Hydra (21 page)

That much decided, we finish our dinner and suit up to head out, strapping on swords and daggers, and stowing flashlights and other gear in our backpacks. We’re on Eudora’s turf now, so we need to be prepared to encounter yagi.

Since we don’t want to be seen in dragon form, not this close to Eudora’s fortress, we don’t dare fly, but there aren’t any roads leading from the spy cabin to the lake. The ground is uneven due to the mountainous terrain, with treacherous crags and steep ravines, so we all stick together on the hike to the lake, following the guidance of Xalil and Jala, who’ve been wise enough to establish alternate safe routes so they don’t wear a visible trail that might lead Eudora back to them.

I’m glad we decided to leave while we still have several hours of daylight. I can’t imagine making the trek or attempting to find anything at the lake in the darkness.

Once we reach the shore, Xalil shows my dad the place where he hides his rowboat. Our group splits off from the others, heading around the lake in one direction, while Xalil takes Felix and my mother around the other way.

In spite of the danger, it’s a lovely walk. The lake is deceptively peaceful, though the breeze across the lake’s surface creates distorted, unnatural wave patterns—a sign that whatever is under the water is more powerful than what’s above it. The occasional breaching water yagi serves as a grotesque reminder that we’re not safe. This is not an innocent hike. Creatures swarm nearby, bred to kill us, and they outnumber us by a huge margin.

Jala and Zilpha and I stay alert for any sign of anything out of place in the woods—footprints, or anything that didn’t come from nature. My sister and I, like all dragons, have exceptional eyesight, so even though Jala and her father have scouted around the lake for years, I still hope we might spot something their previous excursions have missed.

The lake is slightly oval in shape, a little over a mile wide east to west, a little less than a mile across north to south. My dad, brother, and Ed row out toward the middle of the lake. The wooden boat, though small and old, nonetheless seems sturdy enough. It bothers me, though, that they’re out there in the midst of all those water yagi—creatures who exist for the purpose of killing them. I pause a few times on our hike to watch the men, and I hold my breath, hoping the yagi don’t realize what’s on the other side of the wooden hull floating above them.

While we don’t know a great deal about yagi—their bodies evaporate quickly once you kill them, so we’ve never been able to study a dead one—we can tell certain things about them based on their behavior. They don’t attack humans, only dragons, whether in human form or dragon form. How they know the difference is anybody’s guess, but the most reasonable explanation seems to be that they identify us by smell.

Water yagi are a completely different species, though. Can they smell us underwater? I guess. Sharks can smell underwater—they can detect something like a single drop of blood in enough water to fill a backyard swimming pool. Can’t they? Or is that just urban legend?

I’m pondering all these things as we’re hiking through the woods, mostly quiet so we can focus on looking for things, and so we don’t draw attention to ourselves. Granted, the men are in the boat in the middle of the lake where anyone might see them, so we’re far from invisible, but from the shore they just look like a few guys out fishing.

You know, in the middle of remote Siberia.

Most importantly, do they
smell
like guys out fishing? Do the water yagi know the difference? Can water yagi smell things that aren’t in the water? And what’s going to happen when Ed lowers his camera into the water?

I reach an outcropping of jagged boulders overlooking the lake, where there aren’t any trees or branches to obstruct my view, and I stop to watch the men. They’ve got the camera equipment out and they’re preparing to lower it over the edge. Domed shapes writhe beneath the water’s surface. Is it my imagination, or are the yagi more active and more thickly gathered in the part of the lake surrounding the boat?

What would happen if the yagi tipped the boat over in the middle of the lake? My dad and brother might be able to change into dragons and fly away, but what would become of Ed in the midst of so many water yagi?

As I watch, Ed lowers the camera by the sturdy cable that connects it to the equipment on the boat. Its waterproof surface touches the water, sending concentric circles rippling out for only a short distance before the swarms of water yagi disrupt them.

I hold my breath, waiting for some response from the yagi. Their forms churn just below the surface of the water, but they make no move to attack.

My dad’s got the screen balanced on his knees, but I can’t see what he’s looking at, not from this distance. Ram feeds more cable to Ed, who lowers the camera steadily, slowly.

“We should keep moving,” Jala whispers to me. “The place where Eudora disappeared is still up ahead. We should try to reach it before it gets dark out. We’ll stay close enough to the lake you can see if anything happens on the boat.”

I nod and follow Jala and my sister, surprised by how reluctant I am to turn away from the men on the boat. I have a job to do—to search the shore for any sign of what Eudora’s been up to. I need to focus on my assignment every bit as much as Ed is focused on his. With this reminder, I make it a point to scour the woods for some sign that Eudora, water yagi, or the mysterious other dragon has passed this way.

Nothing.

