The Igentis’ voice lowered to a whisper, and Jargon, who was quick to see how much this disturbed Artigal, quickly pulled him aside, away from other wounded Centaurs nearby.
Artigal shook his head and coughed violently.
Frowning in worry, Jargon handed him three small purple berries, which Artigal popped into his mouth. He sighed as he chewed on the berries, his eyes closed, before taking a deep breath and looking from Aeron to Jargon.
“It was Thaddeus.”
Jargon’s face went white, and he grasped Artigal’s shoulders. He was one of the few who knew of the wound Artigal had dealt to Thaddeus many years ago. Because of that, he had been confident in Artigal’s ability to fight and defeat Thaddeus. This was a disturbing turn of events. “Thaddeus? But what about the Shushequmok?”
Artigal’s face drained of what little life it seemed to have left. He pulled off the nearly mangled, dented armor from his chest.
“Emperor help us.” Aeron couldn’t tear his eyes away from what looked like a black shadow, which crept through Artigal.
There was a large spot of black against the Centaur’s white skin, and it spread out into tiny little threads of inky blackness, traveling through his veins, his skin, and deep into his body.
Jargon ran his hand across Artigal’s abdomen, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Kijaqumok?” His voice was barely audible.
Aeron wondered if he had heard right.
Artigal nodded his head in assurance.
“Yes.”
Aeron frowned, his heart pounding in his chest. This seemed to be like nothing he had ever encountered before, and it most certainly was not Thaddeus’ own magic. It was something entirely different that was stronger than any of them here, especially if Artigal himself couldn’t heal it.
“What is that?” Aeron moved in closer, and Artigal nodded to Jargon to explain.
Swallowing and shaking his head in incredulity, Jargon crossed his arms and did his best to explain the little that he knew of it.
Aeron whistled. “So it can’t be healed?”
Jargon nervously looked to Artigal. “Only by the Pure Magic—Shushequmok.”
Aeron ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Emperor help us.” His quickly turned to Artigal. “But you should have some, right?”
A half-hearted chuckle parted the old Centaur’s lips. “Oh yes, I should. But no longer. I am afraid that the Kijaqumok took its toll on me and I have lost connection with the Shushequmok.”
Aeron felt dread grip him like an icy claw. “But that means that—”
Artigal nodded.
“You’ll die.” Jargon’s eyes misted.
Artigal had, like many other Centaurs, been a mentor to Jargon, and in later life, a close friend.
The Igentis’ face was grim as he nodded, his lips pursed and his jaw tight in frustration. He took a deep breath. “But no matter. I have lived my time on this world, and I long for peace. I thought perhaps, though—” He shook his head.
Aeron comfortingly placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Artigal looked to the bright morning skies above him.
“I had only wished to see the Great Emperor’s return, that’s all.” His voice was quiet and nostalgic, his eyes glazing over as if staring into the past before he shook his head and sighed heavily. “But it is of no matter. It was not meant to be.”
A cloud hung over the three friends before Artigal suddenly clapped loudly. “But let us rejoice, for the Emperor has chosen to bless us and this land. All that has transpired has been in His will, and we must not tarry in our paths. Aeron, I want you to take your mate and son to Gauyuyáwa.”
Aeron, even though he was confused at this order, bowed low. “As you wish, Igentis.”
Artigal nodded to him before turning to Jargon. “Jargon, if you could give me something to at least heal whatever can be healed, then I will see about covering up this.” He gestured to the Corrupt Magic that was slowly spreading inside of him.
“Of course. I think I may even have a few things that can at least slow down the Corrupt Magic’s progress.” Jargon quickly bowed, intending to go straight to his home to get the ingredients, but Artigal rested his hand on the medic’s shoulder, halting him.
An odd smile spread across the Igentis’ face. “Oh, and Jargon?”
“Igentis?” Jargon raised one of his dark eyebrows.
“I think there might be something of interest to you at your home. When you have healed it, bring it to the Gauyuyáwa as soon as possible, but let no one, absolutely no one, see or know of it.”
