Dragon Blossom

The storm

On the third day of the journey to Artemia, it was time to part ways. Only Eri would go with her parents to their destination.

Dad had explained to her that no one could know where they were going, so Eri didn’t tell anyone, not even Koro, who had asked many times and felt disappointed every time she shut her mouth and pouted in response.

Mrs. Mera wanted to go; she even offered to take Mom, but Dad had said they couldn’t draw too much attention, and the teacher was so big that everyone would see where they were going. Mom would go with Dad on Jumper, and Eri would ride Peony. They would fly to the valley of the fairies. The farewell was short; they hoped to be back very soon.

Traveling was much better than fighting. Eri still couldn’t make the trip with her own wings; she got too tired if she flew for a long time even with the orange fire. For Peonia, it was the same as walking but seeing everything from above. She found it hard to believe it had taken them three days to cover all that ground when she saw Meyrin Castle in the distance.

Mom was behind Dad, clinging to him with all her strength, her eyes closed, and her face scrunched up. Dad guided Jumper as straight as he could, though Eri knew he preferred to do stunts and fly through the clouds.

When the sky turned orange, Dad signaled to land in a small grove near a road. Surely they would camp there.

Soon they were all on the ground. Mom looked pale, and Dad helped her sit on a fallen log.

"Eri, can you gather some branches and start the fire?" Dad didn’t take his eyes off Mom. "We need a small fire to heat some tea."

Eri no longer underestimated the small fire. Hers was always better, of course, but sometimes things tasted better if they burned slowly. The cake was an excellent example. She obeyed quickly; Mom only drank tea when she felt unwell.

In a few minutes, they were all sitting around the fire. Peonia and Saltarín were grazing nearby, and the tea smelled nice. Although the food consisted of those dry biscuits they always saved for the end of trips, Dad seemed to enjoy them, but they didn’t taste like anything. Eri had to make do with that and a few honey candies from Meyrin from their recently replenished supply.

"What’s wrong, Mommy?" she finally asked, worried. "Are you sick?"

"No, Eri," she said, taking a long sip. "I’m embarrassed to say it, but I have vertigo; I don’t like flying."

What? Mom was the best Pegasus rider. She had seen her fly many times, even when she fought the White Prince...

"When your mom fights," Dad said in Eri’s favorite tone, "she forgets her fear of heights. Did you know she became famous for that? It was long before you or I were born."

The Kingdom of Artemia, forty-two years ago.

"No, I don't want to do it!" Runaesthera couldn't stand the training; her head spun, her skin got goosebumps, and she ended up crying every time. She was already over seventy years old, and the humans of the kingdom told her she was older than some grandmothers, but her father still treated her like a child. She could already use some magical spells; she should have mastered her father's Pegasus by now. Yes, she adored him, but when he was on the ground.

"Runaesthera," her father was not going to let her off this time, "get on the Pegasus and run the circuit once more. Then we'll practice the lightning spell; you're close to invoking one correctly. Master Genwil is going to examine you next week when he returns from his spiritual journey."

Surely that meant he had gone off to party and try exotic liquors in distant lands again.

Life was so unfair sometimes; all the people she liked either left or passed away, especially in recent years. Little Erimis, that tender girl she could care for, had gone to Meyrin for a foolish arranged marriage, and little Fin had been absent for years; perhaps he was already the king of Unermia, she had heard something about him having children already. How long had it been since she went to the wedding? To her, he would always be that well-mannered boy who always wanted to play with swords. Almost all the friends she had made in her childhood were no longer around for one reason or another. Now, her beloved human mother, nearly ninety years old, spent almost all her time in bed, seemingly healthy and lucid, but visibly exhausted.