Uilbheist

UILBHEIST: These faeries are found in the sea around the Orkney and Shetland Islands and they guard the inlets and waters around their rocky coasts. They were brought to Scotland by the Norse. They appear as multiheaded sea monsters. Their purpose seems to be the protection of the islands and not the destruction of sailors and ships. To contact them try calling out to them in a ritual or going to them in the seas of Faeryland. They may lend their help to rituals and spells involving the physical and environmental protection of the northern lands of Scotland.



Story

3rd of Wavecrest, Year of the Laughing Pohip

Evike’s wings beat against the lashing winds of the storm as lightning illuminated the twisted limbs of the forest close beneath them. Their claws fretted at the sodden cloth of their travel satchel that they clutched to their belly, doing their best to protect it from the stinging rain.

A particularly strong gust shunted them to the side, and they skated sideways, choking as the breath was stolen from their lungs.

Where was the Pillar? Their delivery wouldn’t wait much longer. They squinted against the black of the clouds, but it was no luck.

They were lost.

Evike’s tail lashed as they considered their options. Turning back was out of the question, the trip was too long. They could continue blindly forward and hope they stumbled across the Shattered Plains, but for all they knew they could have veered off course, and be pointed right at the sea.

That left landing, and finding shelter, and hoping their delivery could be patient and wait.

Lightning flashed again, dangerously close, but they ignored it and scanned the forest below. Not that it revealed much, just trees so thick a dragon could walk the width of forest along the branches.

A meadow, a clearing, anything. They waited impatiently for the next flash of lightning and drifted down as close as they dared. But all they could see were the trees, reaching up for them.

The delivery in their satchel, crafted by Adam’s own hands, shifted, and startled, they lost the pattern of their wingbeat. The wind took no mercy on them and sent them spiralling. Their wings snapped open, but it was too late. The tip of a pine tree caught their back claws, and they went crashing among the trees.

They curled up into a ball, desperate to protect their satchel. Trees snapped under their bulk as they careened to the ground. A branch struck their head and stars popped into their vision. They hit the ground so hard the ground shuddered. The impact sent a shower of droplets of water raining down on their back.

Evike shook their head to clear the rain from their eyes and immediately regretted the action. The stars flared into silver brightness as their vision swum. Points of light danced in front of them, spinning in pairs. No, not spinning, moving. Eyes?

They attempted to stand, but their body ignored their demands as pain flared in their extremities. Blackness clawed at the edge of their vision, pulling their downward. With the last of their strength they pulled off their satchel and it’s previous burden and shoved it towards the eyes. They then groaned and knew no more.

In the morning the only sign that anyone else had been there was their empty satchel and tiny clawprints in the mud leading away into the forest. Where they took the egg Adam and Eriskagal had created, they would never know.



17th of Starfall, Year of the Aberrant Chacma

Mother is telling the story of my arrival again.

Uilbheist listens with half a mind; the most exciting thing to ever happen to the Offira clan in fifty years, since old Datka had gotten himself stuck in a hole chasing after a rabbit. Of course, the veilspun had been in hiding for generations, not much of a chance for excitement. But now they had revealed themselves, which means Uilbheist can reveal himself too.

He flipped through the pages of his journal, eyes unfocused. Illustrations of strange symbols and descriptions of alchemical formulae went unseen as he stared into the distance.

It was almost time. He could feel it building up within him, deep in his bones. The urge to leave.

The urge to find his own home.

He snuck a guilty glance at his adoptive parents. Aurum and Lux were cheerfully squabbling over the motives of the mysterious dragon who had shoved his egg at them, all those years ago. They strung laundry out on a line to dry as they talked, the line connecting from their oak tree to the small house he had built himself. He had already rebuilt his house three times as he outgrew it, and he wasn’t looking forward to a fourth time. It was difficult being an imperial among so many tiny dragons; the teacups held barely a drop of tea, and their idea of dinner was barely a bite of food. He had learned long ago to fend for himself, as to not strain the resources of the clan.

Which was only one reason why he had to go. He loved his parents, and knew they would continue to support him, but he didn’t fit in here. It wasn’t just his size, it was everything else.