Jargon’s face wrinkled in confusion.
Aeron’s eyes went wide before narrowing. What was Artigal’s second agenda?
“I will do so, Igentis.”
Artigal quickly dismissed Aeron before he and Jargon retreated from the prying eyes of the other Centaurs.
A puzzled look on his rugged face, Aeron quickly trotted through the forest in search of his wife. She too was a lead healer, second only to her friend, Jargon.
A small smile lifted his lips as he thought of his mate. While a fantastic warrior and archer, her heart had always been in healing. She would be toiling nonstop to help all she could.
Pushing a few branches out of his way, he came across a large gathering of Centaur warriors by one of the main medical buildings in the large, shrouded city-tribe of Trans-Falls.
It didn’t take him long to spot his mate, and when he did, a broad grin spread across his tanned face, his heart skipping a few beats.
Frawnden was just finishing bandaging the wound on another Centaur’s forehead. Her black hair was intricately braided down her back, a few soft curls framing her sweating, concentrated face. She had a perfect buckskin color. The flowing feathers of hair on her legs were black as night, and so was her tail, while the rest of her horse body was a warm, fiery brown.
His breath caught in his throat, a boyish smile creeping across his face. He quietly walked over to her and encircled her in his arms. She sighed and laid her head back on his chest, feeling his warmth.
He kissed her forehead and smiled down into her light brown eyes. She smelled of sweet herbs and flowers—a certain bonus from being a healer.
“What has brought you to my humble little trade, mighty warrior?”
Aeron chuckled and kissed her lips. “Artigal wishes for your and Trojan’s presence at the Gauyuyáwa .”
Her eyebrows rose in curiosity, but he shook his head.
“That’s all I was told.”
Nodding, Frawnden quickly disengaged herself from Aeron before disappearing into the woods. When she returned, a young Centaur was trotting beside her, and once again Aeron’s face broke out into a wide grin.
“Father!” Aeron’s five-year-old son bucked with joy and ran to give his father a hug. “Mother said that Artigal wanted to see us. Why?” Trojan’s eyes sparkled joyously and pleaded with his father to tell him more, but Aeron only shook his head and reminded his son how much Artigal hated anyone being late.
Trojan quickly ran ahead of them, and the proud mother and father watched their son, chuckling at his impatience. The young Centaur took after his mother in his desire for speed, his love of archery, and even his color—a beautiful, perfect buckskin. However, he had never been interested much in healing and preferred to train beside his father with a sword.
Frawnden linked her arm with Aeron’s, and they quickly made their way along the roads of Trans-Falls.
Trans-Falls, the Centaur Tribes' capital, was a city built as one with the forest. Parts of the magnificent city were on the forest floor, inside the trees themselves, and even high above in the branches. In fact, much of the city couldn’t be seen except for what was directly in front of them because it was shrouded in vines and hidden by huge, towering trees, which blocked all but a very green glow from the sunlit leaves.
A ringing bugle caught the attention of all the Centaurs, and a loud murmur rose among them as they too began making their way to the middle of the
city.
Because Aeron was their leader, the Centaurs quickly parted for them, and he and his mate were able to move swiftly through the crowd.
Frawnden observed the number of Centaurs that were gathering. “Must be important if he is calling all the tribe together.”
“I believe it is.” Aeron quickly filled her in on all the details he felt comfortable sharing from his earlier conversation with Artigal and Jargon. A nervous air hung about the two adults.
Aeron called after Trojan to slow down and wait for them, which the young Centaur did respectfully but with a hint of annoyance.
It didn’t take them long to see the Gauyuyáwa, as it towered high over all the other buildings and trees around it. It was a massive Ravenwood tree, the last Ravenwood tree to exist in Ventronovia and possibly all of Rasa.
The tree was thousands of years old, and because of its age, had been completely hollowed out. Because it was so massive, the Centaurs had been able to craft it into their capitol, which boasted of multiple stories in the trunk of the tree and a fantastic, expansive basement in and amongst the massive root system that had once given the tree life many years ago.
