After that, the fall.
Her head throbbed, and Hri Sora forced herself to forget, at least for now. She was too weak in the wake of her last great flaming, the flaming in which, she guessed, she had destroyed Etalpalli. Her memory was full of ashes, and just then she wasn’t sure she wanted it to clear. Spitting more ash as she spoke, she demanded, “When did I do this?”
“This?” said her Father, sweeping a hand to encompass the burning city. “About a hundred years ago, I should think.”
“A hundred years?”
“Etalpalli is nothing but ruins now, all the greenery burned away, half the towers destroyed, the others hollow shells full of shadows. What you’re seeing here isn’t real. It’s a dream. Rather, it’s the death of a dream.”
Hri Sora forced herself up onto her knees and stared around once more. The hot air caught at her hair, whipping it across her face. She licked her lips slowly and reached up to touch her cheeks, her nose, her mouth. “I’m still a woman,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You took—” She struggled with the memory, not wanting it to come. But it forced its way in at last. “You took my wings from me.”
“That I did. And your dragon form.”
“Am I no longer a dragon, then?”
The Dark Father sneered down at her. “Of course you are! Do you think any but a dragon could do something like this?”
Long ago, in the heat of her first flaming when she was newly reborn, Hri Sora had burned away the last of her tears, along with her former name. Her heart was gone, replaced with this raging furnace. But somehow, as she looked upon this destruction, dream though it was, she thought her heart must break should she still possess one. She wished for the relief of tears. For a moment, she saw Etalpalli as it once was, the high towers covered in green vines, the air filled with the wings of her people, their plumage bright and flashing.
“They were certainly glorious,” said her Father, as though reading her mind. “All your former subjects. Such beautiful wings! I can see why you couldn’t allow them to live.”
They had still boasted wings when she no longer did.
“I killed them.”
“They put up a fight,” said her Father. “But you were in quite the rage when you returned. Though you walked the ground like a mortal woman, your fire blazed to the sky and burned their wings. They fell like shooting stars at your feet.”
How she hoped that memory would not return, not yet! Hri Sora forced herself to stand, trembling. What a despicable thing was this woman’s body. Much too weak to support the fire inside her. No wonder she had lost consciousness for a hundred years.
“Let me wake up,” she said to her Father.
“Why?” he asked, chuckling again. “Don’t you like this dream of yours? It is your finest victory!”
“Let me wake up. I have work to do.”
He turned a cruel, devouring smile upon her. “What kind of work can a wingless dragon possibly pursue?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her mind suddenly crowded with images, with hate. Her Father watched her face, reading more of her thoughts than she liked, so she turned away from him.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“When you fell from the heavens. I took your wings to punish your idle boasting, and you plummeted so hard and fast, I thought sure you’d die your third death then and there! Obviously, I was mistaken. You landed in the Near World and weren’t heard from for ten mortal years at least. What happened to you during that time in the mortal realm?”
“I don’t remember,” she snarled.
“You burst back through to the Far World so suddenly, it took everyone by surprise. Even those cursed Knights of the Farthest Shore had thought you were gone for good! But no, back you came and, of all things, dragging two children behind you.” He shook his head, a forked tongue flickering between his fangs. “Fancy—me, a grandfather! Ugly little brutes they are, too. Certainly not a brood of which to boast. I’ve found uses for them, however. There’s always more room in my realm.”
“They are mine.” She bit the words out.
“Yes, yes, the little monsters are quite devoted to you,” said he. “I’ve sent them out on several errands, but they always want to return to you, sniffing about and making sure no one comes too near.” He shook his head at her. “But they can’t reach you here. Not in your dreams.”
“Let me wake up,” she said again. “Let me wake up so that I may . . . so that I may find . . .”
“Find what?”