“Who dares enter?” one of the dragons asked. Or perhaps it was all the dragons asking at once. The words came from all around, booming like thunder.
“The raskovnik thought us worthy to enter your domain,” the Cheshire said calmly. “We have come asking for a guarantee of safety and an alliance with Avalon that may be to your liking.”
One of the creatures huffed out a laugh, and it felt like the earth moving. “It was Avalon that forced us into exile to save our kind,” it said. “It was Avalon that killed us for their jousts and for their rewards, the reason we have shunned the outside world and dream our endless sleep. And yet you are here asking an alliance? We sense Koschei’s touch among you—one gifted with Buyan magic. What other purpose does he have but to come here and destroy us once more?”
The dragon’s snout leaped forward, straight toward Ryker. Tala didn’t even remember moving, only that she’d gotten in front of the boy before the creature could reach him, swinging her sword at the same time.
The blade met the spiral of fire that came streaming out of the dragon’s mouth. The Nameless Sword glowed fiery hot, but she felt none of the heat or the pain that should have caused. The flames sizzled into smoke the instant they touched the steel, rising steam the only thing the dragon had to show for its efforts.
The dragon dipped its head back. There was a loud chuckle from one of its brethren. “You have always been too impulsive, brother. Koschei would have led an army through our doors rather than rely on these younglings, capable as they seem.”
“Your sibling has good reason to doubt me, milord,” Ryker said. He took a step forward, despite Tala’s hissed command for him to stop. “If you believe this is all a trick, then do to me what you must.”
“Can you please stop asking people to kill you as a peace offering, Ryker?” Nya groaned.
But that elicited more laughter among the dragons. “We can smell your intentions, and they are sincere,” said a yellow-hued dragon with wings like a summer cape wrapped around its body. “A defector from Koschei’s ranks. You have piqued our curiosity. Say what needs be said. Our time is precious.”
“Much has changed in the centuries you have dwelt here, milords,” the Cheshire said. “Avalon has changed. No longer do they seek out the innocent for their quests of glory. Our king is kinder and wishes for peace.”
“The same as it ever was, and the same as it ever will be. Peace for the interim, until you grow dissatisfied with your lives and seek more amusements at our expense. Only one of humankind has ever been our friend, and now she, too, dreams that dreamless sleep.”
“But your alliance goes beyond just Queen Talia of Avalon. Your alliance with her is manifested in the sword she carried. A sword you forged on her behalf as testament to your friendship with her. Her descendants now share her cause, and it is they who suffer Koschei and his daughter.”
Tala realized what the Cheshire meant and stepped forward. The sword didn’t look all that different from when she’d drawn it out—it was still on the rusty side, still brittle-looking. It had not changed its appearance for her the way it had for Ken. But there was a rustling of scales and the flapping of heavy wings as the dragons drew nearer for a closer look.
“It is ours,” one confirmed. “We recognize its fires within its blade.”
“You created it on her behalf, knowing she would eventually give her life for both your causes. And you let her, because it was your greatest weapon against Koschei and Buyan.”
Low growls met the Cheshire’s accusation. “Buyan enslaved us. Sought to cage us and glean our knowledge to wage war on the world. Your species have hunted us for eons, our heads for trophies, our wings for spells. You use our hearts to destroy your own kind in battles we never wanted. We had no choice. Talia Briar-Rose knew that. Not all sacrifices are willing. Some are made out of duty.
“Pledge your love to the blackest flag,” the blue dragon added. “It was what Koschei would demand of the human sacrifices made to his dreaded Alatyr—that corrupted magic, his affront and mockery to us. He took the purity of our magic and turned it into fields of blood.”
“Pledge your love to the blackest flag,” Tala echoed, stunned, as the third part of the Avalon king’s doom was finally made clear to them. “That was Alex’s prophecy.”
“It may come to pass that your king shall be asked to make that ultimate sacrifice, young wielder. And should that happen, then there is nothing you and your Nameless Sword can do to prevent it.”
“Did you not remember the oaths you both made upon its forging?” the Cheshire asked. “For as long as one who is worthy enough can hold the blade, you fight with us. From winter’s darkness, till dawn of light, do man and dragons battle night. Our swords are yours.”
“The Earl of Tintagel’s oath,” Zoe murmured.
“Koschei was slain,” said one of the dragons.
“Koschei’s daughter seeks to revive her father for the purpose of regaining entry into Buyan.”
