"Master, they have escaped, as you said they would." Hildie stood at attention in front of Donovan.
"Good, good." Donovan turned his back to his skeleton army, hidden deep in the recesses of the cave. Some were in the tunnel, digging until it was wide enough for Decarian to fit through. Others were weaving the feathers of dead birds together with the strings of sinew pulled from their guts.
Hildie stood in the back, modeling a pair of the finished wings for Donovan. "What do you think?" Her jaws clicked together in excitement as she turned around so Donovan could examine the wings.
"I think they will work perfectly," he said, running his fingers down the wings. A bit of blood and pieces of the bird's guts still speckled the wings. Donovan brought his filthy fingertips to his lips and licked off the remnants. "Mmmm, still fresh."
Hildie turned around again, her knee bones clanking together. Though the people of Desolation no longer had the illusion of skin, Donovan could still tell them apart. He'd known these people his whole life. They were his family, in a way. They'd lived on in Desolation, their fear and hatred of dragons festering.
"Take them off," Donovan said. "I don't want you in this first battle. I won't waste your talents there."
Another skeleton carefully peeled the wings off of Hildie's spine. Hildie shrugged her shoulders and stepped away. The skeleton waited for Hildie to clink away, then said, "What next? When do we get to rip the dragons’ flesh apart?"
"Soon, my dear, soon." Donovan leaned over, kissing her skull where her cheek would have been. This skeleton was different, special. This was his love, Magda. The one he’d betrayed so many years ago with Bianca in the barn. He’d gone back for her after her death, stealing her bones from her grave and keeping them with him for years until he learned how to reanimate her.
Magda sighed and leaned in to Donovan. "It feels so different without skin. I miss my body. I miss you."
Donovan grabbed her wrist, turning her around. He pulled down his pants and took her from the back, right there in front of everyone. He had waited so long to feel her again. All those years he'd been trapped in the Dragonlands, aggravating him until he could find a way back into Desolation. Anger filled him as he took it out on the skeleton, banging against it until his seed spilled out. It dripped down Magda’s leg bones to the dirt on the floor of the cave.
Donovan wiped himself clean and yanked his pants back up. The other skeletons hadn't even stopped their work. It wasn’t in Donovan to feel shame over his behavior. He had loved Magda his whole life. When she'd been killed and turned into a skeleton, his love hadn’t ended. It had only grown more frantic and desperate with each passing year.
The spells of that evil witch had ruined all of their lives. If only Donovan hadn’t succumbed to her. It was her fault. The dead in Desolation had never turned against him. Not like his brother had.
Mestifito deserved everything he got now. Donovan would destroy him and all of his precious little dragons. One by one they would die.
Not yet, though. The next morning, when all of the wings were completed, he would send out a few of the winged skeletons to put the final part of his plan into motion.
The next morning, Farah buried her head in Bastian’s shoulder. "I want to stay with you." Her soft, blond curls brushed against his face. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.
Bastian closed his eyes, hugging his daughter tightly. He didn't want to let her go, either. He'd spent much of her early life ignoring her and her mother. Now, he couldn't stand to be parted from her again.
Farah pulled back. Tears welled in her blue eyes, and her nose crinkled as she sniffled them back. Bastian pecked her nose, his lips now damp with salty tears. "You have to go. I'll be with you soon."
"Promise me," she whispered. "If you promise, then it means you'll come. I won't have to worry about you."
Bastian swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn't make that promise. He didn't know what would happen. One look into her eyes told him he couldn't let her go without reassurance. "I promise I will do my very best to come back to you. I will do what needs to be done here, then I will fly across the sea and look for you."
Farah's mouth formed a pout as she crossed her arms over her chest. "No. That's not good enough. I want you to promise you won't die again."
"I promise," Bastian said, hoping with everything in him that he'd be able to keep it. And if he couldn't... then one day she would grow up and understand that he had tried. She would know he did the best he could.
Farah's arms fell to her sides, but the worry in her eyes didn't dissipate. "Okay, well, then I guess I'll see you soon, Papa."
He kissed her head, then gently pushed her toward the row of dragons. The vast majority of the people in the Meadowlands were dragons. The few that weren't would ride on the Green dragons' backs.
The Green had been planning a long time for this. Not only did they have armor for the dragons to use in battle, but they had adapted the howdahs from the Sands. The huge carriages were constructed to keep humans safe on the dragons' backs, even if they fell asleep during the flight. No one had to worry about falling to their death. At least Bastian could take comfort in that. If there truly was land to the west, then his daughter would make it there safely.
