck. “What does it matter if it works, Rev?”

“Probably nothing.” He swung his head back around to flash her a smile. “At least not yet.”

“Whaddya mean, not yet?” Mirelle snatched his ear, glaring at him. “Whatever crazy idea you’ve got rattling around in your head, you can spit it out right now.”

“You can’t spit ideas, Mirelle.” Revaramek jerked his head away. “But if it works…”

“Yes?” Mirelle glared at him, waiting.

“Gates operate based on a command, a set of guidelines and coordinates. To a specific world, or even a specific gate, right?”

Mirelle folded her arms. “You know better than I.”

“That’s what I’ve learned from Jekk, and Asterbury, and from studying some of the books in that old archive Asterbury dug out, years back.”

“Rev…” Mirelle took a breath and held it. “You’re drifting again.”

The dragon flattened his spines, glancing at his mate. “If you don’t put in coordinates, then it sets a default location.”

“Which is?” Mirelle nudged her boot against the sand, watching the grains shift. “Don’t tell me. The storyteller’s home world?”

Revaramek tilted his head, silent.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Revaramek blinked, cocking his head the other direction.

“Where does it go?”

The dragon pulled his head back, neck aching. “You told me not to tell you.”

Mirelle only glared at him. “This may help your nerves, but it’s frazzling mine.”

Revaramek rumbled, rustling his copper-blotched wings. “It defaults to the last place it connected to. If that place is no longer available, then to the one nearest it, and so on. Which means, if those urd’thin came here through it…”

“Then it leads back to wherever they came from.” Mirelle sighed, hanging here head. “Which is quite possibly a ruined world, by now. Why would you want to go there?”

“I don’t know! Why did Asterbury send us here? Somewhere, in this desert…” Revaramek stretched a wing open, and swept it across the golden horizon. “Is something that will save my mate’s life. Maybe it’s a medicine, maybe it’s those flowers back there. Maybe it’s the place that Ekki drew a map to. Or maybe? Maybe it’s wherever that gate leads. Whatever it is, wherever it is, I will find it, Mirelle.” The dragon’s voice softened, and he watched his mate sniff and nose at Ekki. “I willfind it.”

Mirelle smiled, and rubbed the dragon’s jawline. “I know you will, Rev. That’s what heroes do. And I’ll help you in every way I can. I just…I want to know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

Revaramek only smiled at her. “It wouldn’t be much of an adventure if we did.”

“Perhaps not. But let’s leave that gate for last, shall we?”

“That was the plan.” Revaramek snorted. “I’m not even sure it will work, anyway. But it’s another thought to consider.”

“First, we should investigate wherever Ekki’s map leads too.” Mirelle stroked the dragon’s scales again and then turned her attention to the female urd’thin, approaching Nyra. She chattered away at the female dragon, as if expecting Nyra to understand her. “If my translation was anywhere near correct, she seemed quite certain that we’d find Star’s Blessing there. I’ll do my best to ask about the flowers, and any medicines they might have.”

“We should consider asking them about healing abilities, too. If translation allows.”

Mirelle scrunched her face. “But wasn’t healing considered forbidden by Vakaal’s people?”

Revaramek shrugged his wings. “You read the books, Mirelle.”

“I read some of them, I told you.” Mirelle shook her head, scowling. “I know I ought to read the rest but…I didn’t need to feel that sad, at the time. I was still working on the city’s reconstruction, and I had to focus on that.”

“I understand, Mirelle.” Revaramek lifted a paw and set it on her head, ruffling up her hair. “You’re very important these days.”

“Hey!” Mirelle knocked his hand away, scrambling back. “Cut that out!” She ran her hands over her hair, trying to get it back into some sort of order. “Why do you ask about the books?”

“I was hoping you might have insight. Obviously Vakaal could heal, and Asterbury can, as well.” He glanced away, staring at the shimmering horizon. “Maybe that’s what this is about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you suppose that’s the forbidden name?” He waved off the notion with a swish of paw. “Nevermind. What I was getting at is, I’m not sure if it was ever truly forbidden by most of them. I think…I think maybe they just used that to help hide what they really were from the rest of their people. I suspect his father always wanted to give Vakaal a normal life, and…he couldn’t do that if they knew the pup was a miracle worker. So maybe it isn’t forbidden here, if they don’t have reason to hide such a thing.”