Angrier snarls. “Impossible.”
“It is possible. We have staved her off for as long as we can, but she has attacked Maidenkeep. Our king lies unconscious. She has cursed the kingdom in frost before, in her rage.”
“I am the sword wielder,” Tala said before she could lose her courage. “I have been for close to two hours now. The one who fought with this sword before me gave his life opposing the Snow Queen. Her ice dragons savage the land, and all other kingdoms are under threat of being attacked in the same way. She is enraged and will stop at nothing to open Buyan once more. I understand now that Avalon has not been kind to you in the past, and I want to ask what it would take as compensation for you to help us.”
One dragon lowered its head so that its bright golden eye was looking right at her. “You are different,” it said. “You are more than just a sword bearer.”
“I am a Makiling,” Tala said, not really knowing if they would recognize the name but feeling compelled to say it all the same.
“You come from a people who have fought with us since war grew inevitable. Humans once hunted our dragon hearts because of their capability to negate magic. This, however, we shared with your ancestors, whom we trusted.”
Tala’s eyes widened. “Our agimat?”
“As they named it, yes. You carry within you the quietness of old magic not unlike our own. We remember the oaths we swore on this sword. We will listen to your request. Compensation can be discussed later.”
“The Snow Queen seeks to revive her father, and we have been doing our best to stop her. Alex—our king—used the Nine Maidens to save us, but he cannot be woken. Kensington Inoue, the previous bearer, gave his life to bring us the singing bone along with other artifacts the Snow Queen requires to resurrect Koschei and open Buyan.”
“We see the pathfinder and the great key.” The crimson dragon swiveled its head to regard the lotus lantern Loki carried and then West’s raskovnik before turning to Nya. “We see the soul carriers, three of them—one bearing that tainted, revolting shadow. We see our fledgling adarna and the shard of bone. But we do not see the music maker.”
“You can see what?” Tala spun, hoping to see the adarna somewhere within the darkness, only to be disappointed. “The Snow Queen took the adarna when we were escaping. And the singing bone disappeared when Ken died.”
“A child of wondrous magic within you, and yet you cannot sense it? You cannot feel it reverberating across your being? Does not the sword you hold show you the truth?”
Tala glanced down at the Nameless Sword and thought she could once again hear the adarna’s song. “But I saw the Snow Queen—”
“Koschei’s daughter took its physical form, true. But the adarna’s soul remains with you. You bear with you your own soul carrier, its essence saved within.”
The tamatebako that the lady from the Ryugu-jo had given her. It is rare enough for an owner to be chosen, the woman had said. It opened for you and will no longer do so for another.
Tala had almost forgotten about the strange turquoise box she carried with her. She brought it out, its shine a soft gleam in the dark. “This one?”
“The adarna’s soul resides within. Was it not a guarantee of its safety that you chose to place its essence within?”
“I didn’t even know that’s what I’d done!” She remembered opening the box, felt like she was being pulled into it. But the adarna had thrown itself forward as if to protect her from—
“The tamatebako,” said the silver-colored dragon. “I have not seen my treasures in such a long time.”
It bent its head toward Tala. Understanding, she held it out for it to sniff at.
“I built a palace once, under the sea,” it said, “and constructed such jewels to share with the people who dwelled near my home. I took among them the most loyal of my priestesses to guard it forevermore, intended it to house memories for people to remember loved ones long after they were gone. But humans are an innovative species. They learned to contain souls within the tamatebako, to stave off death. But they cannot use such powerful spells in their pure forms the way we can. An equivalent exchange is required, and such magic always comes at a heavy price.”
“The humans have legends about a man named Urashima Taro,” the Cheshire confirmed. “His life was said to have been kept within one such tamatebako, and it rendered him nearly immortal.”
“Not a life,” the dragon said. “Life cannot be hidden within, only lived. Not a life but a soul’s shadow.”
Tala gasped.
“You claim to fight against Koschei’s daughter, and yet you do not understand the weapons you use to oppose her,” the blue dragon said accusingly.
“Do not be so harsh on them,” the jade dragon admonished. “We have chosen exile exactly so that the humans will forget our magic and prevent their own eventual destruction.”
“You really think we’ll destroy ourselves one day?” Loki asked.
