The Goddess Reborn: DragonSkin, #1

By Sam Woodgarth

The Goddess Reborn

DragonSkin I

 

If you're looking for helpless damsels with handspan waists and impractical costumes that surely chafe the tenderest parts, you're in the wrong place.

If you're a fan of strong women with personal agency and their own agendas who make mistakes but get up again, welcome to my worlds…

 

 

Fantastical whispers thread through the festival crowd. Are the rumours true? Southern deserts turned to glass? Northern cattle herds snap frozen?

 

The unthinkable is compounded by the impossible. Unbeliever Annie Weaver is ambushed by slave traders and rescued by a telepathic dragon who claims Annie is an incarnation of the missing Creator Goddess.

 

Annie risks more than her sanity if she cannot restore the real Goddess to her duties.

Creation will unravel and Annie will lose all she loves.

 

To enjoy a fast-paced action fantasy populated with authentic characters and unique creatures, check out The Goddess Reborn DragonSkin I.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Woodgarth
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645716818

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The dragon drifted on the warm thermals. He flickered his tongue and tasted the wisps of thought drifting upwards like tendrils of smoke. A yearning for... more… for independence, for knowledge, for adventure, caught his attention. Someone wild and untrained, undisciplined, unwittingly cast their thoughts into the winds, and the dragon caught the scent of their desire. Could this wildling be whom he sought? After centuries of fruitless searching, had he stumbled upon his goal?

He dived under the silvery cloud mass and surveyed the land, spread out like a painted velvet map, adorned with metallic threads of rivers and streams, and a scattering of jewelled villages and towns. The young woman idling beside an isolated cottage was a precious gem in her own right. The circling dragon drew her scent over his tongue and savoured the unexpected familiarity.

Annie gazed into the sun-seared sky. Beyond her range of vision swooped the forbidden, the impossible: a dragon. Her brain itched, and she rubbed her eyes.

Annie, come inside. I need you to try this on.

Squinting into the brightness, she ignored her friend. Was something circling? Nothing could fly that high. Nothing real. Dragons, if they’d ever existed, lived on only in children’s tales. Nevertheless, she was certain something was up there, a tiny glinting speck. She felt it watching her. She could almost hear its thoughts, like lover’s whispers behind closed doors.

Annie! You don’t want to get caught staring into nothing like that. The priestesses will whisk you away and you’ll never come back.

Annie shrugged. Might be nice to go away, see strange places, meet fascinating people.

I don’t think so, they’d throw you into an asylum and you’d never see daylight again. They’d throw me in too, because we’re sworn friends.

Don’t you want to see something different?

Right now, I want to see you in your festival dress. This is your year. You’ll find a husband, you’ll see.

Mayhap I don’t want a husband? Mayhap I want to leave this valley? See the world? Travel the seas?

Then marry that captain who’s been sniffing around. He’ll regale you with sailors’ tales and bring you fabulous gifts. Breathe in so I can lace you up.

Annie breathed in; fighting with Netta was useless. She means well, wants the best for me, but she doesn’t understand; I never want a husband.

Step onto the stool while I mark the hem. You look stunning. Easily, the most beautiful woman in the village, Netta said around a mouthful of pins. The moss green matches your eyes perfectly.

Thank you, Netta. You’ve worked miracles, as usual. Annie undulated her arms, admiring the flow of fabric. I don’t know where you scrounged up this gold net, but you’ve outdone yourself. You’re wasted working behind that bar. You ought to set up your own shop.

Netta grinned. Mayhap, but where else would I meet so many interesting men looking for solace?

Annie sighed as she considered the countless hours Netta spent on her own wedding gown. The tiny pearl beads and shell sequins weighed heavier each season, as she found excuses to add more detail to the already elaborate design. A dress to be admired, even an object of envy, but not a garment destined to be worn. Netta had offered solace to many men. Too many to count. They flattered her, showered her with paltry trinkets, then married their innocent sweethearts or returned to their wives. Annie feared her friend and her gown would never get the day they deserved.