“You know, Rev…” Mirelle scowled, crossing her arms. “If that furry little shit really wanted to help, he could have just healed Nyra years ago, back in the swamp. And made you two… poison proof, or something.”

“And give up having this kind of leverage over me?” Revaramek hissed, clawing at the sand. “He was still changing then, anyway. More and more of Vakaal was…waking up, or…taking hold. Battling the monster for supremacy.” The dragon snarled and tossed his head. “Doesn’t matter. As long as the urd’thin will have us, we’ll see what we can learn here, today. Maybe stay the night here, if we’re welcome. Tomorrow, we’ll go see where Ekki’s map leads, and we’ll plan accordingly from there.”

“Alright. Speaking of Ekki I’d better go drag her away from your mate and try and explain why we suddenly fled from her statues.”

“You drag Ekki one way, I’ll drag Nyra the other.” Revaramek rumbled and turned away to grasp at his mate’s tail, tugging it. Nyramyn flicked it away from his paws. “Maybe if I take her to see the crowd, we can get all that touchy-feely business out of their systems and we won’t have to worry about them groping us all night.”

Mirelle snorted, trying to hold back laughter. “I’m not sure that’s the word you meant, there.”

“No idea what you’re talking about, Mirelle.”

“Or maybe that’s exactly the word you mean.”

Mirelle smiled as she made her way around Nyramyn. Ekki stood before the female dragon, chattering and gesturing away, as if they were carrying on a conversation. Nyramyn tilted her head back and forth, listening, intent on the urd’thin even if she couldn’t understand. Her ears swiveled towards Mirelle, and Mirelle pointed to Rev. Revaramek beckoned his mate, and Nyra slowly turned around, careful not to bowl anyone over with her tail.

“Ekki!”

Mirelle gave the urd’thin a bow. She hoped they understood it as a respectful gesture. Best she could tell, Ekki served a role that combined chief, and priestess. She seemed to be their leader in day-to-day affairs as well as in spiritual matters. Or at least that was Mirelle’s best guess, based on the bits and pieces of mostly successful conversation they’d had so far.

Ekki stared at her, then repeated the bowl, a little awkward. “Me-rell?”

Mirelle tried to choose her words in urd’thin carefully, based on those Ekki seemed to understand thus far. “Thank you…showing…” She waved her hand towards the garden, trying to indicate all of it. But all she knew was the name of the female statue. “Mica.”

“Yes!” Ekki perked her large, brown furred ears. “God talker Mica!”

“God talker.” Mirelle pointed to the statue. “Mica…talk god?”

“Yes!” Ekki nodded. “God talker Mica!” She pointed to herself. “Godspeak Ekki.” Then she pointed at Mirelle. “God talker Me-rell?” She tilted her head. “Godspeak Me-rell?”

Mirelle furrowed her brown, noticing a subtle difference there she hadn’t picked up on before. The dialect was very different than the urd’thin language she was used too, so much so that even similarities were sometimes hard to discern. It was challenging for her to tell the difference between the words for talk, and speak, when Ekki spoke too quickly. But now that she had slowed down, the inflections were clearly different, and Mirelle suspected, so was the context. Furthermore, she was combining one of them with the word for god, but not the other.

“You…speak God.” Mirelle did her best to sound things out. “Ekki speak gods…to tribe?”

Ekki beamed and nodded. “Ekki speak gods to tribe!”

That time, she spoke it exactly as Mirelle had. Which given that Mirelle suspected she was butchering that language, might have Ekki assuming Mirelle was a little slow. She muttered to herself, thinking aloud. “Speak god to tribe. That’s got to be a priestess, right? She speaks about god to her people. Or gods?” Mirelle wasn’t sure. The urd’thin language worked a little differently than the tongues she knew, and it handled plurals differently, too. “If she speaks about the gods, to her tribe…than what does that make that statue?”

