Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [226]
Night had fallen by the time this was done. The hunting party had returned with a deer. The men ate and then slumped down on the deck of the dragonship and slept.
Skylan was bone-tired himself, but he would not rest until Garn’s spirit had been freed to start upon its journey. He took upon himself the task of keeping watch over the dead during the night to keep away any evil spirits who might disturb them. They would set fire to funeral pyres at dawn, burning the bodies, freeing the spirits of Garn and Alfric and the other two warriors who had died. The spirits would travel with the Sun Goddess. Aylis would light their way to Torval’s Hall.
Treia finally persuaded Aylaen to leave the body.
“You shame Garn with this show of grief,” Treia scolded her sister. “He will take his leave of you in the morning. Do you want him to see you pale and sorrowful like this?”
Aylaen gazed down at Garn, who was lying on the pyre beneath the stars. Skylan stood beside the pyre, prepared to take up his vigil. Aylaen turned her gaze upon him. The piercing blade of her rage sank deep. She allowed Treia to take her to the dragonship.
Skylan went down into the sand on his knees beside the pyre. The long night stretched ahead of him, a night of bitter self-recrimination. He looked at Garn’s ashen face, the lips already darkening, the flesh sinking into the bones, and he remembered the time they had killed the boar and the time they had fought the ogres and the time Skylan had dived into the sea to save his friend, his brother. . . .
Skylan wept, heaving, racking sobs that tore at his chest. Sobs that were silent, stifled, for fear his men should hear. For fear Garn’s spirit would hear.
When Skylan had no more tears to cry, either for himself or his friend, his sobbing ceased. He knelt in the sand. The wind blew off the sea, and the waves crashed to shore endlessly behind him, wetting him with sea spray. He whispered a prayer to Vindrash.
He felt, in answer, the touch of a cold hand.
He looked up to see Draya standing over him and behind her, above her, within her, the shining wings and sparkling scaled body and stern-eyed face of the Dragon Goddess.
“You are the draugr,” said Skylan. “The corpse of my wife. You forced me to play the dragonbone game.”
“I did,” said Vindrash. “Do you know why?”
“I think so,” said Skylan slowly. “The Priestesses designed the game to help them remember the ritual to summon the dragons. The five bones you throw at the beginning have something to do with the Five Dragons. But I don’t understand—”
“True,” said the goddess. “You don’t understand. And because of the Curse of Hevis, I am forbidden to tell you.” The dragon’s tongue flickered from between her teeth. “I did enjoy our games, however. Though I doubt you did.”
Skylan smiled bleakly. “Wulfe tells me the druids do not sanction murder. He said the druids did not kill my wife. The boy spoke the truth, didn’t he?”
“Draya vowed to give herself to me, and she kept her vow. She knew she had done wrong by poisoning Horg. She had usurped Torval’s right to judge him, and she accepted her punishment. She drank her death willingly and died at peace. She gave her body to me, so that I could use it to hide from my enemies.”
“As she repented, so do I.” Skylan looked directly into the bright, shining light. “I ask you to forgive me, Vindrash. I ask Torval’s forgiveness.”
“We forgive you.” The dragon sighed. “Can you forgive us?”
“What do you mean? The gods have no need for man’s forgiveness,” Skylan said, bewildered. “The gods do not make mistakes.”
Vindrash fanned her wings. He felt the wind brush his cheek, a harsh, brooding breath.
“You called upon me for a reason, Skylan Ivorson,” the goddess said. “What do you want of me?”
Skylan rested his hands upon his knees. He looked up at the goddess and said, “Take my life, Blessed Vindrash. Let my body rest upon that pyre. Let the fire consume my flesh. Let Garn live, for it is my fault that he died.”
Vindrash smiled gently, then shook her head. “Torval does not want your death, Skylan