You look the spit of the statue in the temple, right down to the copper hair. Everyone’ll think you’re Elanrah come to life. Netta swirled a foul smelling concoction in her cup, to ensure none of the herbs settled, before she offered it to Annie. Are you sure you want to drink the babe-away? Remember, children conceived at the festival are blessed, and the mother can demand the father marries her or pays annual fees.

Annie grimaced at the bitter taste, but swallowed it down. A shudder rippled through her as the liquid burned its way to her stomach.

You forget, I want neither husband nor child. Besides, if you’re right and I resemble the Goddess, what man would dare touch me?This is only insurance because some men grow unusually bold after tasting festival wine. And this, she pulled a slender blade from her gold net sleeve. This is extra insurance.

Netta’s eyes grew wide. You wouldn’t?

I hope I never have to find out, but if any man thinks he can stick me, it’s only fair I get to stick him, too.

I’m glad we’re friends, Netta said. You’d scare me if I didn’t know you.

The friends swathed themselves in long everyday cloaks to hide their fine dresses, and protect them from mud-spatters kicked up by Annie’s pony or the cartwheels. They adjusted deep hoods to shield their elaborately dressed hair. The festival was not the place to arrive windswept, although by tradition people left disheveled.

Annie guided the small wicker cart into a stable bay behind the bar where Netta worked. She promised the stable urchins extra coins when she collected her rig, if they pampered her pony and washed the road muck from the cart. Whether the lure of extra cash or the living image of the Goddess Elanrah, Annie couldn’t be sure, but she left her pony being tended by many small and eager hands.

The Festival of Elanrah the Bountiful brought tourists and pilgrims from villages and hamlets across the Midlands. The simple fertility festival had burgeoned into an unabashedly commercial pursuit of profit and plenty. Merchants happily donated food and beverages as a guarantee of continued and growing success. Rulers expanding empires, traders exploring new routes, farmers, newlyweds, fishermen, or moneylenders; anyone seeking increase of any description celebrated Elanrah, Goddess of Growth and Fertility.

Netta kissed Annie goodbye at the gate and promised to return before sunrise. She scampered through the crowds and disappeared within seconds. Annie perched on a low wall, a beaker of weak beer cradled in her hands.

Wine and beer flowed freely; roasted meats and vegetables; fruits, fresh or dried; breads, pies, and cakes were stacked head high. The competing odours of food, the riots of music and the swirls of bright colours added to the carnival atmosphere. Pennants, flags, and banners honouring Elanrah fluttered erratically in the fitful breeze.

The crowds ebbed and flowed, but Annie noticed a cold current of fear running through the throng. She drew her feet under her, half hidden by drooping tree branches, and listened carefully. Gossip about which goodwife had anticipated today’s revelry held no interest, nor which butcher or grocer would throw in a make-weight for a brazen wink or flash of cleavage, but rumours of Northmen raiding farms for food and animal stock, and of Southerners conducting lightning raids on outlying towns for slaves snared her attention. Such incursions hadn’t happened in living memory. Midlanders nurtured profitable relationships with their neighbours. All sides agreed trade and investment beat war and carnage. Annie sank further back, to conceal herself from men who wouldn’t speak freely in front of a pretty woman. She peered upwards through the leaves at the stone walls, and confirmed for herself the Council had not released the city guards to join the entertainment. Not just idle gossip from men trying to outdo one another. Retaining the guard, even a skeleton crew, risked revolt. An unprecedented event. The bitter herbs sloshing around in her belly fought for freedom, but she swallowed them back. She remembered pictures of slave traders and their miserable, terrified merchandise. Annie shivered as she recalled the images: men, women, and children collared, cuffed, and manacled, dragged on chains, traded for less than a good working-dog. She glanced up once more, a speck of glitter caught her eye. A reflection from a guard’s spear. There are no dragons.