Mirelle cleared her throat. “Ekki speak gods to tribe.” Ekki nodded and smiled, and Mirelle pointed at the statue inside the strange garden, and the buried gate. “Mica…speak tribe…to god?”

“Yes!” Ekki clapped her paws, jumping up and down as if they’d made a major breakthrough. “God talker Mica!” Then Ekki broke into a long, rapid fire speech all about Mica, and Mirelle only caught bits and pieces. Something about, being the first to know the gods, and ruling their people. Mirelle smiled and gave her a little bow, then turned away to call out to Rev. “Hey, Revaramek? I think…I think she’s saying, that Mica statue? Doesn’t just represent a priestess, it represents someone who actually talked to the gods.”

Revaramek tossed his head. “Tell her to join the club.”

Mirelle glared at him. “This might be important, Rev!”

“I know, I know, but it might well just be a legend. Besides, I’ve talked to gods. Hell, I fought a god!”

“I don’t think Asterbu-MMPH!”

Before Mirelle could finish his name Ekki stretched her arm up to put her hand over Mirelle’s mouth. “No! No no no no!”

Mirelle stumbled back and Revaramek whirled around. “Mirelle, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Mirelle wiped her mouth, and bowed a few times to Ekki. “I guess we figured out what name we can’t-”

“Bad name!” Ekki shook a knife at Mirelle, the blade close enough to leave her nervous. “No say this!”

Mirelle held her hands up, fighting the urge to back away. She did not think the urd’thin actually meant it as a threat, more of a symbolic gesture. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Revaramek shifting around towards her. She flicked her fingers at him, wanting to keep the dragon at bay.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Mirelle bowed her head, but kept her hands up and her fingers splayed. “Why is bad?”

Ekki stopped waggling her knife, and tilted her head. She glared up at Mirelle through dark, narrowed eyes, though hints of confusion swirled in them. “Bad name call storms! Bad name, angry gods! Is not to say! No say, yes?”

“No say. No say!” Mirelle lowered her hands as Ekki put her knife away.

“Ekki…sorry. Not to scare, not to hurt Merell, yes? Me-rell guest! But Merell no say bad name tribe!”

Mirelle’s head ached a little, trying to parse that out. Though she caught the gist of her words, she had the distinct feeling that Ekki was purposefully dumbing down her speech to help Mirelle understand. It made her feel like a child being lectured by her instructor, but if it was the only way they were going to communicate for now, she’d have to suffer through.

“Mirelle no say bad name.”

“Good.” Ekki took Mirelle’s hand in one of her own, and patted it three times with the other. “Good, good, good.”

“Everything alright, Mirelle?” The slight growl in Revaramek’s voice reminded he couldn’t understand a thing Ekki was saying.

“I’m fine, Rev. She’s telling me, that’s a bad name, that I shouldn’t say in front of the tribe. I’ll explain the rest later, but everything’s fine. She’s apologizing for scaring me…I think.”

Ekki tilted her head. “Me-rell, speak god to tribe?”

“Right back to it, huh?” Mirelle grimaced and shook her head. Ekki blinked at her, and Mirelle switched back to the desert urd’thin tongue. Or at least, the closest approximation of it she could manage. “No. Mirelle no speak god to tribe. Mirelle…” She struggled for a moment, trying to explain her role in her society. “Chief?” Ekki continued to give her a blanket look. “No, not the same, huh? Hmm…” She tapped her chest with her free hand. “Mirelle lead tribe?”

Ekki didn’t seem to catch on, and chattered a few questions Mirelle couldn’t keep up with. Mirelle pointed to one of Ekki’s bracelets that seemed to symbolize authority. Ekki looked at it, and Mirelle tapped it again, then pointed to herself. That time, Ekki caught on, but started looking Mirelle over. Mirelle held her arms out, and Ekki poked at the knife sheathed at her hip.

“I think you’re telling her you’re a war chief, Mirelle, like the Va’chaak have.”

“Something like that. This would be a lot of easier if their language shared more in common with the urd’thin I know.” Mirelle took a few steps away from Ekki, then pointed at the dragon’s side. “I’m gonna get my maul, alright Rev?”