His powers.

No one else among the Offira could speak to the dead.

Uilbheist signed and refocused his attention on his journal. Child of the Dead. That was always how the village elders addressed him, voices mingled with fear and respect. Child of powers both dark and unknown. As if he somehow belonged to the souls of the departed.

It’s true that spirits were drawn to him, he caused him no end of trouble when he was younger, and confused about how to deal with pestering ghosts. He wasn’t totally clueless; his parents had gone to great lengths to provide him with the books he needed to understand his powers. And now that power welled up within him, begging to be used.

So, he had to leave. They knew of course, he kept nothing from them, but he couldn’t help but feel bad. Especially when he had no plan. Just like his arrival, he planned to put himself in fate's hands, and see where the winds would take him.

He hoped they would be kind to him.

26th of Rockbreaking, Year of the Aberrant Chacma

Diary of Uilbheist

The winds of fate grow flat. Long have I traveled now, drifting from over the Sea of a Thousand Currents, then south towards the Shifting Expanse. I have seen much, and learned many interesting things about Sornieth, but I haven’t found it yet.

Home.

Home, the place where I can stop this ceaseless traveling, and rest. A place with other dragons like me, who understood what it was like to stand still under a moonless sky, and listen to the wails of the dead.

Oh certainly, I have met others like me, descendants of the great Glitch Queen Naomi, even those who could control the dead. I suspect I am descended from her as well, though who my parents might be is still a mystery. Anyway, I stayed with several of those clans for a few nights here, a week there. But always I grow restless. Some small thing drives me off - the way they distribute tasks within the clan, aggressive towards their neighbors, a leader with a bad singing voice. Some excuse always pops up, and I leave again.

It is hard to describe what drives me forward. It’s like hearing someone call your name from the other side of the lair, barely heard. I extend my senses, and there is a faint tingling in the distance.

What it is, I do not know, but I believe I am close to finding the source. I sit on a tall mesa at the border of the Shifting Expanse and the Ashfall Waste. It is there within the lands of the Fire dragons that I will find what I seek, I know it. I have no proof, but I believe it in my heart, and so I must allow myself to hope.

***

Uilbheist closed his worn journal and slipped it into his book-heavy satchel. Below him the Carrion Canyon cracked the land in two like a dust filled wound. But he didn’t care what was below him. His gaze was fixed on the distant plume of smoke and ash rising from the Great Furnace, far to the west.

The land on the far side of the canyon was scorched and barren and he couldn’t help but feel skeptical. He grew up among trees and mushrooms, and the idea of living in a place so burnt left him uncomfortable. But there was no denying what the tugging on his soul was telling him.

He stood and shook to loosen the dust that clung to his belly. No point in laying around, warm as this mesa was. He launched himself into the air, blood red wings glinting in the late day sun as they beat powerful strokes westward.

His fears fell away as he soared. Flying at night was better, but it would be dark soon. He only hoped he could find his destination by then. He didn’t want to be approaching an unknown clan after dark, it was beyond rude.


3rd of Nocturne Month, Year of the Aberrant Chacma

Uilbheist’s Diary

Days of searching this blasted land, and still no sign of what is calling to me. I can feel the beat of need, stronger than ever, but every time I get close, it slips away. I can only conclude that the person (or persons!) is cloaked in some way. I am returning home to my library to research ways to see through such defences.

7th of Nocturne Month, Year of the Aberrant Chacma

Uilbheist’s Diary

Success! I finally found a book describing a way to make a compass with blood and iron that will guide you through any barrier towards your heart’s desire. I had to travel all the way to the Starfall Isles for it, and it cost me dearly, but I will not let such a thing as gems stand in my way of unraveling this mystery. I daresay it has become something of an obsession. I am not used to being denied. Besides, this whole puzzle has been an adventure, and I am enjoying myself immensely.

It is bittersweet seeing Aurum and Lux again. They were thrilled for me to return, temporary as it is. But even a few months away have made the Offira clan no longer feel like home. It is like trying to squeeze into a shirt you have outgrown. One deep breath, and it will tear at the seams.