Swoops of licentious laughter and screams of determined delight stitched through the tapestry of chatter, an obvious sign the festival was following the expected form. Lords and ladies, scullery maids and street sweepers, frolicked and fornicated. Annie’s shelter became a magnet for couples seeking a modicum of privacy. Spurred more by cramps shooting through her legs than by irate looks from thwarted swains, Annie threaded her way towards the temple.

Hey! Wanna feel my prick, ya saucy wench? I’ll make you squeal with ecstasy.

Annie turned to the beardless boy, who held his cock in one hand. If you can hold it in one hand, I doubt very much you’ll make a woman squeal with anything but frustration. She took a step in his direction and smiled as she unsheathed her dirk.

Wanna feel my prick, you dribbling dullard? I’ll make you squeal.

Bitch. The boy’s courage shrivelled, and he staggered away, empty-handed, to find a more compliant piece of skirt.

Annie hurried through the ornate temple gate, the only guaranteed refuge from festival fever.

Torches emphasised the falling light, but the flickering shadows held nothing more than promises. The elaborate arras she had donated protected the entrance to the Inner Sanctum. The richly coloured silks glowed, imbuing the intricate flora and fauna with faux life. No better advertising than hanging my work in the temple.

Annie admired Elanrah’s statue, the height of three tall men. The workmanship was exemplary, as expected for temple artefacts. Elanrah’s eyes followed her worshippers wherever they stood or knelt in the temple, and Annie marvelled at the artist’s skill to produce such an effect. But you’re only a statue, a clay clad frame with glass eyes. No more real than dragons. As needful as a gold toothpick.

The reedy voice of a stooped priestess startled her. Unmarried, unbedded, Annie the Weaver. You bear a strong resemblance.

Hello? Do you know me?

I knew your mother and grandmother, child. I heard the stories about their mothers and grandmothers. The priestess shuffled closer, shaking her head. They died birthing daughters, every one of ‘em. That’s why you’ve never known a man. You fear a girl child would kill you. Such a waste.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother, but I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry if I disturbed your devotions. Annie backed away from the wizened old woman.

That’s true. I know who you are and you shouldn’t be here. You have work to do. Go, before it’s too late. Before your creation unravels.

Annie stumbled out of the temple into the gardens. The cacophony from the party didn’t carry past the outer temple walls and the garden was a dark oasis of peace. The priestesses must ward this place. Keeping people out is easy, tell ‘em scary stories and they’ll stay away, but keeping out scents and sounds? That’s impressive magic.

Annie stepped through the outer gate and reentered the mundane realm. The fire dancers and jugglers, drummers and flute players who colonised the street corners, created an ambiance of urgency, a rhythm which throbbed through the reveller’s veins, and urged them to further excesses, regardless of tomorrow’s regrets.

Annie wove her way to the stables. The youngest child pulled back the bolt when she knocked.

Yer not s’possed to be ‘ere yet. You sickening? You’re a funny colour, missus.

The other children rubbed sleepy eyes and yawned, uncertain if she required their attention or they could stay in their warm straw nests.

An older girl took her hand. This way, see? We cleaned your cart, like you asked, and your pony’s fat and happy. The little ‘uns brushed him for hours. Coat’s shiny smooth like glass, now. Your friend ain’t come back yet. Will you wait for ‘er?

Annie nodded. You’ve done well, all of you. You’ve earned the bonus. I’ll rest in my cart until my friend arrives. Annie handed the bag of coins to the older girl, who immediately tucked it into her skirts.

Fetch the lady some milk and bread, said the girl, flicking her hand at the youngsters. You. She pointed to the brawniest boy. Fetch that hay bale, the lady can’t sit on the floor.

Annie stifled a grin. She’ll make a marvellous hostess in a couple of years. Get the business out of the way first, then make the guests feel special. Keep the rest of the crew in their places.