“Just do it slowly.”

“I wasn’t planning to yank it free and start swinging it around.”

Mirelle walked up alongside the dragon, and Ekki followed her. When she reached the place she kept her old wood maul strapped against Revaramek, Mirelle paused and pointed to Ekki’s daggers. Then she pointed to Ekki, and spoke her name. After that, she put her hand on the maul, smiling. She jerked her thumb at herself.

“Mirelle.”

Ekki pointed at the maul, her eyes widening. “Mirelle for fight?”

Mirelle giggled a little. “Yes. Mirelle uses this for fighting. Mirelle for fight.”

Ekki took a few steps back. “Mirelle show for fight, yes?”

Gritting her teeth, Mirelle unbuckled the maul, and pulled it free.

“Mirelle, what are you doing?” Revaramek curled his neck, watching her with his spines flared.

“It’s called diplomacy, Rev, you should try it sometime.”

“I’m not sure challenging our host to combat counts as diplomatic.”

“I’m not challenging her. She just wants to see how it’s used.”

“How do you know she’s not challenging you?”

“Actually…” Mirelle hefted the maul over her shoulder. “I hadn’t considered that. I guess we’ll worry about that if it becomes relevant.”

“You’d better worry, because she’ll probably kick your ass.” Revaramek moved back out her way, nudging Nyramyn aside as some of the crowd pushed closer, chattering voices getting louder. “Better make this quick, Mirelle, I think they’re taking bets.”

“You’re hilarious, Rev.” Mirelle gestured for Ekki to move back.

“Do you think we should put money on her, Mirelle?” Revaramek held up a paw. “Not that I don’t have faith in you! But she hasn’t got any balls for you to kick, so I’m not sure you’d know what to do!” Revaramek cackled, then turned his head to translate for Nyra.

Mirelle cut off his cackling by burying her maul on the sand near his forepaws. “Whoops! It slipped!”

“ACK!” Revaramek jerked his foreleg back, shaking it. “You almost took my damn fingers off! Point made, Mirelle, point made!”

Mirelle crouched down to get some sand, and rubbed it between her palms to dry them. Then she hefted her maul again, walked a few paces to be clear of everyone, and demonstrated its use for Ekki and the rest of the crowd. She swung it in an arc, then pivoted and rolled it across her shoulders, and hefted it in the opposite hand. She spun around, hoisted it over her head, then buried it as deep into the earth as she could. Just as quick she yanked it free. Gritting her teeth, she spun the heavy implement around in her hands, muscles straining and aching. Mirelle moved in a circle, simulating combat with a group of foes.

Though the maul was hardly designed as a weapon, it was well-balanced for chopping wood. Mirelle had taken plenty of lessons with a variety of weapons over the years, but she retained a fondness for the first tool she’d ever truly hefted in self-defense. She took it down from its display now and then to spend time practicing with it, to help keep herself in shape after long hours of council meetings.

By the time she dropped it into the sand, her brow was soaked with sweat, and her lungs heaved. She wiped her forehead, and then smiled at Ekki. “Mirelle for fight, yes.”

“Arrroooohhh!” Ekki gave a howling sort of noise that Mirelle hoped was one of approval, and not call to arms. She hoisted up the maul, and then swung it around a few times. The weight of it nearly carried her with it. She stumbled and thumped it down into the sand. “Is good!”

“Glad you approve.” Mirelle crouched down in the sand, scratching out little stick figures while she caught her breath. As Ekki came over, she pointed to them. “Mirelle tribe.” Then she drew another stick figure, and added a little maul. The newest figure was alone, but out in front of the others, as if they were following her. “Mirelle.”

“Oooohhrrrrhh!” Ekki nodded several times in quick succession as she caught on. “Mirelle speak fight to tribe!”

“Yes!” Mirelle stood back up, dusting off her hands. “Mirelle speak fight to tribe.” She pointed to Ekki. “Ekki speak fight to tribe?”

Ekki beamed, her big ears up. “Yes! Ekki speak god, Ekki speak fight.”