His eyes traveled the crowd, mostly filled with the elderly who had refused to become dragons and the children of Hutton's Bridge, finding Pia cradling Adam in her arms. Bastian strode over to them.
"So you came to say goodbye to your son?" Pia asked, her tone unforgiving.
"Yes." Bastian leaned over and kissed Adam's red hair. Within days the boy's hair had curled up as tightly as his sister's. Bastian couldn't help notice the resemblance between the two. He'd never thought Farah looked much like him, but now he could see his looks reflected in both of his children. "I wanted to say goodbye to you, too."
Pia's angry gaze softened. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was unfair."
"We all do and say things we don't mean in times of crisis."
Pia sighed. "I know there is no future for us. I truly do. Yet, can I be blamed for trying?"
"No," Bastian said. On another day he might have smiled. "But don't blame me for turning you down."
Pia shifted Adam from one arm to the other, shaking out her free arm. "I will tell your son stories about you. Those I haven't heard will come from Farah and Hazel. I promise you, he will know his father even if..."
"Thank you," Bastian said. "I appreciate it." He leaned over and kissed Pia on her cheek.
The woman flushed, a shy smile on her face. "I guess I should learn a respectable trade once we land in this new place. A prostitute probably wouldn't make for a great mother."
Bastian shrugged. "It’s up to you, Pia. If you truly loved what you did, then I would never speak poorly of you or stand in your way. You are a good woman. Adam will know that by your actions, not by your profession."
"Thank you, Bastian. You truly are a good man. I'm sorry it didn't work out between us. Maybe after the war, we could—"
Bastian placed his fingers on her lips. "Don't let that be your dream or you will be disappointed. Please, dream new adventures for yourself. Other men. You will find a man who makes you happy someday. Don't waste your life waiting for me."
Pia nodded, looking down at their son. "You have a good father, Adam."
"Take care of him," Bastian said, choking down another lump.
"I will. Of course. I will love him like no other. Although there is one more I want to make room for in my heart." Pia looked up from her son, her gaze drifting over to where Farah stood with her friends. "I hope to care for Farah, as well. If she will allow me."
Her statement surprised Bastian. "I didn't expect that. I'd be very grateful."
"She is Adam's sister. Your daughter. How could I not try to love the little rat? If she'll give me a chance, I will care for her, too."
Bastian laughed, his shoulders shaking. "She hasn't been very nice to you, has she?"
"Not in the least," Pia said. "I wasn't exactly kind toward her, either. Nor any of the other children. I have a lot to make up to them once we arrive in our new home."
"I think you'll find them a welcoming bunch of kids. Just give them time and they'll warm up." Bastian gave Pia a quick hug. "Now, off with you. It looks like they're beginning to load the howdahs."
"Our night together changed my life forever. Thank you for that." Pia smiled, her eyes soft. "Good luck. Take care of yourself."
Bastian watched his family walk away. Hazel fell into step beside Bastian’s family, ushering her two boys ahead of her. The dragonlings followed behind, happy to be with the other children.
Bastian’s gaze lingered only a few moments. He turned away. He would not look until he was sure they had disappeared over the horizon. He had to let them go, and it had to be now.
Bastian's hand rested on the sword at his hip. He much preferred the steel in his hand over his dragon form. It was a blade he had forged himself long ago. He wouldn't be fighting with it, though. His new weapons were fire and talons, which he had only recently learned how to use. His confidence in them was not the same as his sword. Yet he had no choice. The war ahead would decide their fate, and if they won, Bastian swore he would never turn into a dragon ever again.
He'd mistrusted dragons from the start. Many times his wariness had proven an advantage. Even though his closest friends and he had been changed irrevocably, Bastian knew the transformation came with a price.
Bastian had died once. Every breath now was stolen. Deep down he feared he'd only risen just to be killed again.
The skies to the east were quiet, but a dark cloud loomed in the distance. It slowly moved toward Bastian, coming ever closer to the Meadowlands. He squinted.
"What is that?" Jakob had come up quietly behind him with a falcon on his arm. With the chaos in the Outpost, it was no wonder Bastian hadn’t heard the man. Everyone was scrambling to begin the exodus.
"A thundercloud," Bastian said. "Rain will be here by mid-morning."
Jakob raised his arm, and the brown bird of prey spread its wings, taking to the sky. The two men stood silent, watching it travel east. Suddenly, the falcon paused in mid-flight, then plunged to the ground.