It didn’t take the family of three long to weave their way through the parted path of Centaurs and up to the tree.
Aeron nodded to one of the many guards that surrounded the tree. Usually, the tree was considered sacred and the creatures of Trans-Falls had enough respect to not approach it and guards weren’t needed. However, with big events usually came a certain amount of unruly chaos, and the guards were an added precaution to both Igentis and the holy tree.
The guard, instantly recognizing his leader, stepped aside so Aeron and his family could gain entrance to the tree.
Pushing open the great, carved wooden door, Aeron quickly entered, followed by Frawnden, and then Trojan.
It was Trojan’s first time ever in the great tree, and he was struck by sheer amazement, even at such a young age.
A winding, wooden staircase twined up the interior perimeter of the tree and higher into the great tree; its railings were made from the trees which had once surrounded this tree. Lanterns hung from the twenty-foot-high ceiling, giving a warm glow to the spacious dwelling. A large, circular table, nearly twenty-five feet smaller in circumference than the tree’s interior perimeter, resided in the middle of the room and was covered in an array of maps, charts, furs, and the most delicate of rare sweet-smelling flowers, which filled the room with their pleasant aroma. The room fairly shone with a golden glow, which almost seemed somehow magical. Beautiful paintings depicting the scenes of the more spectacular of Ventronovia’s fair landscapes adorned the walls. Small relics with strange engravings only legible to the most learned Centaurs decorated small tables that were attractively arranged around the room.
Hearing the familiar sound of hoof-beats on wood, Aeron and Frawnden gazed up to see Artigal descending the spiral staircase. Both sighed in relief to see Artigal healed and cleaned up.
He had cleverly hidden his untreatable wound, and other than the sadness that hung in his cold eyes, it would have been hard to tell that he had fought so fiercely in battle.
Bowing low before their leader, the family awaited orders.
Trojan, who was too thrilled to remember much about courtesy, couldn’t help but breathe out a “woah” at the sight of the majestic Centaur leader, whom he had only ever seen from a distance.
A rare warm smile spread across the wise Centaur’s face as he gazed down upon the small Centaur.
Kneeling, Artigal placed his hand underneath the child’s chin and lifted Trojan’s head up to meet the leader’s eyes. Though he had never made it apparent, he had always been especially fond of Trojan.
“You, my son, will grow up to be a fine young Centaur, and your days will be wonderfully filled with the best of purpose and intentions.”
Trojan’s eyes widened in wonder, and his parents shared a glance at each other that was filled with pride but also worry. It seemed to always be both a blessing and a curse when Artigal bestowed his favor upon someone. His blessings usually had double meaning, only known when it was too late.
“You have been blessed, child, to play a key role in the fate of our country. Never let anyone despise your youth and never stray from the one you will come to love.”
Trojan’s boyish face shone with amazement and delight. Bowing his head respectfully, he murmured his gratitude, his face a rosy pink blush. Even after many years of toil and hardships, he would never forget those words.
Standing back up, Artigal instantly resumed his usual, distant composure of strong leadership, though his eyes still shone with the unmistakable happiness that youth always brought him.
“I hope, Aeron, that you will accept my gift to you and your mate today, and will always cherish the joy, and perhaps the sorrow, that it will bring to you and your family.”
Once again, another double-edged blessing. What could the Igentis mean by all this?
Confused, curious, and slightly disturbed, Aeron nodded. “I am positive I will, Artigal.” He shared a quick glance with Frawnden, who was just as puzzled as him.
“Good. Now come with me, all of you. I shall present my gift to you and to all of Ventronovia!”
Just before Artigal opened the door to exit, the other three Centaurs close behind him, he quickly turned around and nearly smiled.
“I know that you are worried for my fate and the fate of our Country and the world, but do not fear. We are all in the hands and under will of the Emperor. All shall be revealed in the fullness of time.” He stepped out of the tree, leaving them just as confused as they had been before.