“Alright, Rev, I think she’s got the idea that I’m not a priestess, but I am a leader.” She glanced at the dragon, then back to Ekki. “Tomorrow…we go Star’s Blessing.”

Ekki tugged on Mirelle’s hand, then pointed back towards their village. “Food! Food eat we much! Food eat we much for Me-rell speak fight god’s beasts!”

“What was that all about?” Revaramek cocked his head.

“Aaah…if I’m understanding her correctly…she’s inviting us for a feast. And she thinks I’m your war leader, too.”

“If you understand her?”

“In my head, I translated it to…food eat we much.”

“Oooh!” Revaramek smiled at Nyra, translating, then grinned at Mirelle. “Tell her we accept! I like to food eat much.”

*****

As darkness fell across the desert, Ekki threw the feast she promised. The urd’thin covered their long, low tables with all kinds of food, and then put yet more of it on palm fronds spread across the sands. There was fish served smoked, fire-roasted, and raw. Strange, aquatic reptiles were cooked in pits with hot coals and fragrant herbs. Plucked birds were smothered in hand ground spices, and stuffed with dates. Fruits and vegetables of every variety the desert provided were diced and served raw, or fried up with cured meats. Others were mashed into a pulp, and fried into cakes on hot stones.

There was so much food offered Mirelle felt a little guilty. She doubted this tribe had the food stores to throw feasts like this often. To help offset the impact, Revaramek and Nyramyn both went hunting. They returned with the largest animals they could catch, and Mirelle was glad when the tribe seemed excited by the offerings. For a moment she half feared the dragons would unknowingly slay some sacred beast. The creatures looked a bit like hunch-backed goats, and the urd’thin put every part of them to use in another dish. Roasted organs, legs cooked in pits, deeper entrails in stews, skin seared crisp, and so on.

Once everything was ready, Mirelle was barely even allowed to serve herself. Instead, dozens of urd’thin kept bringing her new things to try, chattering at her all the while. She struggled to keep up with their words, and defaulted to thanking them one at a time. She ate a little bit of everything that was offered, and found she enjoyed almost all of it. She taught Revaramek how to say thank you in their tongue, and he in turn taught Nyra. Urd’thin kept bringing them food, too. Only when Mirelle insisted she was uncomfortably full did the constant arrival of new bites to try finally trail off. The dragons had a little more trouble getting the food service to end, as the urd’thin knew they had far larger stomachs, and each wanted their guests to try the foods they enjoyed best.

Though Mirelle felt guilty about seeing so much food prepared just for them arrival, at least she knew none of the food would be wasted. The whole tribe turned out for the village, from the youngest pups still nursing from their mothers, to wizened elders who needed help getting around. The youths and the elderly both had help in picking out what they could eat, and sometimes, even help eating it. The rest of the urd’thin came and went from the feast tables and fronds with no discernable order. There was enough for everyone, and even Ekki did not seem to get, or want, any preferential treatment. She squeezed her way in between a shepherd and a warrior, and grabbed up a few things she wanted.

All the urd’thin seemed to have a wonderful time, too. Beyond just the food, the whole evening became a celebration. Fermented fruit juice was passed out among the adult urd’thin. Mirelle drank some as well, and found it both sweeter and stronger than she expected. Some of the urd’thin got together and sang odd, howling songs. Mirelle had never heard the urd’thin from the marsh sing that way, and she half wondered what they’d make of such music. When several of them howled together, their voices joined into an eerie, haunting choir, the sounds echoing across the sands. Later, others played drums and reed pipes, while a group of giggling pups danced, along with a few less than sober adults.

As the celebration’s exuberance wound down, the urd’thin took to telling stories. First the pups went up, and told tales with excitement in their eyes and bubbling in their voices. Mirelle wished she could understand more of what they were saying, but whenever the urd’thin laughed or gasped, she did the same, if only to be polite. After the pups all had a chance, some of the adults took a turn spinning tales next. Many of them spoke as much to Mirelle and the dragons as they did to the rest of the tribe. Some spoke with heated passion, and others with quiet reverence. If their tales were anything like those in the books she’d read, they were likely a mixture of history, and imagination. Though they all knew she couldn’t fully understand them, this was probably their first time to get to tell an outsider of their people’s tribulations and successes.

