A sharp jab in her ribs reminded her she was still supposed to be practicing. She lifted her arms, but found she didn’t have the heart to continue.
“Artigal?” Stephania’s soft, musical voice impeded his anger over her dismissal of the training.
“Yes, child?”
“Why do I have to go to New-Fars?” Her eyes blandly followed his, gazing out over the land, but she felt as if she weren’t really seeing anything before her.
She could feel his shock in the silence. She had never before questioned their motives for taking her farther and farther from her real home in Duvarharia and even Trans-Falls.
“Well,” he stalled. “You have to be in New-Fars because that’s where your parents wanted you to be, and we are obliged to obey their wishes regarding their only child. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She nodded and stared at the ground, drawing little, meaningless symbols into the dirt with the tip of her small sword.
“Yes, I agree. But why did they want me to go to New-Fars? I’ve heard Jargon say many times that I am unusual for any child, even a Duvarharian, and that I learn quicker and more thoroughly. He has done several studies to figure out why, but all he’s concluded is that I was blessed by the Great Emperor.”
Artigal nodded. “Keep going, child.”
She took a deep breath. She was surprised he was letting her state her opinion for so long. Usually, it was he who did the talking, and it was always to instruct her. “Well, then if this is true, then I must be capable of living with my fellow Dragon Riders and growing up amongst them. I’m not sure I can effectively learn the ways of the people I am supposed to protect if I am living with the ignorant humans.”
Thoughts raced through the aged Centaur’s mind at an alarming rate. Every conclusion he came to was always the same. She was growing up quickly. Too quickly. If her mind kept developing at this rate, she could have a sudden explosion of understanding, awakening powerful magic in her; it was possible that her young body or mind wouldn’t be able to handle the stress and power, and she could be seriously injured. Besides that, her magic trace would be impossible to cover, and Thaddeus would have no problem finding her. Nothing he could do now could stop this. Unless … a new thought formed in his mind. It was a horrible thought. He bit his lip and snarled. He hated himself for thinking of such an awful thing. How could I do such a thing to someone and cause them so much pain? Could I really harm another Duvarharian like this again? Is it the only way? He pushed the thoughts far from his mind. He would never let that happen again if he could prevent it. Somehow, he would find another way to keep Stephania safe. He had to find another way.
He took a deep breath. “Stephania, you are more than capable of living with your own people, and I do understand that you are different than other children. I don’t need you to tell me that. If you weren’t, I would not be risking my best Centaurs to keep you alive.”
Stephania pointed her eyes at the ground, humbled. She hadn’t wanted to overstep her boundaries. She wondered if he would send her back to Frawnden like he had when she had let her mouth get the best of her before.
She heard him sigh and sneaked a glance. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept for a long time. His eyes stared absently into the distance. A relieved breath left her lips. Good. He wasn’t upset, at least, not yet.
“There are many things right now that you cannot understand and that you are not meant to understand. If I told you all the things that would be wrong with taking you back to Duvarharia straightaway, it would cause the very thing we are trying to prevent.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed.
“However,” the old Centaur suddenly added, and she lifted her eyes up to him.
“There are a few things you can, and need to, understand.” He waited for an answer, and she slowly nodded, ready to drink in the information.
“The Dragon Palace is swarming with Etas and only a few dragons and Dragon Riders. They have their hands full with just staying alive. They are men and women of war, and caring for a child is the last thing they have on their minds. They would hardly have time to raise a child and teach her how to fight, use magic, cook, take care of herself and others, have manners, bond with a dragon, ride a dragon, and all of the millions of things you need to learn to be anything of an intelligent creature.”
Stephania twitched her lip to the side as she processed Artigal’s words. He had a good point.
“Not that we are capable of teaching you all those things either,” he added. “But we can teach you a few things like archery, potion making, swordsmanship, reading the stars, and being a part of a community. On top of that, Thaddeus doesn’t want to kill you.”
Her eyes widened like saucers. She became completely still, as if even a breath would cause him to change his mind about telling her more.
“He wants you alive. Why he does, I have a few theories, but you are much too young to understand them.”
She couldn’t hide the disappointment. When will I be told? When will I step out of this shadow I live in? He was right, of course, though. She was much too young to understand such things, but nevertheless, not knowing weighed on her like the sky against the mountains.
“As you know, there is a Dragon Rider living in New-Fars who was close to your parents and was their chief advisor. Although his dragon is long since dead, he can still teach you even more things than I or the other Duvarharians can, and he can keep you safe while doing so, something we cannot.”
She scowled. “Artigal, you have kept me safe thus far, and we are far from the Etas’ stronghold. Why could you not continue to keep me safe?”
A small frown formed on his lips, and he sighed.
She sensed he was withholding other reasons too, as to why he couldn’t keep her here, but she suspected they were personal.
He ground his jaw. Jargon was right. Perhaps she now knew too much. Even now, with how smart she was, she was quickly processing all she had been told. Her magic trace was already stronger now, and he was regretting having disclosed anything. What else could he say without jeopardizing her and all of the Centaurs with them?
“There are things not even I can protect you from, and there will be things that Dalton will not be able to protect you from either, but at least he will be able to instruct you on how you can protect yourself.”
