by JD Monroe
Contents
Speak The Language
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Wondering what happened with Marlena and Velati?
Afterword
What Now?
Also by JD Monroe
About the Author
WINGS OF FLAME Copyright 2019 by J.D. Monroe.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Mighty Fine Books, LLC
PO Box 956
Evans, GA 30809
Editing by Gayla Leath
Cover Design by Celtic Ruins Designs
Book Design and Ebook Formatting by Katzilla Designs
ISBN: 978-1-944142-34-6
First Edition: 2019
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Created with Vellum
The Dragons of Ascavar – the Kadirai – have their own language and customs. While all terms are explained in context, if you want to follow along with the language of the dragons and learn more about their culture, you can check out this link to the Kadirai glossary on my website:
| SPEAK THE LANGUAGE |
On day four hundred and thirty-two of Sohaila Mara’s captivity, she received a sign from the heavens. Since that bloody night in the shattered lands of Ifrahl, Sohaila had documented each day in her journal.
On day thirty-two, she wrote to the Skymother. Thanks to her refusal to follow Master Sidran’s orders, she had not eaten in sixteen days. Her mind was clouded by gnawing hunger, but she sensed that the ultimate freedom was on the horizon. Fear turned into grim relief as she scrawled her simple prayer. Please let it happen in my sleep. Bring me home to your halls and let me be free.
On day forty-seven, she saw one of the monstrous Aesdar for the first time. In the shadow of its leathery wings, the air reeked of sickness and death. That day’s entry consisted of a detailed, but carefully detached description of the terrible transformation. Words like abomination and unnatural were unscientific, but they would have been appropriate.
On day eighty-eight, she made her first and only attempt to escape her captors. She hadn’t written on that day. When she was returned to her quarters and able to hold her pen again, she summarized those three days in a short paragraph, unusually terse in contrast to the detailed entries surrounding it.
Escape failed. Sidran survived. Face injured. Left eye obscured. Blood healing applied. Unsure of expectations for recovery.
On day two hundred and sixty, Master Sidran left the Silent Orchard with five of her Aesdar charges, saying only that he was headed north for a mission. Nearly three weeks later, Sidran returned with only two of the Aesdar, demanding that she accelerate her work with the trainees he’d left behind.
For over a year, Sohaila had been imprisoned in the Silent Orchard, a long-abandoned temple in a desolate landscape. With no bells to signal the hour, she did her best to keep her faith through regular prayers. Her defiance was long dead, and she did what Sidran demanded of her. Though her days were sometimes chaotic, her imprisonment was a constant.
But on day four hundred and thirty-two, a little bird changed everything.
Feathered in drab brown like tree bark, the bird landed on the windowsill. Though her dragon was long gone, Sohaila still possessed the razor-sharp senses of her Kadirai blood. The tiny clack of talons on stone broke through the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth.
Frowning, she looked up from her notes to see a tiny shadow in the window, tailfeathers waving like a little fan. She smiled. “Oh, hello. Aren’t you an unusual sight?”
Ravaged by magic in the Great War, the once-beautiful landscape of Ifrahl was rocky and gray, nearly devoid of life. Beyond the broken stone walls of the Silent Orchard, petrified trees loomed overhead like skeletons, gaunt fingers grasping at the empty sky. The occasional insect skittered across the rocks, but she had not seen a single bird since arriving here.
Until today.
The bird chirped in response, tilting its head.
“I’m Sohaila,” she said. “And you are…a bird. Am I really talking to birds now?” She laughed at herself. “I apologize. I haven’t seen a pretty thing like you in a long time.”
A hundred varieties of birds flew through the dense forests of the Iveron enveloping the Shrine of Mara, her home for the last fifty years. She had not realized how much she missed their noisy sunrise greetings until awakening to the ominous silence here.
She inched closer, offering her hand. “I won’t hurt you. Come sit with me. Oh, don’t—”
It fluttered out of sight. A gentle breeze swept back on her, carrying the unmistakable scent of sage and rain-damp earth. That was the smell of an Edra shapeshifter, not a simple creature far from its forest home.
Her heart thumped in anticipation as she dashed to the window and leaned out. The tiny dark form flew toward the temple’s domed roof and out of sight. “Come back,” she whispered.
Among Sidran’s followers, she had encountered mostly humans and hybrids, a handful of full-blooded Kadirai, and of course, Sidran’s retinue of tattooed freaks. But no Edra.
Returning to stir the simmering mixture of herbs over the fire, she pondered what it could mean. Could this be a sign from the Skymother? Why would one lone Edra be so far from civilization, and why would they land on her window of all places? Was someone looking for her?
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she scolded herself. After four months here, she’d given up hope that anyone was searching for her. Escape was no longer an option. It was probably nothing.