Mirelle doubted they had visitors often, and when they did, it was almost certainly just desert urd’thin from other scattered villages. She seemed to be the first human they’d ever laid eyes on. Even if Revaramek and Nyramyn were not the first dragons they’d seen, she doubted they had seen many more. She couldn’t help but wonder if this night would end up making it into the stories of future generations. After all, just how often did the messengers of the gods come to visit their humble village?

Mirelle wondered if it was really that insignificant a village. They had statues of urd’thin who talked to gods, and a gateway to other worlds half-buried in their sand. None of them seemed to know what the gate was, save for Ekki. Mirelle couldn’t even be sure if Ekki knew the truth, but she certainly didn’t like it when Nyra started messing around with the silver stones. Ekki was the village’s chief and priestess, and Mirelle could not help but wonder what Ekki knew that the rest of the village did not.

“Do you think she’s a bit like Jekk?” Mirelle leaned over to nudge Revaramek’s haunch with her elbow. “Ekki, I mean.”

The dragon sat near her, his tail nearly curled around her reed mat. He glanced down, held tilted. “It’s not polite to talk while they’re telling stories. But what do you mean?”

“Jekk’s one of the few people who know where we really came from. I can’t help but wonder if Ekki’s the same way. Or maybe just the adults. They came here from another world, but tell their pups this has always been where they’re from?”

Revaramek scratched his neck with a wingtip. “Possibly. I suppose it depends on how long they’ve been here. Maybe it’s something only the leaders pass on. Ekki might only know because the last chief or priestess told her what those stones really are whenever she assumed the mantle.”

“That makes sense, if they’ve been here longer than we realized.” Mirelle folded her arms, grimacing. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You’d think Asterbury and Enora and Aylaryl would have met them, though.”

“Keep your voice down, Mirelle.” Revaramek hissed at her. “You’re going to get us in trouble if you keep saying his name.”

“I am keeping my voice down.” Mirelle swatted at his tail. “And didn’t Enora say Ast…you know who made this oasis?”

“She said he made an oasis. We assumed there was one major one we’d find, but there might well be dozens. We sort of stopped looking for others once we spotted this one. And there were enough smaller ponds out there to tell me they’re not totally uncommon here. And if they’re all shapers, they could always expand an oasis into something larger, if they needed too.”

“You’d still think Enora would have said something about villages out here, unless they didn’t meet them.”

“Enora only went with them a time or two. Who knows how many times Aylaryl and he returned, if any. But even if he wanted to come out here, even if such villages weren’t a dangerously painful reminder for him, Vakaal would have likely hidden it all away.”

“He could really do that, huh?”

“Oh, you should see it, Mirelle.” Revaramek waved a paw in the air. “There were thousands of sand castles there, and they all had memories trapped in them. And if Vakaal can shape Ast…his mind…and he can shape other people’s minds, then whose to say what Enora and Aylaryl may have seen? They might have been there and then forgotten it as soon as they left.”

Mirelle scowled, folding her arms. The idea of Asterbury altering people’s thoughts and memories sat cold and hard in her full belly. “You really think he could do something like that, that completely?”

“Remember the gorpalorp thing? I think when he’s in your story, your mind is as malleable a thing to him as anything else.”

“Unfortunately.” Mirelle shivered, rubbing her arms. Years later, and she sometimes still had to remind herself it wasn’t a real place. The idea lingered in her mind, in her memories, sometimes so vivid she could almost imagine she’d been there. She knew it wasn’t real, but to think that Asterbury could make so deep an alteration to her memories, on a whim, was a terrifying prospect. “I suppose it’s possible they just don’t remember what they really saw.”

“Or he just…told them the story he wanted them to hear. Wanted himselfto hear. And in their minds, that story became real.” Revaramek drummed unsheathed clawtips against the sand, his muzzle set into taut, thoughtful lines. “Stories can be powerful things, Mirelle. A story can be a memory, or a history, and it doesn’t have to be true for us to believe it’s true.” The dragon lifted his gaze, staring across the plaza. “And belief…belief makes truth, doesn’t it?”

