Dragon's Isolation - Miranda Martin Page 0,49

benefit from the cure. The cure that is still only a hope itself.

13

SHIDAN

The fog is thicker. Harder to think clearly. I understand Amara, I think, but when I try to answer her the words won’t come. Disconnected images flash through my thoughts.

Amara and me, kissing.

Her yelling, angry at me, I’ve done… something.

Our… son? Playing. Running.

Protect. Must protect.

Along with every beating of my hearts, every breath is the drumming need. The singular urge of what I must do. I struggle with it, resisting the demand that I take her away to safety. This space we’re in is too big. There are too many places for enemies to hide. The constant sense of danger is stretching my nerves, making my scales itch.

I scratch at the back of my neck as I try to keep looking in every direction at once. The tension in my shoulders creates a headache, but I ignore the discomfort. That, at least, is easy to do. I have so much else to put my attention on.

The flickering light of her torch affects my dark vision, but I know she needs it. I do too, I think. I can’t see in total darkness, but the flickering is causing shadows to dance. I keep seeing things at the corner of my vision, and then stop to make sure it is not a threat.

It’s so quiet, every step we take is like a violation of some unknown sanctity. Under the deep fog that not only covers my memories of long ago, but now is eating the current, something pulses. As if, almost, I know this place?

Have I been here before? It seems like something I would remember if I had.

“What’s that up there?” Amara asks.

I see the direction she is pointing and stop, staring until my eyes can adjust. It might be a light, dim but the most hope we’ve had of getting out of here. I adjust our path, making our way around more machines, more things that tug at the strings of memory.

As we get closer it solidifies into a bit of light seeping underneath a door. This door is cool to the touch, cooler than it should be. I look at Amara and need to make her understand. Words, there are words I need for this.

“St-ay,” I find it.

I motion with my hands in a patting gesture hoping it makes sense to her. I want to look in this door first. She nods understanding so I draw my lochaber off my back and then push the door open.

A bright light streams through the opening so I stop and wait for my eyes to grow accustomed. Only then do I step through and let the door close behind me.

The room I’m in is smaller with machines along the wall. There is a whirring sound and a thrum that I can feel more than hear. Since there is no threat apparent, I push the door open and motion for Amara to join me in the room.

“Control room?” she asks.

I hear the words and they make sense in a way, but then they don’t. Control. I know control, but what does control have to do with a room? Something beeps loudly, jerking my attention off the problem of understanding her words. A light flashes on one of the machines.

Amara walks over and then pulls out a stool and sits in front of the thing. She touches dials, switches, and buttons as if she knows what she is doing. I put my lochaber away, cross my arms over my chest, and wait.

A few moments grows longer and then longer still, before she sighs and runs her hands through her hair, shaking her head.

“I don’t know,” she says.

I move closer and rub her shoulders, working the tension out of them. She is mine. My treasure. An image of a nice, safe cave breaks free of the fog. There. I need to get her there. I move to grab her up and go, but stop myself.

No. We’re on a mission. A higher purpose, there is a… need. I don’t know what that need is, but it is real. We have to go back to the City. The City! Right, I remember the City. There is a sickness, the items on my back, they need them. I’m saving more than Amara.

Malcolm is there. That’s why our son isn’t with us. I have to get back to Malcolm. Suspicion stirs along with images of my son’s smiling face. Did they steal him? No. Amara would never