Through another break in the trees I see that my brother and Ed are rowing again. Ed’s got the camera cable in one hand while my dad studies the picture on the monitor. Either he’s guiding them northward across the lake based on whatever he sees on the screen, or he’s trying to get them away from the clustering water yagi, which are swarming so thickly around to the boat the water seems to rise up around them in a sudden heap, and grasping hands tug at the oars as the rowboat nudges forward through their midst, lurching unevenly over the writhing bodies.

I wish I could see the screen. I wish I knew what was happening. The water yagi are certainly aware there’s something above them, and they don’t seem happy about it. But do they know the boat holds dragons? Or are they only irritated by the disruption? We don’t know nearly enough about our enemy to fight them capably.

That’s the catch. Even though Ed, my father, and my brother are trying to learn more about the water yagi on this expedition, doing so exposes them to unknown dangers. The rowboat bumps along, jostled by the swarming forms below the surface, and I wince with its every unnatural movement, bracing myself for the moment when the yagi decide to capsize the craft and swallow its sailors like the mythical sea monsters of old.

“Worried about Ed?” Zilpha asks, coming to a stop beside me.

“Yes. The water yagi are trying to tip the boat—look at the way they jostle it. Dad and Ram can fly away, but Ed can’t.”

“Ed’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

“I know. He’s strong. He’s a strong swimmer. I just—” my hands clench into feeble fists as the boat lurches from side to side, the men adjusting their stances to steady it.

“You care about him,” Zilpha says, as though she’s finishing my sentence.

I open my mouth to protest, but when I look at her, Zilpha’s smiling with that I-caught-you look that sisters are born to give sisters. Instead of getting into an argument we don’t have time for anyway, I turn back in the direction we were headed. “Let’s keep moving.”

I try not to watch the men too closely, then—try not to give Zilpha any more reason to believe I care about Ed. Because if Zilpha thinks
I
care about Ed, she’ll think she doesn’t need to fall in love with him, and that’s the opposite of what I want.

So I’m focusing on the ground, the trees, the rocks that jut up everywhere, jagged bits of mountain that don’t lie down in smooth piles, probably because this area gets far more snow than rain, so the rocks have never been worn smooth by water and time, but lie frozen in the forms they took as they cracked from the heaving earth. They cast odd shadows, which lengthen as the sun sinks toward the western ridge.

I can understand how Eudora could so easily disappear in these woods. The rocks and trees are like statues. Eudora would need only stand still or duck behind one to blend in completely. I half expect her or yagi to step out from the shadows at any moment.

The thought runs uneasily up and down my spine, twitching to my fingertips, which ache to change into dragon talons—as fearsome as any enemy, and therefore safer.

But I don’t want to be seen as a dragon, not if I can help it, not this close to Eudora’s fortress. I try to tell myself we’re fine, that everything will be okay, but I feel my concern rise like grave foreboding.

We’re in unfamiliar territory, on our enemy’s turf.

We’re vastly outnumbered by yagi and water yagi.

And who knows how many dragons Eudora’s recruited to her side?

I glance again toward the lake, hoping to see the reassuring sight of Ed and my dad and brother gathering helpful information, but instead I can see my dad and brother struggling to keep the boat from tipping, their legs braced against the sides as Ed leans over the front, hauling up the camera equipment quickly.

But not quickly enough.

The wooden hull rises upward, dripping, from the water. It tips unsteadily, and Ed leans back to help my father and brother balance it. But how do you balance a boat that’s no longer
in
the water? It’s like they’re crowd surfing on the hands of the yagi. Ed and Ram take up oars, but the yagi are holding the vessel too high to row through the lake.

Instead, Ed and Ram swat at yagi hands with their wooden oars, beating the creatures on both side of the boat. It sinks back toward the water, slightly, then heaves again on only one side.

It’s going over!

My dad and brother change into dragons—something I know they were holding off on doing unless they had no choice. But right now, any risk of being seen in dragon form takes a back seat to survival.

Ed drops his oar as he struggles to hold tight to the camera equipment. He leans away from the direction of the tipping boat even as my father and brother take hold of the small wooden craft in their taloned claws, and lift the boat, Ed and all, into the air.

They beat their wings, flying low across the lake. Having carried Ed myself, I know he’s heavy even without a boat, but there are two of them doing the work, and it’s not that far to shore. I watch, not wanting to blink, until they reach the southern shore and set down again.

“Look at your hands,” Zilpha whispers in my ear.

I look, reflexively, before I even have a chance to think how odd her words are under the circumstances. And so I see, before they change back over to human, that my talons have grown long; my hands, red and scaly.

Self-conscious, I put my hands behind my back. They’re back to human now, but I can feel my face has gone red. Not dragon red, just embarrassed. More than that…guilty.

“Were you going to fly to the rescue?” Zilpha asks.

“If necessary.” I try to make my voice sound casual, and fail miserably, even though, honestly, what’s wrong with my concern? Wouldn’t anyone with half a heart care what happened out there on the lake?

Zilpha gives me a questioning look that says she doesn’t understand, either. “Why don’t you want to admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you’re in love with Ed.”