I’ll be gone soon enough, I start construction of the device after dinner (I caught a juicy little deer in the woods). Aurum and Lux will be sad, but they understand.

18th of Nocturne Month, Year of the Aberrant Chacma

Uilbheist’s Diary

It is complete. The device looks much like a compass, but instead of a needle there is a ring of crystals along the inside face that light up when you are pointing in the direction of your desired destination. Not only that, but it strengthens the mind, allowing one to see through defences set against intruders. It was surprisingly difficult to create, requiring waiting for the dark moon, and a number of outlandish (and expensive!) ingredients. Not to mention the blood. I poured enough out onto those little crystals to make me swoon, yet they soaked all of it up like little glittering sponges. But I cannot abide waiting, I depart on the morrow for the Ashfall Waste. I have already said goodbye to my parents, and have promised to write as soon as I have news about the source of this mysterious tugging need.


20th of Nocturne Month, Year of the Aberrant Chacma

Uilbheist’s Diary

I have been in the Ashfall Wastes since last night. Already this device is proving it’s worth, I saw many interesting things on my journey here. Hidden springs, decrepit temples, an entire swamp, all hidden from sight.

Which is exactly why I must travel slowly. I think one clan knew I had seen them. I was tailed all the way across Emberglow Hearth, and have learned not to look over my shoulder, lest I give myself away.

Still, I am almost there. The tugging inside me is fierce tonight, thrumming in time with my heart. I am eaten up by curiosity at what I will find there, but I must be patient.

My destination lies at the base of the Great Furnace, on the less populated side. A sparse forest grows here, despite the odds. The trees are of a kind I am unfamiliar with, stunted pines with dried out bark. But still, I am comforted by their presence. Perhaps the Ashfall Wastes are not as desolate as I first believed.

It is lunch time, and when I am finished I will make my final approach towards the barrier.

***

Uilbheist ate his lunch in delicate bites, taking his time. He checked his compass for the dozenth time in the last five minutes. It still pointed straight in front of him, down below the magma crater he was perched on.

A thin path was scratched into the hard ground that led into the tall, thin trees. Their foliage was much like that of a pine tree, though the needles were much longer.

He patted his mouth clean of his meal with a scrap of cloth and tucked it and his journal back into his heavy satchel. He leapt into the air, taking care to not make his wingstrokes too noisy, and followed the direction of the thin dirt path.

It led him deeper into the dry forest. He was pleasantly surprised by the trees, they released a faintly spicy scent into the air when he flew over them, and he felt himself grow calm.

That peace did not last.

Unease grew in him the closer he got to his destination. There was something happening up ahead, something wrong. There was the barrier, visible as thick fog rising out of the ground. No wonder he had missed it when he had flown over before.

He swooped down, compass held before him, and braced himself. But the barrier evaporated with barely any resistance, and he had to check his speed as the trees welled up at him. It was cold here, cold enough for him to see his own breath.Whispers began to tickle his ears, familiar whispers.

Why were there so many ghosts here?

A roofline began to appear out of the fog, and with every wingbeat he got he saw more and more ghosts, visible as little flashes of motion at the corners of his vision. They were agitated, riled up. The tugging on his heart grew stronger too, filled with a sense of desperation. But it was not his emotion. The more dead he saw, the more he became certain.

Whoever made this barrier, they did not make it to keep people out.

They made it to keep something in.

Frost began to appear on the trees as he skimmed closer to the roofline as the sheer weight of ghosts brought down the temperature. At last the forest thinned and the path became visible again. Cautiously he angled towards it and landed, frost crunching under his claws.
At the end of the path was a huge mansion made of dark grey stone. The front door had carvings of ivy and ravens above it, faded with age. Many of the windows boarded up and the roof was missing a great deal of shingles.

A crowd of dragons, composed mostly of imperials and fae, stood out on the front lawn, attention taken by something in the air. He followed the direction of their gaze and froze.

Above the decrepit mansion was a swirling maelstrom of spirits and snow. Ghosts and fragments of souls swooped and dove on the crowd, but none were able to escape the pull of the unseen force that moved them, pulling them in like a whirlpool. The sound was ear shattering, moans and screams and pleas for help mingled with the horrified whispers of the crowd of dragons in front of the inn. Whether they could hear it too, he did not know.