The fresh bread and warm milk made Annie drowsy. She snuggled under her cloak in the footwell of her cart and drifted into a dream-filled sleep, populated with dragons and giant walking statues of Elanrah crushing mothers underfoot.

The gaggle of children were backing the pony into the traces when Netta shook Annie awake, and the sun peeped into the valley.

C’mon, sleepy head. Time to head home.

Netta drizzled honey over the porridge, then pushed a bowl across to Annie. You didn’t snag a husband then? Please don’t tell me you spent the entire festival holed up in the stable?

Not the entire time, no. Did you notice the city guards were still on duty? That’s never happened before, Annie said.

Some of them got off, Netta said, if you catch my drift.

I can’t stomach hearing about your sexual exploits over breakfast.

You’re right, though. Mine, can’t remember his name, was saying how pissed off they all were. Some of the older married guys were happy enough to swap duties, but it almost caused a mutiny in the barracks, according to wossisname.

I overheard gossip about Enotsians raiding farms and D’Nasians starting slave trading again. Couldn’t hear very well, but they blamed it on the weather. It’s been too cold to grow much in Enotsia, while D’Nasa has become even hotter and drier, so they’ve reverted to their old ways. Doesn’t really explain why the council kept our lads on duty, though.

I met a farmer, or mayhap he was a shepherd. Something to do with sheep, anyway. He was saying there’s been wild fires, lightning strikes he reckoned, but there’d been no storms. And some of his sheep were missing.

Was he drunk?

Mayhap on love, Netta said. But I’ll not see him again. Stank to high Heaven. It was like rutting with a ram. Apart from eavesdropping, what else do you get up to? Did you meet anyone?

I went to the temple, spoke to a demented priestess. Made a comment about my work fraying, but the arras is in perfect condition. She claimed to know my family. Annie stirred her porridge. She knew my name and the fact my mother had died birthing me.

It’s not exactly a secret, is it? And it stands to reason she’d recognise you, your work hangs in pride of place. And how many Elanrah lookalikes are there? You’re probably famous among that lot. It’s not like they have much to talk about, is it? Seeing the Goddess walking through the temple during the festival, that’s about as exciting as her life’s ever gonna get.

She wasn’t in awe of me. If anything, I’d say she was disappointed. It doesn’t matter. Annie sat up straight. Do you fancy coming swimming? In the pool below High Falls? We can forage on the way home, so it won’t be a totally indulgent day.

CHAPTER TWO

The dragon sailed the thermal columns, his outstretched wings barely moving. The young woman’s thoughts intrigued him. He flickered his tongue and closed his eyes, to concentrate on the unique taste. Her revulsion for last night’s debauchery strongly flavoured her thinking. He flared his nostrils and inhaled over the root of his tongue to savour the strange cocktail. He sensed a desire to cleanse herself, to scour a recent memory of an unpleasant encounter which left her feeling defiled. The dragon huffed spurts of flame, indignant on her behalf.

He tucked his wings close to his body and gathered speed as he spiralled headfirst towards the lake. The air clattered as he twisted upright and stretched his limbs to slow his descent. A herd of deer, alarmed by his explosive arrival, scattered like rats in a barn. He circled the plateau before landing and shook out his scales. As thrilling as speed diving was, it ruffled the mirrored plates. A leisurely grooming session in the Spring sunshine, while the young woman sanitised her soul, would restore order. Lost in the pleasure of preening, he failed to notice the stale stench creeping through the valley.

Annie and Netta lay heavy limbed with the exertion of swimming in the cool waters of High Falls. They drowsed in the afternoon sun, copper tresses and silver blonde locks combed out to dry.

A bugler’s clarion startled them awake.

Netta knuckled her eyes. D’ya hear that?

That’s not the welcome call, Annie said. That’s the take cover inside the gates alarm. The city must be under attack.

We’ve got to hurry, Netta said.

Annie shook her head. They’re already under attack. We should stay here, it’s safer.