The dragon fastened its golden-eyed gaze on them. “Yes,” it said. “We know this with certainty. There is a peculiar selfishness within the lesser among you that will be the downfall of the greatest among you. We are prepared to sleep for as many centuries as it will take before the last of you are gone and only we remain. But we are not completely heartless. We shall help you against Koschei’s daughter. But it is necessary for you to understand the weapons you wield if you are to succeed. Open the tamatebako, sword wielder.”
Tala felt her way across the box with shaking hands. She’d searched many times before. There was no hidden crevice to uncover, no keyhole to unlock.
“Concentrate, youngling. Remember not the box but what lies within it.”
The adarna. The cheerful, infuriating, good-natured adarna, who had made her head a nesting place because it was comfortable, so that it was on hand to protect her when her agimat had still been weak and useless. The adarna, who would sing to ease her spirits, sometimes at the expense of its own strength. The adarna, who had been a strange companion, who had saved her so many times before—
There was a click.
The box opened.
It wasn’t quite the adarna but a dark shadow of it. But its presence washed over her immediately like a warm, soothing glow, the familiarity of it sending fresh tears to her eyes. It looked like a shade but with none of the Snow Queen’s influence corrupting it.
It dipped its head to Tala and piped out a soft melody the way the adarna always did.
“Close the box.”
Tala did, and the shadow disappeared as soon as the lid was shut.
“The adarna that Koschei’s daughter has taken,” the jade dragon said, “it will not sing for her. For as long as you keep its soul with you, it will not die. Use this to breathe life into its corporeal form.” It moved its head and regarded Nya. “And what of you?” it asked. “Whose soul do you guard with such fidelity?”
“Nya,” Loki said, understanding dawning in their eyes. “Did you—are you—”
“I couldn’t tell any of you,” Nya said. “That’s what I saw in my vision. I had to keep it a secret. I couldn’t take that chance.” She hugged her tamatebako tightly to her chest. “I couldn’t do that to Ken.”
“The shade that was following us, helping us,” Tala said. “And Ken—back at OzCorp, he lost his shadow when he tried to infiltrate the building. Nya, are you saying—”
“—that there might still be a way to save Ken? I don’t know. The visions didn’t tell me if I would be successful, only what would happen if I failed. But I have to try.”
“There is something else,” the Cheshire said. “You say you sense the singing bone among us. That was lost when the previous sword bearer passed away.”
“You have lived far longer than most humans, and yet you cannot taste the magic yourself?” The blue dragon huffed. “Must we show you how everything is done?”
The Cheshire’s brows creased. He stalked toward Tala, circling around her, deep in thought.
“You’re right,” he said. “How silly of me not to have noticed. My old age is catching up to me.”
“Where is it?” West asked.
The Cheshire held out his arm, opened his hand. The bone lay at the center of his palm. No sooner had he done it than it winked out of existence again.
“Don’t fret,” he said. “I picked Tala’s pocket for it, and it is simply once again returning to its owner. Didn’t the Horned One say that it answers to Nameless Sword wielders? Hadn’t this same thing happened to Ken when he tried to hand it over to the Avalon techmages?”
Startled, Tala reached into her pocket and felt the telltale smoothness of bone.
“The singing bone was taken from the skull of a man who was once doomed to eternal suffering,” one of the dragons said. “A young human who possessed innate magic showed him compassion at his wake and unintentionally brought the wretched man back to life long enough to repay his kindness. The young human’s descendants continue to watch over such sinners, believing that one day the dead they guard will be resurrected long enough to do the same and gain merit in their next lives.”
Zoe had been quiet this whole time as well, but now she raised her head, eyes wide, staring at the dragon. “Gravekeeper,” she said. “It wasn’t the Nameless Sword; it was Gravekeeper it meant when it said to call for its army. The dark sword.”
“Perhaps you lot are not so clueless after all,” the yellow dragon noted with satisfaction.
“Now what remains is the hidden spot in Wonderland where the portal to Buyan can be accessed,” the Cheshire said. “The last of the artifacts—the Wonderland Tree.”
“That is easy,” the crimson dragon said. “We shall show you the way, for a price.”
“Name it.”
“The first: that after you find what you are looking for in Buyan, you destroy all connections linking it to this world for good. It was in Buyan that the darkness of the human heart was rekindled by spells none of you were meant to possess. Let them fade from existence as we have strived to fade from human memory.”
The Cheshire nodded. “That goes without saying. We know far too well the damage that magic run amok could do.”
“The second: that you allow us to return to our sleep and speak to no one of the means by which you were able to gain entry to our domain. Whatever foibles you humans seek to create next are no longer of our concern.”