A glittering veilspun abruptly filled his vision, all black and purple, breaking the trance of the maelstrom. Her pink eyes glowed from within as she eyed him, but her expression wasn’t hostile.

A tall imperial joined her, the orange of his scales jarring against the deep purple of his wings. He wore a fine red suit and a top hat set at a jaunty angle. His face looked like one that was used to smiling, but he wore a frown now. The veilspun landed on top of his head at the edge of his hat and bent down to whisper in his ear. The imperial tilted his head and considered him a moment before speaking.

“Welcome to the Oasis Inn traveler. I’m afraid our rooms are out of service at the moment, but you are welcome to try again later.” The imperial flinched as the veilspun nipped his ear. “I mean to say, what brings you to us, Child of Adam?”

Uilbheist twitched in astonishment. “How- Adam? What do you mean?”

“Stormlight.” The imperial dipped his head upward to indicate the veilspun. “She and her sisters travel far, and know many secrets. And recognizing the descendants of the Glitch Queen is a particular gift of hers. And a Child of Adam, raised by the veilspun? That’s a juicy rumour. But I do carry on. I am Ghast, leader of a subsect of our clan. Stormlight here is our proud clan leader. What brings you here? And how did you find us, for that matter?”

Uilbheist stared up at the little veilspun. Stress still radiated from every line of her body, but the smile she gave him was equally too knowing and comforting. It faded back into a frown with a glance backwards at the looming maelstrom.

He took a deep breath. “Long have I suspected Naomi’s blood to run through my veins. Confirmation is quite welcome. But what makes you so sure I am Adam’s?”

Ghast snorted, sending Stormlight scrambling to cling to his top hat. “I’m a fair bit better connected than you are, little imperial. An egg left in the dark of a night, that hatches into a dragon with the power to speak to the dead? It matches the pattern of Adam too well to be a coincidence. Besides, I have met your brother. Spitting images of each other. He lives with a clan that is allied to ours, I’m sure you’ll meet him someday. But back to my questions. How and why are you here?”

Uilbheist stuffed his stunned reaction for later processing and stuttered an explanation about the compass and the tugging on his soul that led to his months-long quest to find them. All through his tale Stormlight’s frown turned to a thoughtful expression. When he finished she spoke, her voice surprisingly deep, with a sibilant, echoing quality.

“I’m sorry, traveler. You may have sought long and hard, but we are hardly prepared for you. You are welcome to join us, you are certainly one of us, but by midnight tomorrow we won’t have a home. We will be evacuating for safer grounds as soon as the rest of the clan makes it out of the Inn.

Uilbheist took a second deep breath, and gazed up at the maelstrom. The tugging at his soul had not lessened, it was more intense than ever. As bad as he felt for this clan, his heart broke for the poor souls stuck in the maelstrom, unable to pass on or escape it’s pull. No, he would not evacuate.

“I want to help.”

Ghast’s eyes narrowed. “Help? How. My necromancers have worked for years to seal this breach in the veil between realms, but the best we’ve managed is to slow the flow. And as you can see, those seals have suddenly failed. I mean no offense, but you are young. What can you do that a circle of your older cousins cannot?”

Ulibheist straightened, and met Ghast’s gaze. “I may be young, but I have studied the dead all my life. And you have said it yourself, I am a Child of Adam. We both know his reputation. The control of souls is in my blood.”

The ire in Ghast’s gaze faded, leaving exhaustion. “We have tried everything, Child of Adam. Wards, binding, cleansing, transmutation. Nothing has worked. There are areas of Sornieth where the veil is thin, that is nothing strange, but here? A handful of souls are stuck, half in and half out of the afterlife. They wedge the gateway open, blocking souls from entering or fully leaving. And in their struggles they have partially broken our bindings, leading to this mess.”