Do you smell that? Netta stood and sniffed. Fire. They’re burning the city. Who would do that? Why?

Annie scanned the skyline as she tied her shirts in place. Shaky columns of smoke rose like grey wraiths into the still afternoon air. She touched Netta’s shoulder and pointed. This isn’t a random raid. Look. The villages are burning, it’s a coordinated attack. They’re herding everyone to one spot.

Slavers?

Could be. But I’m not about to go and ask, Annie said. Come on. We need to find shelter, at least for tonight.

A flock of pigeons flustered from the treetops, beating the air with panicked wings. Annie dropped to her knees, pulling Netta down beside her.

The dragon paused. The woman pulsed distress; her fear was dark, thick and glutinous, with a bright swirl of anger and a twist of protective instinct. The dragon launched himself off the mountain, drawn by her emotions. Two slender figures crouched by the edge of the lake, exactly as he expected. Six bulkier figures took advantage of the tree cover to encircle them. They radiated lust and savage excitement.

Netta screamed when the bandits broke cover, brandishing wicked whips and nets. The men advanced on their prey. Confident of their victims’ helplessness, they failed to look up.

Annie sensed the dragon hurtling towards her but deliberately kept her eyes downcast. Netta’s terror bubbled over, a volcanic eruption, and she bolted. A whip snaked out and viciously bit into her ankle. A tug brought her to the ground amidst cruel laughter. Annie held her blade hidden in her skirts, her eyes flickering from one assailant to the next. The whip holder jerked Netta back, tearing flesh and clothing on the jagged stones. A grin split his face to reveal broken, rotting teeth as he hauled Netta upright by her hair. He dragged his tongue up her neck and cheek before he tossed her at Annie’s feet.

Later, he said. We’ll have more time to enjoy ourselves.

Sensing the impending impact, Annie threw herself over Netta. The air crackled with supercharged heat, singeing her damp hair and steaming her damp clothing. With diamond precision, the dragon incinerated the men. Only six piles of smouldering ash testified to their existence. The ground shook as he landed, and ripples fled across the lake to spread news of the impossible creature.

Annie raised her head and squinted as the scorched air stung her eyes. She clambered to her feet and stood guard over Netta as the dragon skidded to a halt in a tornado of shattered stones and clods of dirt. He stretched his neck and shook his wings before he looked over his shoulder at her. The impossible creature maintained eye-contact as he lumbered around to face her. Annie’s skull buzzed.

I know you hear me, although my words are probably muffled. You’ve been missing for a long time, My Lady. I’d almost given up hope. Seems I arrived at a fortuitous moment. The dragon cocked his head to one side. This is a shock, but we don’t have time to waste. You and your friend can’t stay here.

I’m imagining this. Dragons don’t exist. And they don’t talk inside your head.

The creature quivered. Rumbles of laughter deep within escaped and shook branches on nearby trees. Fine, I’m your imaginary friend; now imagine you’re helping your impulsive companion onto my back. We must leave. This was only a reconnaissance party. Others are following.

Annie pointed her blade. You evaporated those men, you could do the same to us. But you haven’t. Mayhap you want to whisk us away because you prefer to eat your meat fresh and undisturbed?

Seriously? A morsel like you would be naught more than a snack. Together, you wouldn’t make a decent meal. The beast closed the gap between himself and Annie with surprising grace and speed. Now, either ride or be carried. Of course, if I’m holding you in my mouth, I can’t defend us very well. Up on my foot, then my knee. Grab a shoulder spike and pull yourself up. Show your friend what I said. Make her do it.

Annie pulled Netta to her feet and guided her towards the dragon. Wide-eyed with terror, Netta moved as though drugged, too confused and fearful to resist. Annie shoved and pushed her into place, and dagger clenched between her teeth, she scrambled to sit before Netta.

Hold tight and be careful where you stick that thing. I’m ticklish.