“A concession, if I may: we pledge never to tell anyone else, but in the far-off future, should anyone be able to pass through the Burn using their own resourcefulness and knowledge, I ask that you do not turn them away until you have at least listened to what they have to say.”
“And why should we do that?” the yellow dragon asked haughtily.
“You agreed to help us because you oppose Koschei as much as we do. You are just as much invested in the world as we are. You cannot look that far into the future and say with any certainty that such problems would not arise again.”
The dragons lowered their heads toward one another in silent communication. “Very well,” the yellow dragon said. “Our third and final demand: that the artifacts you have gathered remain in our keeping once the threat of Koschei has passed. Let no one else seek to resurrect the ghoul, no matter what their intentions shall be.”
“Other kingdoms have claimed ownership of many of these items, and they cannot be surrendered without their agreement,” the Cheshire told the dragons. “But I think they can be persuaded if the requests come directly from you. We can vouchsafe, at the very least, turning over the singing bone. I suspect the Germans would be happier without the Wild Hunt in their woods.”
“Wait,” Tala said. “Are we supposed to turn over the adarna to them once we’ve recovered it too?” The thought of the cheerful bird stuck in this strange limbo with the dragons did not sit well with her.
“And why not?” the blue dragon asked. “We are, after all, its ancestors.”
They all stared at it. “The adarna is a dragon?” West quavered.
This time, the laughter emanating from the dragons was louder. “Firebirds are our descendants, so to speak,” the jade dragon said. “They share in our essence and are the closest to us that still exist in your world. It is why Koschei and his ilk seek them out.”
“The firebird shall find the consort’s child, but she shall find it twice,” the silver dragon said. “The sword shall seek her out, yet she shall seek it twice. Twice she chooses and twice she falls and twice she rises. She is fire. And all shall burn. Rare as it is for a Makiling, you bear a prophecy because we are a part of it. The adarna is not the artifact in question. The final artifact necessary is us. Koschei took a part of our magic into him, and we shall take it back soon enough.”
“Buyan was once a peaceful place,” said the blue dragon. “We taught humans to harness the old magic. It was our greatest mistake. We have seen parts of the future, murky as they may be. We know our place in its destiny.”
The crimson dragon approached and pressed its nose against one side of Tala’s sword. Drops of red fell upon the blade, glittered for a few moments, and then disappeared.
“Here we seal our bargain,” it said. “When the time comes, you need only raise it and call. But there are dangers to our assistance, for our fires can burn you. A weaker bearer may not survive our storm. Hold strong and rise to the occasion, young Makiling. And then the world shall hear our answer.”
There was an advantage to having one’s ancestral home situated in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by graveyards to prevent the superstitious from trespassing. It meant there was no one around when the dragons materialized right outside the Nottingham castle. Even Lord Nottingham, not one to express much emotion even during worst-case scenarios, had not been indifferent to the sight.
“There are dragons,” he actually sputtered. “Fire dragons. Milord, where in this hell’s earth did you find—”
“I’ve given my word not to divulge their origins,” the Cheshire said primly. “You only need to know that they have pledged to assist us against the Snow Queen. Secrecy is paramount.”
“It’s a real dragon,” Adelaide gasped. “You’re bigger than what the history textbooks portray, milord—uh, sir, um—”
The crimson dragon lowered its head so that its snout was within touching distance of the girl and then looked impressed when she didn’t back away. “What a polite young thing. How can someone so gently reared be in possession of such a sword?”
Adelaide’s face fell slightly. She gripped Gravekeeper harder in her hand. “It was—it was my brother’s. He died yesterday. I’ve only just—just—”
“It is a heavy burden for one so young, but I am afraid we will be needing your strength soon enough. Let us make haste to the graveyard and heed my instructions, little one. I shall teach you a great trick, one that had been forgotten even by your ancestors. Would you like to hear it?”
Adelaide looked up at it. “Will it help us defeat the Snow Queen?”
“Indubitably. But I must warn you that such a spell will take its toll on Gravekeeper’s owner, though I am convinced you will rise to the occasion admirably.”
The girl nodded. “Then lead the way, kind sir.”
As always, the harsh winds and the snow covered most of the burial grounds; no one would have thought there were thousands of bodies lying buried beneath the soil. Tala turned to the spot where Ken lay buried and saw Nya doing the same, fear and anticipation stark across her features.