Artigal shifted his weight from hoof to hoof and pawed at the ground, eager for the conversation to end. The bond that he felt forming between them was making him uncomfortable.
Stephania let out a hot sigh and pushed a lock of blood-red hair out of her face. She knew she was pushing his tolerance right now, and she also understood that for him to put up with her ravings for this long meant that what he wanted to tell her was very important. Sensing his discomfort and a strange emotional pain, she knew it was time to stop questioning him.
She looked down at her sword. I suppose I have been told enough. For now. She didn’t want to take advantage of his good mood, ruining her chance of learning more later.
“Teach me, Artigal.” She held her sword up to him.
A rare smiled spread across his face as he turned to face her. “And what do you want to learn?”
She bowed low. “Anything I can, Igentis. Anything I can.”
§
“Come on! Break up camp! Let’s move!” A commander’s voice rang out over the traveling Centaur tribe. Those Centaurs who had been asleep shook themselves awake and stumbled around, helping to pack any pro-visions needed.
Stephania tried to stifle a giggle as she watched a lean Centaur guard stretch. It never ceased to amuse her how the Centaurs would stretch: bowing low on extended front legs and then stepping forward on extended back legs, all while stretching their arms above their heads and yawing extensively.
“Hey, don’t laugh. I do that too.” Trojan tried to sound offended, but he could do nothing to mask the lift of his lips.
Her small hand covered her mouth before a snicker could escape. “I k
now,” she gasped with withheld mirth, “and it’s funny too.”
Shaking his head, he scowled at her but in only a few seconds, they fell into suppressed laughter, telling each other to be quiet or else they would be noticed in their hiding spot behind a thick berry bush.
“Stephania! Trojan! Come on. We’re leaving.” Frawnden’s mother-ly call reached them, and Trojan instantly sobered.
Standing, he brushed the leaves and dirt from his sleek hair and extended a hand to his sister. “Come along, Stephania. We have to pack too, you know.”
She frowned and shook her head. “Just a moment longer.” Her eyes strayed back to the Centaur guard. He had donned his shield and sword, his hands quickly tying his long hair into a knot away from his face.
Trojan shrugged and trotted away, calling after their mother that he was on his way.
In low tones, the guard discussed something with his partner. The other guard nodded his head, his face solemn.
Stephania’s red eyes narrowed before she closed them and took a deep breath. Focus. Focus. Slowly, their words sharpened as all the other sounds around her dulled.
“… captured. It said their forces were gathering … possibly just … cursed rouges … could be an ambush …”
Stephania’s eyes snapped open, and she gasped. Startled by what she had heard, she fled from her hiding spot and rushed back to their family tent, her heart slamming in her chest.
Trojan mussed her hair and muttered something about leaving him to do all the work, but she barely heard it.
As if in a haze, she went about the packing before quickly slipping away from her brother and mother.
“Into an ambush,” Stephania echoed hesitantly, the words sending a shiver down her spine. They have kept the attacks secret from me for so long. She had stayed up nearly all night thinking about what Artigal had told her, and now she felt like she had broken some holy law. What have I done?
She moodily kicked a stone, cursing the sudden complexity of life, before pulling her bow off her back, along with an arrow from her quiver.
Placing the arrow on the string, she pulled it back to her cheek. The bow’s weight was no longer a strain to her. She could hold it here all day.
Aiming the weapon at a knot in a tree, she subconsciously drew an imaginary pattern on the tree trunk with the tip of her arrow; after she had thought long about what she had heard, she aimed, once more, at the knot.
Pulling her string back a hair bit more, she let loose the string, and her arrow streaked toward the target.
Just as the arrow hit its mark exactly where she had been aiming, the arrow caught fire with magic and a glowing trail of the shimmering magic swirled across the trunk in the playful pattern she had drawn earlier.
As she gazed at it in wonder, a beast about the size of a panther lunged out from behind the tree, its bloodthirsty stare directed straight at her.
Stephania turned around too late.
With a piercing screech, the catlike creature slammed into her, knocking her to the ground as she screamed from the pain and fear. The world went black around her.
A horrible, gut-wrenching pain tore through her leg, dragging her from the blissful darkness. She thrashed against the beast, screaming.
“Stephania!” her mother screamed in horror.
The sound of swords sliding from their sheaths rang and mingled with the pained cries of the girl and the shrieking yowls of the creature.
The beast’s body was suffocatingly heavy. One of its claws sank into her arm, and she screamed as her arm went numb. She fumbled for her knife. Tears poured down her face. Her heart pounded, her mind blank with stark fear. Please, no. I don’t want to die.
Finally, her fingers brushed the deer antler handle of her knife. She grasped it firmly and stabbed wildly. She felt the blade pierce flesh. The animal let out a pained scream and leapt off her.
The beast screamed and howled, trying to claw out the silver knife handle that protruded from its shoulder.
Stephania scrambled to her feet, clutching her arm, her leg bleeding profusely and tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she stumbled away from the beast.
The beast screeched, sniffed the air, and turned back toward her. With a snarl, it lunged. She screamed, clenching her eyes closed.
It never hit her.