Shrugging and having to nearly drag their son out of the wondrous place, they quickly followed Artigal outside.
§
Raising his arms to the crowd around him, Artigal immediately acquired the undivided attention of all the individuals. A still silence spread across the city.
“I want to praise you all today for how valiantly you fought on this tragic day.” With a bit of basic magic, Artigal was able to project his voice throughout the city so no one would have to repeat him or miss what he said. “If it were not for your courage and sacrifice, this world would be deeper into the hands of the Thaddeus, Kyrell, and the Eta King Veltrix’s army.”
A cheer rose from the crowd, and Artigal paused to let them celebrate in their victory. It had not been clear whether the mission of the warriors had been achieved or even what that mission had been. They hadn’t known whether to celebrate or mourn. It was also very seldom that they were openly praised by their strict leader.
A smile crept across Artigal’s face before he silenced the people once more.
“I understand that it was hard for many of you to fight without quite knowing why. For those who saw the Duvarharians today, I want to give you closure, and for those of you who did not, I feel that you deserve to know.”
Apprehension was thick in the air as each Centaur awaited the answers to their questions.
“The Lord and Lady of the Dragon Palace were indeed taking their child, the Shelesuujao spoken of in the Great Lord’s Prophecy, to a human city for safety from Thaddeus.”
Murmurs rang through the crowd.
“And it is also true that Thaddeus himself intercepted them.”
The crowd gasped. Many who had fought Thaddeus before cursed the traitor openly.
Artigal had to wait to be heard.
“Thaddeus himself killed both Lord Drox and Lady Andromeda along with their dragons.”
A shocked silence replaced the crowd’s noise.
“It had been my hope that we could have prevented such a thing from happening while also saving Ventronovia’s Shelesuujao, but this was not the case.” He paused for a moment, his people hanging on to each of his words. “I understand that there have been rumors going around that the Shelesuujao of the Prophecy is dead, along with the Prophecy itself, and I have brought you to all together to tell you the truth.”
/> Aeron had to force himself to breathe. Millions of questions ran through his head, and by the look in Frawnden’s eyes, he knew she was wondering the same thing. What had really happened between Artigal and Thaddeus? What had happened to the child?
Artigal nodded to a Centaur who was hidden by the Gauyuyáwa’s shadow. Jargon moved into the light, and Aeron strained to see what was with him.
Trojan, who had a better view than his parents and the others in the crowd, gasped in excitement and pawed the dirt even as he did his best to stand still.
“Today, I bring to you a child that is to be adopted into the Tran-Fall’s Centaur tribe as our own.
“Into the hands of my second-in-command and Trans-Fall’s leader, Aeron, along with his mate Frawnden, I present the child promised to us by the Great Emperor, the Shelesuujao of Ventronovia—Stephania Lavoisier!”
A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Aeron felt his heart skip. It seemed even the wind had gone silent.
Jargon knelt on the ground and whispered something behind him. A small child timidly slid off his back and hid behind his legs, slowly peeking to look out at the creatures before her. It was a small Duvarharian child with long, curly, red hair. No one could doubt it. It really was Stephania.
A loud salvo of approval rose amongst the people. Though most were rejoicing to hear that the savior child had lived, others harbored more mixed emotions. Adopting someone of a different Kind into the Centaur tribes had never been done before. It was even more odd to give the child to the Tribe’s High Chief.
Artigal had to nearly yell to be heard over the excitement, but for once he didn’t demand their silence, a broad smile spreading across his face instead. “Aeron and Frawnden are to raise the babe until she returns to where she belongs in New-Fars. Until then, she is a part of us and is the daughter of Aeron and Frawnden. Treat her as such and make her welcome!”
A unanimous cheer rose out across the valley as the message reached every Centaur in the tribe.
Stephania rubbed her dark red, glistening eyes and peered with wonder at the Centaur Aeron, who stood before her, and at Frawnden, who stood beside him, beaming.
Child of the Dragon Prophecy Page 3