Jakob ran, scooping up the falcon in his hands and carrying it carefully back to Bastian. "Its heart has stilled. Dead."
"Was it old?" Bastian asked.
Jakob looked up at Bastian, fear flooding his eyes. "No. It was my heartiest bird. Something killed it." His head turned slowly toward the east again, looking at the dark gray mass in the sky, growing larger with each passing moment. "That is no cloud. Sound the alarm!"
A bell clanged in the village square, ringing frantically over and over until Bastian's ears felt numb. His heart pounded. This was it. The attack.
He looked to the cloud again, watching it undulate as it crawled ever closer.
"Bastian! Over here," Jakob called, waving him on.
Bastian ran toward Jakob. The people who were supposed to leave began moving much faster. Children were pushed ahead by mothers. Old men smacked their canes on the ground, trying to get to their designated dragons before the enemy arrived.
All over the Outpost, people changed into dragons while others hoisted howdahs onto their backs. They secured them under the dragons' bellies, pulling the straps tight enough to keep the baskets from tipping, yet still allowing the dragons their full wingspan. They'd practiced before, but when met with an oncoming enemy, fingers began to fumble.
The first wave of people scrambled into their dragon's howdah. It listed slightly to the side and fell to the ground. Screams rang out through the village as more people rushed to help those who'd fallen to the ground. A violent shriek stood out above all others.
"She's trapped under the dragon's belly!" a voice called out.
The dragon wrestled to stand, but the weight of the howdah kept it on the ground, its legs clawing uselessly at the air, not finding purchase. The injured person continued screaming, her voice the loudest. People rushed to pull her out, but their efforts would be useless unless the dragon moved.
Bastian turned into his dragon, a bright emerald Green. He grasped the howdah with his teeth, pulling until its ties snapped free. The other dragon stood quickly, revealing a blond woman on the ground, her leg twisted at an ugly angle.
Two physics ran to her side, examining her leg before lifting her and carrying her to the nearest inn.
Bastian changed back into his human form and stalked away, angry. His children were supposed to get in one of those things and they couldn't even get one off the ground without injuring someone. How would they ever get across the sea?
He'd already said goodbye to them, given them his blessing to leave, and now he didn't want them to go anywhere. But it was too late.
Farah held onto the ropes, her face framed by the lines of the basket. She wiped away a tear, then reached out a hand toward her father. Bastian raised his hand into the air, giving her a smile and a wave. It took everything in him not to run over and pull both of his children from that howdah.
They took to the sky. The howdah remained steady and, most importantly, attached. When Connor got back with word from the Charred Barrens, Bastian could at least tell him they'd left safely. He wouldn't mention the first botched attempt.
Bastian sighed, looking toward the west. Hazel was only a blue dot now. He couldn't even make out the basket on her back. Within moments she was gone from view. Though Bastian knew there was a chance he'd never see his children again, he was surprised for how watching them disappear into the distance made him feel so empty.
Jakob clapped Bastian on the shoulder. "You're a good man. You know this is the right thing to do."
Even though he didn't want to admit it, Bastian did understand. The plan was smart and the best way to protect the innocent.
"Which set of armor is mine?" Bastian asked as he followed Jakob into the barn. Others were racing in behind them. Armor hung from the rafters, gleaming in the candlelight. Bastian was surprised to see how many different kinds there were. Some were decorated with spikes protruding from the forehead. Others had long chains hanging from them, studded with sharp metal wheels.
His eyes rested on a set of armor that was different from all the rest. It was polished to a shiny black and decorated with red swirls.
"I see you've already found it," Jakob said. "Blythe made it just for you. After getting to know you, she felt bad that we made you a Green. She thought you might have preferred to be a Black, like the woman you love. The red swirls are because of your hair color."
Bastian climbed the wooden ladder to his armor, running his hand along its smooth surface. It was beautiful. And while he might have mentioned Tressa in passing to Blythe once, he never told her that he was still in love with his childhood sweetheart. Women had their ways of gleaning information from the smallest tidbit. Blythe had read him as easily as those prophetic texts she kept hidden in the secret room of their church.
He unhooked the armor, letting it fall to the pile of straw below just like the other warriors had. Back on the ground, he dragged his armor out into the open field. Surprised by its light weight, Bastian hoped the armor would hold against an attack.
He changed into his dragon, stuck his head into the headpiece, and waited for one of the squires to secure the strap under his chin.
Bastian looked up into the sky while he waited. He took a deep breath, reminding himself this was only the beginning.