I open my mouth to protest, but only strangled sounds come out.

Zilpha continues. “It’s not like we can’t tell, Wren. We’d love to be happy for you, but not if you’re not happy for yourself first.”

The strangled sounds gasp toward something coherent. “We?” That one word is all I can manage. I’m still half terrified on Ed’s behalf with the near-capsizing of the boat, and the men barely escaping, and part of me wonders what kind of footage they got on the camera, and I’m still pretty mostly sure I’m not in love with Ed, certainly not so much that anyone would notice. But if Zilpha has noticed, and whoever else “we” might be, maybe Ed has noticed, too, which is not something I want, because it isn’t going to make it any easier for me to say goodbye to him without hurting him.

Or me.

Fortunately Zilpha explains before my thoughts run away any further with my fears. “Mom and I have noticed and talked about it. I doubt the guys realize anything.” Zilpha glances toward Jala, who’s keeping a polite distance and investigating the same rocks and trees over and over while we talk. Bless her.

Zilpha continues with a quizzical look. “Does this have anything to do with you not wanting to turn into mom?”

I tip my head back and groan at the sky. “No. It’s nothing against mom. I like mom just fine.” I look back at Zilpha and meet her eyes, hoping to see understanding or at least sympathy, but instead it’s just confusion. “I don’t want to marry. I’ve never wanted to marry.”

“Why not? It’s our duty.”

“It’s your duty—yours and Rilla’s. There were never going to be enough dragon men to go around anyway. I opted out from the beginning so you and Rilla could both have dibs. You’d think you’d be grateful.”

Zilpha still looks confused.

I grasp her by the shoulders and try to drill the information through her eyes with a stern look. “You have always been the one who was going to marry, just like Rilla is the one who’s going to get her college degree, whatever it takes, nothing will stand in her way. That’s who you are, and who Rilla is. I’m the one who is
not
those things.”

We stand there for who knows how long, and honestly, I don’t get why this is so difficult for my sister to grasp. She’s my sister, my litter mate, my sort-of-triplet hatchling buddy. This is how it’s always been, each of us differentiating ourselves off against the other. When you’re triplets, it’s a matter of survival, of becoming someone who’s not just one-third of three. We made ourselves known by our preferences, our favorite colors, individual styles, preferred foods, whatever.

We each have our labels that define who were are. We’re three different colors—I’m red, Rilla’s robin’s egg blue, Zilpha’s a sort of magenta red-violet. Rilla was the studious one, Zilpha the sociable one, and I’m the one who would not be defined by either of those labels.

But instead of experiencing a moment of enlightenment, Zilpha blinks at me. “Are you mad?”

“No.” Confused, maybe, but not mad.

“Are you mad at Mom?”

“No.”

“You should tell her that.”

“Fine,” I shrug. Mom’s not around right now, so there’s no way for me to have that conversation. “We should go back to the cabin and see what the guys found.”

“No,” Zilpha argues, “we should continue our search. The menfolk are doing their part. We need to do ours.”

Jala sidles closer now that I’ve released my sister’s shoulders. “We’re almost to the place where Eudora disappeared. There’s still some light out. Let’s get moving.”

“I guess that’s the best choice,” I relent, even though I’m pretty sure the men went back to the cabin, so I want to go back to make sure Ed is okay, and to learn what they found. But saying so would only reinforce my sister’s zany theory that I’m in love with Ed. And we
do
need to find out what Eudora’s been up to.

We continue on. The sun’s dipped somewhere beyond the tips of the surrounding mountains, but the sky still holds a gray-lit, otherworldly glow. I’ve noticed this the further north we go, and the closer the days march toward the summer equinox. We’re far north. Crazy far north, at a more northerly latitude than even the Scottish Highlands. It doesn’t get properly dark here this time of year until much later, and it doesn’t stay dark for very long.

Instead there’s this long spell of twilight, belonging neither to the day nor the night, kind of like the way water yagi are neither human nor cockroach nor fish.

Okay, now I’m creeping myself out.

So we’re hiking through the spooky half-darkness forever, and the closer we get to where Eudora disappeared, the slower we go, on account of we have to search more carefully and don’t want to miss anything. And we’ve got our flashlights out now, the lights bobbing around through the woods like the bowed heads of alien beings, beams trained on the forest floor, dipping and ducking behind every rock and tree.

And Jala’s ventured farther north, deeper into the woods in the direction of Eudora’s fortress, although that’s still something like three miles away, and Zilpha’s crept nearer to the lake shore, where I don’t want to go but at the same time I can’t turn my back on my sister for fear the water yagi will reach up and grab her off the bank. So while I’m searching the vast zone in between them, trying not to be afraid of the deepening darkness, and thinking before long we ought to catch up to Felix and Xalil and my mother, I hear a noise in the bushes from over where Jala was searching.

I look that way just in time to hear her shrill scream, but I can’t see Jala anywhere, and the light from her flashlight is gone.