Annie squeezed her eyes shut, buffeted by the wind as the dragon beat his wings and soared into the sky. He swept a wide circle of the valley. Smoke drifted from villages and hamlets, gauzy grey lace threaded through the treetops. Nothing moved. Annie risked slitting open her eyes as the dragon glided higher on the hot thermals.

Can you fly over the city, please?

The dragon banked over the defeated city. The broken gates clung to the burnt posts like drunken harlots to rich benefactors. Small fires burned to ash, surrounded by exhausted looters and their jumbled piles of booty. Captives lay head to toe, stacked like stove wood, in tall carts; survivors destined for the ignominy of faraway auction blocks.

Best if you don’t look too closely. There’s nothing here for you.

Annie choked back a sob, as she mourned the girl who had given her bread and milk. Dead, or enslaved. Better off dead.

Darkness swallowed time, chewed it into confetti, and stretched it into endless strings. Hours, minutes, seconds, sped or dawdled, the stars stood still or whirled like a drunken carnival ride. Annie’s heart raced and stopped and skipped. Only the massive wings beat with metronomic regularity.

A river of stars reflected and multiplied on the dragon’s mirror-dark scales; a liquid light show raced along wingtips, danced over bunched muscles, flowed over a sinuous neck.

What’s your name?

You couldn’t pronounce my name, it doesn’t translate into human speech. Why don’t you choose a name for me?

You’re like a jewel, a giant crystal. What about Crystal?

The creature snorted. Not very intimidating, eh? How about Roic?

Where are we going?

To meet a woman. See that tower shaped mountain with a collar of cloud? Dead ahead?

Annie peered through the darkness; the silhouette of the mountain against the starry sky was the only clue to its existence. It looks...

Unnatural? Yes, that is a reasonable conclusion. The mist repels unwelcome visitors. The Lady values her privacy.

CHAPTER THREE

Annie woke in a monastically spartan cell. Light filtered through parchment covered windows. The only splash of colour was Elanrah’s statuette in a candle-lit niche. On a small table waited a bowl of porridge, a dish of dried fruit and nuts, and a cup of milk. The tiny jar of honey suggested whoever had brought breakfast was kindly disposed. The horn spoon was old; not an expensive item, but well made and a pleasure to hold. The heavy linen garment she wore, with a riot of flowers and vines embroidered about the hem and sleeves in self-coloured thread, spoke of unostentatious taste. The tiny stitches were the quality expected in temple vestments.

Where am I, and where’s Netta?

Annie heard the now familiar buzz inside her head. Glad to hear you’re awake. Eat your breakfast and meet me outside. Don’t worry about Netta, she’s being cared for in the infirmary. No more questions. Eat.

The simple food was exquisite and should have been savoured, but Annie shovelled it down like a street urchin at a pie-eating contest. A hasty look around the room confirmed her clothes were missing. The floor length dress was the only option. The garment was modest, but she blushed at the thought a stranger had undressed and redressed her while she was unconscious.

She opened the door and stepped into a featureless corridor. Left or right?

Follow your instincts, Annie. Where do you feel I am?

Annie turned left, and an immediate flush of approval washed over her. The tall outer door opened easily and the flood of sunlight dazzled her eyes after the parchment filtered light. Her raised hand did nothing to shade the glitter of rainbows cascading off Roic.

I’ve been buffed and polished, every scale individually inspected and attended to. The Lady’s helpers are naught if not thorough. Roic sighed his satisfaction, as he stretched out his wings and neck, his eyes blissfully closed.

You look spectacular, and impossible. Until yesterday, I didn’t believe dragons existed.

Roic lazily slid open one eye. And today?

I don’t remember how I got here. Annie shuddered. I remember the slavers, and you burning them to ashes. Thank you, for rescuing us, although I still don’t understand your motives. Then we flew here, wherever here is. I saw the misty mountain, but I don’t remember arriving. Where’s Netta?