Though she told herself to be sensible, her mind constantly drifted to the little bird and its familiar scent as she measured out the remaining ingredients for the healing liniment. The final ingredient was a flask of glowing purple elixir from Sidran’s cache. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she dumped the contents into the pot, producing a rich smell with a metallic bite that betrayed the base ingredient.
Forgive me, Blessed Mara and most holy Skymother, for tainting your ways with their blasphemy. No other way has worked, and I must keep my oath to protect all your children.
She had just moved the pot from its stand over the low fire when her workshop door creaked open. Nirren, one of the Chosen soldiers, nodded to her. “Sister,” he said politely. Like most of Sidran’s followers, he wore a red scarf embroidered with silver wings over his armor.
As Nirren bowed, she fumbled to secure the veil over the lower half of her face. “Yes?”
Nirren didn’t
seem to notice her discomfort over her exposed face. “Master Sidran requires your assistance with one of the Aesdar. He’s come back with the surviving soldiers from the east.”
She grimaced. “Let me gather my things.” Over the last few months, she had grown accustomed to the quick demands, as Sidran stepped up his attacks on the Kadirai. She rarely objected, knowing it wasn’t worth the trouble. But she wondered if the Skymother would curse her for using her gifts this way.
More than fifty years ago, Sohaila Mara gave up the name of her birth, cut all family ties, and became a sister of Mara. After sacrificing her ability to shift into a dragon, she swore to use her healing gift in service of the Skymother. Mother Akshas had taught them that even in times of war, they were to use their gifts to alleviate suffering. It was not for a Marashti healer to decide who was worthy of her talent. If the Skymother objected, she would withdraw her blessing.
Sohaila wasn’t so sure. Wisdom and integrity were as much a gift as the ability to heal. Surely the Skymother expected her to use her gifts properly. And yet, she did not want to die, nor did she want to see someone else harmed for her. Sidran had made it clear that others would suffer for her defiance. She’d already watched her two bodyguards die on a distant road, their bodies left to rot under an empty sky. That was too much. So, she prayed each day that the continued existence of her gift was a sign that the Skymother had not forsaken her.
With Nirren starting to pace, Sohaila tossed a pair of leather gloves into the bag containing her salves and ointments, along with a set of freshly sterilized scalpels and needles. She slung the bag over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”
The Silent Orchard had been abandoned long before Sohaila was born. As the survivors of the cursed Sunflight that had once dwelled nearby left for kinder places, so had the priestesses and healers who had once served here. While the stone temple was mostly intact, its drafty halls had been empty for decades.
Or so Sohaila had thought.
When she was brought here, bound and protesting furiously, she was shocked to see the torches lit and the dragons circling in the harsh gray sky. But the fleeting hope at seeing her own kind was quickly dashed when she discovered that the current residents of the temple were not serving her goddess. Instead, they were zealots who believed that dragons were a scourge upon the earth.
And they needed Sohaila.
Or rather, they needed skilled Marashti healers, and Sohaila was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Master Sidran had accomplished impressive things with the foul blood magic his people practiced. But the greatest masters of the Crimson Path could not replicate the true healing power of the Marashti. And so, for the time being, she was of value.
The halls of the temple were abuzz with activity. Though Sidran and his flunkies were vague, she was no fool. She listened every chance she got. The Chosen were actively attacking the Kadirai now. A few weeks ago, six of the Aesdar and their handlers had left the Silent Orchard. She’d heard whispers about Greenspire, the Ashflight capital which was mere miles from the temple. None of the Aesdar had returned until now.
Nirren led her to the courtyard behind the temple, where a cold, reeking wind swirled a cloud of dust into a whirlwind. Sohaila’s heart pounded as she froze in the archway. She had dealt with the monstrous creatures for over a year, but she would never grow accustomed to the sight of them.
A hulking white dragon loomed in the courtyard. Its discordant roars scraped at her nerves. Dozens of soldiers gathered beyond the crumbled walls, giving the distressed dragon a wide berth.
The Aesdar was at least ten times the size of the biggest Kadirai she’d ever seen. Its eyes glowed unnaturally bright blue, with a gleaming orb high on its brow. As its gaze turned toward her, she instinctively clasped her protective amulet and murmured a silent prayer for safety.
“It’s Enzar,” Nirren said, grasping her arm lightly. “You said it helps to know.” The young man pointed to the white dragon. “He’s the only survivor. Veraxa was too exhausted to bring him back.”
A pang of guilt swept over her as she contemplated five fallen dragons. The Aesdar had been stuffed full of Sidran’s lies, and if not for the monstrous form lurking beneath their tattooed skin, they could have been any dragon soldier she’d met in her old life. They were loyal to Sidran just like she had once been loyal to her queen. It was hard to hate them. Most of them, at least.