Uilbheist settled back on his haunches and tapped his chin with his claw. After a moment of contemplation he pulled out his journal, and flipped through his notes. There had to be something here. The word binding tickled memories, long locked away. Memories of dark and light, and passing and changing. Ghast called him a Child of Adam… it raised memories he didn’t know he had.

Memories of his own creation.

He snapped the book shut and stood. He would not need it. Ghast stared at him suspiciously, but Stormlight’s knowing smile was back.

“You can do this?” she asked in her sibilant voice

Uilbheist shrugged self consciously. “I’m not sure, to be honest. The theory is sound, and I have the instincts for it, at least from the small scale experiments I’ve done resurrecting birds. Not the same as shoving a soul into an egg, but I’m fairly sure I can do it.”

Ghast looked back and forth between them. “Do what, exactly?”

“Soul binding. You said you have souls stuck in the portal. We pull them out, give them a place to go. Create new life, the same way Adam created me. With those souls gone, we can fully close the breach.”

Ghast stared at Uilbheist for a long moment, his gaze hard and evaluating. Uilbheist gave a sigh of relief when the intensity faded and the older impartial nodded.

“We can do it.” Ghast whistled an odd tune, and several heads perked up out of the crowd. Several fae, a pearlcatcher, and a handful of wildclaws walked over. Several wore heavy cloaks, and seemed discomfited by the late day sun.

Ghast spread his claws wide. “Behold, my circle. Both living and dead members.” A pair of fae landed on his shoulders, each dressed in a jester’s motley. They nodded in time with his words. “Welcome, my friends. This is Uilbheist, he is a child of Adam. He’s going to help us seal the breach.”

The pearlcatcher looked Uilbheist up and down skeptically. “Child is right. What’s the plan, Ghast?”

Ghast smiled wide. “Have faith, Rot. Have I ever led you wrong?” Rot opened his mouth, but Ghast plowed through before he could object. “Now, my brilliant plan has several stages. First, Stormlight will evacuate the rest of the clan. Second, we will go down to the basement, and reverse the flow of the maelstrom, just like we did yesterday. While we are doing that, our new friend here is going to work his father’s magic, and take those poor souls that are stuck in the doorway, and give them new life. With them gone, we should be able to repair the tear in the veil. Any objects? No, Withe, I’m not interested in your opinion. Alright, let’s get started.”

The next few hours were a flurry of movement and preparation. Stormlight took her clan off into the trees, where there were fewer ghosts. Ghast parked Uilbeheist under a tree with a snack and instructions to rest up, and he had never felt more like a child. Still, the pie he was given was not only delicious, but imperial sized, and he was happy to gobble it down.

It was fully dark by the time one of Ghast’s assistants fetched him, a little fae named Nimue, who wore black and white jester’s motley. She led him into the house, which would have been quite comfortable and homey if it wasn’t for the frigid temperatures and the terrified spirits. She led him through a sitting room and down a long hall towards the back of the house. One hidden doorway behind a back shelf later, and he was on a long staircase that led into the darkness.

A few whispered words from Nimue and a bright blue light appeared above her head. Uilbheist made a mental note to try that for himself later.

Assuming he survived this.

He put on a brave face for Stormlight and Ghast, but the truth was anxiety was eating up his insides. He regretted eating the pie, filling as it was after a day of flying. He was trusting himself to fate, to instinct, but the voice in the back of his mind called this foolhardiness.

The wooden stairs gave way to stone, well worn with grooves from many centuries of feet. He shot a curious glance at Nimue.

She shrugged. “Old stairs leading to an old temple. Ghast says the house was built over a cave system, probably centuries after these stairs were built. Neat, huh?”

Uilbheist nodded and studied the walls more closely. The stone was old, but the joints were tight and well fitted. Whoever made this place had put in a lot of work and attention to detail.

It became evident why when they reached the bottom.

To call this place a basement was laughable. It was a cave, one with a tall ceiling filled with toothly stalactites. He barely spared them a glance, attention captivated with the scene in the center of the vast room.

The centre of the maelstrom.

The spirits swirled thick here, caught in the vortex pull of a portal that spewed out more spirits with every turn. Those spirits in turn were unable to pull away from the portal, adding their wails of confusion and terror to the cacophony.