Tala didn’t know what she was expecting. Certainly not the bone in her pocket suddenly trembling when Adelaide, still wielding Gravekeeper, approached her uncertainly. She could hear a murmur of voices within the bone, though none of the words were distinct. From the look on Adelaide’s face, Tala knew she heard it too.
The crimson dragon’s orders had been specific. Slowly, Tala took out the singing bone and held it aloft. Adelaide raised her sword in response.
It happened quickly, because suddenly Tala wasn’t holding the bone anymore. A coil of darkness was once more whipping itself into a frenzy around Gravekeeper, despite the absence of nightwalkers. Something solid grew out from within it, wrapping itself around the blade, the thorns flattening down and turning white until a fresh carving of bone was inlaid against a hilt now shining a bright ivory, the first spot of light she had ever seen the sword possess.
Adelaide took a deep breath and held it higher.
Nothing moved for a few minutes, and Tala nearly thought they’d made a mistake somewhere. That doubt disappeared when she saw the ground move.
It was like watching a horror movie. A hand burst out from the ground, bits of dirt raining down its arm, as one of the previously undead struggled to climb out of its grave. The whole burial ground had been transformed into masses of corpses pulling themselves out of their resting places.
The Nottinghams had told them that Nibheis housed tens, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of bodies throughout the centuries they had tended the graveyard, and they didn’t lie; they outnumbered any army Avalon could bring. The only consolation Tala could find here was that none of the corpses were visibly rotting; whatever magic it was that bound them to the burial grounds, they had preserved at least that.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Lumina. Tala heard the sharp bark of Lola Urduja’s orders as the rangers readied their weapons.
But none of the corpses mounted an offense. They all remained silent, their heads turned to Adelaide, sensing who their mistress was.
None of the other Nottinghams looked surprised. How many of the undead were their own ancestors, buried to honor an oath older than any of them?
Poor Adelaide was shaking. Tala, who had not left her side, drew out the Nameless Sword. She wasn’t entirely sure if the sight of the blade would affect any of the undead, but that wasn’t her priority. The younger Nottingham smiled gratefully at her, appreciating the support.
And then West followed suit, standing beside Adelaide, and then Zoe and Loki and Nya. The young girl raised her head as if finding strength from their closeness.
“Come to me,” Adelaide said in a loud voice that echoed across the open air, “and honor your pledge to those who came before me, who lived and fought for your sake.”
The undead masses faced her.
It was a frightening, exhilarating sight, to see so many bow to Adelaide within that terrifying silence. The Dowager Nottingham moved forward, unafraid, and laid her hand on Adelaide’s shoulder.
“You did well, love,” she said softly. “He would be so proud of you.”
Adelaide’s lower lip wobbled. “I know.” She looked at Tala. “This is your army more than it’s ever been ours,” she said. “We’ve always been the graveyard’s guardians, but the end goal has always been to aid whoever wields the Nameless Sword.”
“The Nottinghams have pledged themselves in blood to Avalon as penance for our own sins,” Lord Nottingham confirmed, stepping up to them with Cole’s parents. “Our swords are yours to direct as you see fit.”
Tala took a deep breath and nodded. A part of her still wished that Ken was here instead, because he would know how to take charge better than she ever could. She also wished that Cole was here, taking the burden away from his sister.
She looked down at her sword, which glowed in tandem with the shine of Gravekeeper’s new hilt. “Agimat,” she said. “My sword is called Agimat. And we will take this battle to the Snow Queen and have it done once and for all.”
The earth moved again, and she realized that despite the many corpses that had climbed out of their graves to pledge their vows, one had remained untouched.
The earth shifted and broke apart as the latecomer lifted itself out of the ground to add to the number of undead. The freshness was still apparent in its clothes, the gleam on its buttons evidence that it had not been buried long.
It did not join the ranks of other undead who were lining up beside their respective mounds, waiting for their liege’s next orders. Instead, it shuffled up toward where Tala and the others stood, oblivious to the gasps from those who were watching.
Adelaide let out a soft whimper, and Loki shakily whispered something under their breath, almost a prayer.
Only Nya stepped forward to meet the corpse. Her face was frozen in the expression of one who’d gotten what she’d wished for, though not in the way she wanted.
The figure stopped before her. A hand, both gray as stone and yet also bleached by the winter frost, reached out to tuck a curl of stray hair behind her ear.
“Rapunzel,” it said.