The beast yelped and fell to the ground, thrashing wildly.
Trojan leapt around the beast, swung Stephania onto his back and galloped to his mother.
§
Artigal shoved his way through the Centaur warriors, who rushed to the beast, thrusting it with their weapons until its screams fell silent and its body fell still. They then fanned out, scouting to discover if more were nearby.
“Stephania! Trojan!” Artigal could hardly make himself heard over the chaos, which ruled over the camp. He had barely seen what had gone on and wasn’t sure if the children had made it to safety.
Within seconds, Artigal reached the small family’s tent.
They were all, including Jargon, bent over Stephania’s small body, which they had laid down on a mat. Trojan was the closest to her.
His face was pale. His small chest rose and fell with his shaking breath.
“Is she okay?” Artigal’s voice was strained with panic, and they quickly made room for him. His dark, concerned gaze moved from Centaur to Centaur and then back to Stephania. Though his face was impassive, his eyes rapidly changed colors, betraying his worry.
Stephania turned her wide eyes to him.
Her blood stained the furs as it ran down her arm and leg. A dark green liquid mingled with the blood and filled the air with a rank odor.
Even though Frawnden and Trojan stepped back, Jargon stayed hovering over Stephania, doing the best he could to clean and bandage her wounds without it being too painful.
“Is it—” Stephania swallowed, keeping her eyes trained on Artigal. Her skin was cold and clammy, and she was nearly about to faint. “Is it gone?” A sharp bark left her lips and fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Jargon winced.
“Sorry, child. This will hurt a bit.”
She could only nod and bite her lip.
Artigal nodded his reassurance, wanting so badly to take her in his arms and cradle her small, fragile body and assure her everything was going to be fine, but he had to restrain himself.
“It hurts, Artigal. It burns inside!” she moaned and Artigal’s heart lurched. Eta poison was specifically tailored for the Duvarharians and was designed to destroy every bit of them—physically and mentally.
As his eyes locked on hers, he felt something reach out to touch his mind. He instinctively recoiled. He’d never had something touch his mind before. It persisted, and he probed it with a bit of magic. It was her—Stephania. Duvarharians were supposed to have lost the ability to connect minds with another rider thousands of years ago, and he hadn’t ever heard of any other race being able to touch minds with a different Kind entirely.
After taking a deep breath, he let himself open to her thoughts.
It’s dark, Artigal. I’m scared. My soul hurts, Artigal. Why? Why does it hurt so much?
Only the darkness of her mind consumed him. Memories flashed here and there, but they were vague and filled with death. They grasped at him, and he had to push them away. Her pain suffocated him, and he could feel the poison tearing through her mind and body.
He gasped as he felt a darkness creep into him. A hopeless, bottomless darkness where there was no love. It ate at him and consumed him, but it wasn’t from him—it was from her. It was at the very essence of her being, something that fed off her hate and anger for the Etas. The poison was feeding on this hate. It was destroying her from the inside out.
Artigal felt the breath taken away from him as he desperately tried to banish this death from his mind. But even though he tried, he failed. It was too powerful, too all-consuming.
His chest exploded in gut-wrenching pain and he cried out. The Kijaqumok inside him was spreading. It was t
rying to take hold of her through the path the poison had created. He pushed her mind away from his, but she held onto him, desperate to be saved.
Please help me! I don’t understand! Her weak little voice echoed in the darkness as he felt her consciousness slip away from him and the Light, and further into death.
He knew he had to do something, but he didn’t know what. The Kijaqumok was killing the Pure Magic within him, and he was sinking deeper into the pain along with her. He couldn’t do this on his own.
Just when he felt he couldn’t take the anguish and the impending darkness anymore, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Not physically, but spiritually.
I Am! A strong, pure voice rang out in the darkness. He could hardly believe what he had heard, but he recognized the voice; he had been spoken to like this before. He had heard the same voice long ago when it had instructed him to be Igentis, when he had predicted that the Great Lord’s prophecy was coming true, and when it had instructed him to bless the chosen girl of that prophecy. He also heard an echo of it every time he read the stars, for the stars spoke of the very voice and will of Him; it was the Creator.
Confusion now flooded through Stephania. She didn’t know this Being. Part of her recoiled from it, but part of her reached out, eager to learn, eager to know more.
Look at me, Stephania. Fight the evil within you. Think of your Creator.
The name of the Creator was new to her. The message was new to her, but even so, it sent a ray of Light piercing through the darkness.
A healing hand reached through him and touched the girl. Then the pain started to wash away from the depths inside her.
Abruptly, his mind was wrenched away from hers and he was once more kneeling in front of her, Jargon by his side.
Jargon was gazing at Artigal intensely. “What just happened?”
Artigal scowled. “What do you mean?”
Frawnden and Jargon shared a strange look
“I mean, what just happened, Artigal. You just went into a coma. Your breathing and heart rate slowed, and that,”—he pointed to Artigal’s armored chest, implying the wound underneath—” got darker and looked like it was spreading. Then you suddenly jerk awake, and Stephania’s condition is abruptly more stable. Don’t tell me you had nothing to do with it.”
Child of the Dragon Prophecy Page 11