The Lady prizes her privacy; the mist induces sleep. You and your companion slept through yesterday. A necessary healing sleep. I took the opportunity to do a little reconnaissance. Roic hauled himself into a crouch, wings and hindquarters neatly tucked. You should sit. The news isn’t good. Slavers burned your cottage to the ground. You were lucky not to be there. But more importantly, heavily armed raiding parties are massing on your northern Enotsian borders, but the southern D’Nasaian slavers are showing no such restraint. Hundreds of villages and dozens of towns have been attacked. Most razed to the ground. Survivors are loaded onto carts. The slavers are moving quickly, heading for overseas auctions.

Why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling King Xanderamm? Or the General? Someone with authority to stop it?

The situation is beyond mortal Kings and petty Generals. It’s time for you to—

That’s enough, Roic. She isn’t ready yet. The tall woman gliding towards them smiled. She led a radiant Netta by the hand.

Netta broke free and ran to embrace Annie. After a brief hug, Annie pulled back to examine her friend.

How’s your ankle? All those scrapes and bruises. I didn’t squeeze too hard, did I?

So it was real, the slavers and everything? Netta glanced at Roic. I’m not dreaming?

Roic winked and licked his lips. Netta squealed.

Roic! That’s cruel and childish. Go and eat, you’ll feel better after you’ve fed, the Lady said.

Roic huffed a short smokey spurt and winked once more at Netta, who cowered behind Annie and their hostess. He shimmied, lumbered forward, and launched himself into the skies.

Annie gasped as shards of light scattered in his wake. So beautiful, she said, as the glittering speck headed down the valley.

Come with me. We have much to discuss. The Lady led them into a pleasantly cool room where every wall was covered with books and scrolls. You must forgive Roic, that’s what you call him? He’s very young, for a dragon, and can’t resist teasing anyone who shows the slightest fear. It’s his nature, but he will grow out of it, eventually. Ginger tea and honey cakes, while we talk? I find tea helps me concentrate.

Annie and Netta nodded mutely. Their hostess possessed an omniscient air which intimidated Annie far more than Roic did. The lady snapped her fingers and a tray of tea and cakes appeared on the table.

No point making servants run backwards and forwards for such minor tasks. She passed the refreshments.

Thank you... Annie hesitated.

Lady Xarah. Welcome to my home. I want you both to be comfortable here.

You’re very kind, Lady Xarah, but Netta and I will leave as soon as she’s fit to walk. We need to get home. Find our friends and Netta’s family.

Roic reports your home no longer exists and slavers are marauding. Everyone you once knew is either dead or captured. It isn’t safe for you to travel. Not yet. Walking would take you months to reach the pile of ash and rubble you called home. You have much to learn, Lady Xarah said. You’ve made a good start, though. Not only have you discovered how to communicate with Roic, but you rode without falling off. That’s almost unprecedented.

You can talk to the dragon? Netta looked wide-eyed at Annie.

Not exactly. I hear him in my head, mostly. But this morning I felt his emotions. He told me to feel my way to him, and I did. Annie turned to Lady Xarah. What do you mean, months? We got here within the span of one night.

Lady Xarah sipped her tea as she contemplated Annie. Did you experience time contracting or expanding? Did you feel out of time? As though things were not as they ought to be?

We were attacked by slavers, our home destroyed, and we were rescued by a mind-talking dragon, which every sane person knows can’t exist. Nothing was as it ought to be, My Lady.

Do you know what this is? Lady Xarah flicked her fingers to the map now inexplicably hanging in mid-air.

Netta hunched her shoulders and shuffled back in her seat.

I’m not educated, Annie said, but I recognise a map.

Good. Then point to your home town, Lady Xarah said.

Annie stood and moved closer. Here. She stabbed her finger at a spot close to a river and a series of lakes, in the country's southwest.

Well done; we’re here. Lady Xarah touched a mountain range on the far edge of the map in the