She set down her leather bag and reached inside for a jar of floral-smelling ointment. In her notes, the recipe was labeled Dragon Tamer, though that was more for her own amusement than anything. She scooped a handful into her palms. A pleasant tingle enveloped her hands, bombarding her with a powerful perfume.
Deep seams of red on Enzar’s underbelly flexed open with his writhing movements. Charred black patches marred his pearlescent scales, and one wing jutted out at an awkward angle. Even knowing he had likely killed many of her people in the last weeks, she hated to see him suffering.
“Enzar,” she said quietly, raising her hands to him. His head whipped toward her, jaws clacking together. A gasp erupted from the Chosen, but she ignored them. “You’re all right, an-kadi. I know it hurts, but you’re safe with me.”
His growl reverberated through the stone, vibrating into her body. The cold weight of the amulet against her chest kept her mind anchored, but his presence was nearly overwhelming.
“Come back to me,” she said, stepping closer. He bared his teeth, but didn’t move toward her. She raised her hands and blew across them, letting the medicine waft toward him. Her muscles trembled with fear as she cautiously touched his snout.
As soon as she made contact, he shuddered. The fear and pain in him washed back on her, and she clamped down on the instinctive connection. Sinking into the healer’s trance with him like this would kill her. “Let go, an-kadi.”
A searing mist burst out from beneath his scales as he roared in pain. As the white dragon shuddered and shifted, Sohaila moved closer. The smell of decay was enough to make her stomach lurch, so she put one hand to her nose and inhaled the floral scent while reaching for Enzar with her other hand.
Finally, the white dragon was gone, and a broad-shouldered male was left, trembling on his knees. His blue eyes were wild, flitting around without landing. “Enzar,” she said, crouching in front of him. He cringed as her fingers pressed into his tattooed skin, burning hot to the touch. Deep gashes on his ribs bled steadily, but she had to bring his mind back before she could help him.
“It hurts,” he choked out through heaving breaths. With a grimace, he pulled his left shoulder up. It snapped back into place with a sickening crack.
“I know, an’kadi, but you’re back now. It’s all over,” she said, gently stroking his shoulder. “Speak with me, just like before. The skies above are blue and clear for us to fly.”
“The skies above…” His voice trailed into a groan.
“Blue and clear,” she reminded him gently.
“Blue and clear for us to fly,” he said. Though she was half his size, Enzar leaned heavily against her, resting his head on her shoulder.
“The ground below is warm and solid for us to walk,” she said, stroking his wet hair and letting her fingers graze over his neck.
As he recited the simple prayer with her, she poured a trickle of healing energy into him.
Please forgive him for whatever he has done. Make him whole again. This is not his fault.
His pulse slowed finally. She opened her mind to the healing trance, sending the tendrils of power into his torso to look for injuries. The cuts on his chest were deep, but hadn’t harmed his internal organs.
What Sidran did to the Aesdar was cruel beyond measure. Enzar was one of her first successes, making the shift without losing himself. But she’d met some of Sidran’s earlier attempts, little more than empty husks waiting to be filled with magic and used until they shattered.
“Thank you, sister,” Enzar rasped. She helped him stand, gripping his arm as he leaned on her heavily.
“I’m glad you’re back with me,” she said. He smiled faintly. Sohaila glanced back to see the other Chosen gawking from beyond the courtyard. “It’s safe.”
Lurking in the archway was Master Sidran, flanked by two of his bodyguards. A chill ran down her spine as he nodded to her. His dark, soulless eyes didn’t match the gentle smile on his lips. His acknowledgement felt like a warning, not a greeting.
Several of the Chosen rushed toward Enzar. His handler, Gira, draped a heavy red robe over his shoulders and cooed, “I’m so proud of you, my child.” Though her dark hair was windblown, she didn’t have a scratch. She’d probably sent him out to kill while she cowered far away. “Let’s get you into bed. How does that sound?”
Sohaila narrowed her eyes, watching as the woman took Enzar’s arm and led him into the temple. My child. More like her weapon.
As Enzar left the courtyard, Sidran approached her, a faint smile on his lips. “You do so well with them,” he said. “We would not be able to do this without your knowledge.”
Her stomach lurched. “I use the gifts the Skymother has granted me. I am merely a conduit.”
He raised his eyebrows. Two soldiers in red uniforms scurried toward them, then bowed deeply. “Sir, we have news of Greenspire.” They glanced at each other. “I’m afraid it was a loss.”
“I had guessed,” Sidran said. “I will meet with you shortly.” He rested his large hand on Sohaila’s back. The familiar contact made her skin crawl. “Allow me to walk you back to your quarters.”