Dragon's Isolation - Miranda Martin Page 0,44

head in a fast motion, slamming the blade against the metal.

CLANG!

“Open,” I growl, raising my weapon again and slamming it with even greater force.

The fog swells, eating thought, dispelling everything. I will win. I am the most powerful, I cannot be stopped. I hit it again then again and yet again.

“Shidan!” Amara screams.

I see her out of the corner of my vision. Her eyes are wide, mouth open, and she’s moving back and away. Moisture streams down her cheeks, and her face is red. Moisture, word. There’s a word for it.

It flits through my head, and I’m unable to latch on to it. The anger rages but that word… it cuts through the haze. She’s crying. The word is crying.

A uniquely human thing to do. Zmaj do not cry. We are not capable of it. When I first saw a human cry, I thought it was wasteful, dangerous even. Tajss is a desert. Wasting water is the gravest of sins.

Amara’s tears, though, they express depths of emotion that touch my soul. I’ve found myself, at times, being envious of her ability to shed tears.

They cut through my rage. I’m left empty and once more envious. The pressure in my head, the tightness in my chest, maybe they would ease if I could cry. It’s a moot point, but looking at her, knowing I caused her pain and fear, it creates so much tension I want to explode.

I drop my lochaber and leap out of the hole, drifting down to land next to her. I pull her into my arms and hold her. I can’t form words, all I can do is hold her, squeeze her, never let her go. This illness is bad for me, but it’s worse for her.

I won’t know when I lose it. It’s happening, and I barely notice it until I see the effect on her. The fear, the loss, the anger, when I see it in her, then I know something is wrong. It’s a silent killer that makes me feel impotent. That causes my dragon to stir, and with it, the fog of the bijass grows thicker.

I don’t know how to fight what’s happening in my head, so I do the only thing I can. I hold her, for all my life, but more for hers and for Malcolm’s. She squeezes me every bit as tight as I do her. We hold each other for I don’t know how long, but at long last, she straightens then pulls back.

Amara stares past me, into the hole beside us, frowning. Fog covers my thoughts once more, and now it seems thicker than ever. It’s insidious, slipping in and around, covering over rational thought.

“We have to get in there,” Amara says. “I don’t have a way to capture air, but there’s something in there that started this. We have to find it, take it back to Addison. You made progress—look! That crack is wider. Maybe we can pry it open?”

I see what she’s talking about and nod. I land in the hole next to the broken seam. It’s barely enough for me to slide my fingers in and get a tenuous grip. I do and pull, roaring as I put my body to work.

Metal creaks, groans, and moves the slightest bit. My fingers slip, and I fall backwards, landing on my tail. The pain shoots up my spine, and the red rage grabs at my consciousness. I growl but push back.

“Are you okay?” Amara asks.

I don’t answer. Words are too hard. Instead I slide my fingers back into the crack and get a little better grip this time. Lifting with my legs, I pull again. My muscles scream as I strain, but then the metal screeches and it opens a little more.

A stale, musty scent wafts out of the opening along with clouds of dust. It makes my throat itch, and then I’m coughing. I have to stop and wait to catch my breath when it passes. Amara is speaking. I hear her, but I don’t understand.

I look up at her, and her mouth is moving. Is she speaking another language? It doesn’t matter. She needs to get in here. I will do this.

I take up my position again, setting my feet, the claws of my toes clacking against the metal. I take a deep breath and exhale it violently as I pull. I groan, strain, and pull harder and harder. Dig deep, more, strain, and then the screech fills my ears, and the metal plate tears