The source was barely visible through the crowd of the dead. A round platform stood at the exact center of the room, with an altar set at the edge closest to the stairs. Ghast stood there, book spread open among sticks of charcoal and jars of glowing potions.

The pearlcatcher, Rot, was busy with the two cloaked wildclaws. They had more charcoal and were sketching symbols onto the cave floor under Ghast’s watchful eye. Unlike Ghast, they cast nervous glances at the shimmering rip in the veil that stood at the center of the round platform.

Uilbheist studied it as he drew closer to the tear between worlds. It was like a piece of starsilk, barely visible as it rippled in the air. The faces of several dragons were just visible inside a tear in the fabric of the veil between worlds, faces contorted with pain.

The flutter of wings from the stairway behind him tore his attention away from the veil. Stormlight and a second veilspun appeared out of the darkness, each clutching several pieces of eggshell. They zipped past him and deposited them on the altar beside the book.

Ghast looked up at them and smiled. He gestured for Uilbeheist to join him at the altar. He approached, scales shivering under the touch of so many spirits. The two veilspun landed on the altar and stared up at him. Stormlight nodded towards the other veilspun, a purple male who lacked her glowing eyes.

“My mate, Azurebreeze. He runs the Inn that hides this place. And these are our eggshells, enough for three souls. Exactly the number of our last nest, how lucky.”

Uilbheist reached out and stroked a piece of eggshell with a delicate claw. Veilspun eggs. They were absolutely tiny, he would have to be careful not to crush them. He met Azurebreeze’s gaze with a serious nod.

“I promise to do well by these eggshells. Thank you for sharing them.”

Azurebreeze nodded back, and without another word, both Veilspun hopped off the altar and headed back upstairs, whispering to each other.

Helplessly, Uilbheist turned to Ghast, who was watching with a small smile. “Don’t mind them, they are like that with everyone. Veilspun through and through, still not used to talking to other dragons. Now, I’ve got a surprise for you. Come look at this.” He gestured at the book on the altar. “Now, no one knows for sure how Adam does what he does, but this book was written by a cousin of mine who also specializes in matters of the soul. It’s all speculation, but her theory on the process is sound. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing the alchemical mixtures she references.”

Uilbheist took the book and flipped through the pages. He didn’t understand the formulae describing energy transfer, but the diagrams seemed familiar. At its essence, this spell involved imbuing the eggshells with energy from several living dragons, and reactivating them with the alchemical mixtures. Souls were then pulled into the shells, and new dragons were created. Simple.

In theory.

Before he could change his mind he gave Ghast an abrupt nod. “I’m ready.”

21st of Nocturne Month, Year of the Aberrant Chacma, Midnight

The first part of the spell was easy. The eggshells were put into three positions surrounding the torn veil, each with a pair of dragons to provide them with energy. Ghast and Rot took the position to his left. Nimue and Nisa, Ghast’s assistants, took the position to his right. On the far side stood Withe, a fae, and Phantom, a wildclaw. He hadn’t been introduced to them yet, but they both looked calm. The undead members of the clan left to rejoin the rest of the clan in the forest, lest their souls be pulled from their reanimated bodies during the spell.

The words flowed out of him easily, pulling the eggshells together. If he paused to think the words stuttered, but if he let his unconscious mind work without interference, his deep memories resurfaced. He walked the perimeter of the platform, pouring the appropriate potions onto the eggs. He held up the bottles for each dragon pair to take a sip and energy flowed out of him, weaving around the energy of each pair of dragons as they imbued their life force into the eggshells, minds willing life to quicken within them.

Circuit complete, he approached the torn veil. This was the difficult part. He cleared his mind, drowning out the wails of the spirits around the portal, and reached out his senses, searching for those souls that were trapped in between worlds.

It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. The souls, they were so thin, exhausted by their struggles that his mind skipped over them every time he reached out.

Behind him the spell surrounding the eggs began to dim as the empty eggs demanded souls to fill them. Desperate, he plunged his arm into the veil itself, reaching. His claws grazed something, so weak, and he pulled.