Mirelle followed his gaze towards his mate. Nyra stood at the edge of the plaza, with several drunken urd’thin climbing around on her. She had more than a little of their fermented drink herself, and between the food, the drink, and the friendly company, her claws-out nervousness was gone, replaced with laughter and the simply joy of unfamiliar friendships. The urd’thin seemed to be competing to see who could climb from her tail tip up to her head first, but each time one of them got close she’d toss them off, or drop her head down to make them fall, or otherwise thwart their efforts.

“You want to believe she’ll be okay.” Mirelle set her hand on Revaramek’s haunch, gently stroking his scales. “And thus, she’ll be okay. Right?”

“That’s…not exactly what I was talking about, but yes.” Revaramek swallowed, glancing away. “But these stories we tell, true or not, they can alter our perceptions of who we are. Of what the world is. I used to tell myself I was your overlord, and it didn’t make me your overlord…but it changed myperception of who I was. Our stories can shape us, change us. And the stories we tell others can be stronger still. If reality is obscured, then a story can become the truth. If Aster…if he came to a new land, murdered a storyteller, and no one saw it…and he came out sobbing, telling everyone how he did all he could to save the man’s life, how he’d come to visit an old friend and found him dying, people would believe him. It would not be true, it would onlybe a story. But they would each tell that story to another, and they would tell it onward, and though a falsehood, that story would become that world’s truth, evermore.”

“That’s…” Mirelle shifted around to lean up against the dragon. “Disturbing.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Revaramek swept a wing across the desert. “This whole world is built on a story, isn’t it? Your civilization, your people. The storytellers brought you here, and they told you a story in which you were all refugees, fleeing a tyrannically kingdom. All the while, they were the tyrants, with the wool pulled so completely over your eyes you could not see a speck of light. It was never true, it was only a story. And yet…when you think about it, until hecame along, you believed it. The story might not have been true, but for you, and all your city, it was your truth. Truth is…” Revaramek circled a clawtip in the sand, scratching little loops. “Malleable, Mirelle, more than we’d like to believe. The stories we tell each other, about our lives, the shape our truth without us ever knowing.”

“I guess I see your point.” Mirelle stroked his paw a little, smiling. “That’s unusually thoughtful.”

Revaramek glanced back at her, tilting his head. “Aren’t you going to say, unusually thoughtful, for me?”

Mirelle smirked at him, patting his hind paw. “I thought that part was implied. But no, you can very thoughtful, when you want to be. What’s…got you thinking about that, though?”

“Just the whole…” He circled a paw in the air. “Situation. Thinking about why we’re out here. What….story he’s trying to tell us. And how to save her.” He turned his head back towards Nyramyn, sighing. “If this place is all a story, if her life is a story, then I want to be the one telling it. I want to make it end happily, for her.”

“You think if you believe in the story strongly enough, your…your spark will make it true?”

Revaramek chuckled a little, gazing down at Mirelle. “If I thought my spark alone was enough to cure her, we wouldn’t be covered in sand, Mirelle.”

“Speak for yourself.” Mirelle brushed off her sleeves, smiling. “After that bath in the oasis, I’ve spent most of the night on this mat. I’m only a quarter covered in sand, now.”

“Lucky you.” Revaramek glanced down at himself, cocking a hind leg. “Lucky you. I’ve got it all over my-”

“Yes, I know what parts of you touch the sand when you’re sitting down. You needn’t show them off.”

Revaramek only rumbled, settling his leg and watching his mate again. A drunken urd’thin went sliding down her tail, laughing all the way, only to tumble into the sand. Revaramek shook his head as the others helped him up. “I do love seeing her happy, though.”

“Yeah. We should let her get drunk more often.” Mirelle giggled and poked at his scales.

“Oh, she’s not that drunk. But once we’re home, and in need of celebration? We shall have to fix that.” A smile slowly spread across Revaramek’s muzzle. “When at last I can tell a story where she’s healthy, and the story will be true.”