His arm was agonizingly cold, and the pull of the realm beyond sapped at his will. Let go, let his soul flow out of him, it said. Leave the world of the living behind.

He pulled harder. His arm felt like it was shattering, and the air seemed like it was made of shards of glass. All he could see was whiteness.

But the tug on his heart was still there. The need for his powers to be used, the pull towards something bigger for himself.

He let go of his control, and let his carefully tended powers flow out. The whiteness that plagued his gaze faded, filling it with strange colours. The air warmed, and the feeling in his arm came back.

He pulled, and the trapped spirits came back with him.

Uilbeheist whirled, words he didn’t understand pouring from his mouth as he slammed the souls into the fading eggs. A distant part of him was aware of the howling of the maelstrom, but he dimmed it out, attention focused only on the eggs before him. He gathered them up and breathed onto them.

Live.

Take these eggs and be alive again. This is the gift I give to you. He breathed onto them a second time.

Live.

He breathed a third time, and the eggs shuddered. Symbols appeared on the egg’s surface as the spells took hold, and with trembling hands he reached for the last potion. He poured it onto them, and the eggs stopped quivering. They were warm under his touch, as an egg near hatching should be.

He breathed again, this time in relief, and fell to his knees, body weak.

“Uilbheist, get those eggs out of here!”

Ghast’s roar broke through his exhaustion, and his body acting without him, scooping up the eggs and scrambling for the stairs. Behind him the maelstrom was collapsing as the circle of necromancers attempted to reverse the flow, and send the spirits home. It was going poorly, removing the three souls had destroyed the equilibrium of the maelstrom, and it spun wildly.

He did his best to ignore it, and put his attention to keeping his footing on the steps. In his arms the eggs began to move again, not with magic, but with the natural movements of an egg about to hatch.

“Not yet, littles ones. Hold on just a little longer, please.”

He thought back to the story his mother told him, of a strange dragon pushing a hatching egg towards his parents. This is what the stranger had felt? Desperation to get the egg to safety before it could hatch?

A piece of eggshell crunched under his foot, and a tiny blue snout poked at the top of the egg.

“Oh, no, no, no. Just a few more minutes, patience!”

The dragon withdrew its nose, just as Uilbheist burst out of the stairway. He rushed down the hall and through the sitting room towards the front door. A wave of cold air pursued him and the spinning of the maelstrom became more and more chaotic. Spirits tore around him like leaves caught in a riptide, but he suppressed his desire to help them. Ghast and his circle would have to take care of it.

He made it to the front door, and Stormlight was there to meet him. She took one look at the eggs in his arm and went pale. She darted into the air and motioned for him to follow.

They sped through the trees, the pine needs of the forest floor obscured by a growing layer of snow. Uilbeheist’s breath wheezed through a tight throat and he did his best to keep the eggs warm against his body.

At least he saw lights ahead, and he and Stormlight burst into a clearing filled with makeshift tents. Stormlight ignored the calls of her clan and led him to the biggest tent, which had a streamer of smoke rising from it’s peak.

Breath rasping, he set the eggs down on a thick carpet in front of a cooking stove, and let himself be pushed aside by the clan healers. One of the cloaked wildclaws worked with a skydancer with shining wings, and under Stormlight’s careful eye they helped the eggs to hatch.

Uilbheist barely noticed the wailing of the spirits or the cold now. He had never seen an egg hatch before. The blue dragon was out first, a tiny veilspun with glittering wings. The second to be born was a feisty little thing with dark green runes running down his sides. The last was pale blue and pink, so delicate and shy.

As the last piece of eggshell fell away, he realized that the tugging at his heart had faded away. Someone clapped his shoulder and thrust a mug of something warm into his hands. Ghast. Ghast?

Uilbheist abruptly realized that the only sounds he was hearing was the cooing of the crowd that gathered around the newest members of the clan. How long had he been here, watching his work come to fruition? He quirked an eyebrow at Ghast, but the imperial just grinned at him, claws tightening on his shoulder.

“Welcome to the clan, Child of Adam.”

Uilbheist let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and let his shoulders relaxed. He took a sip from his mug and smiled. It tasted like home.