Braken nervously shifted his weight under her.
“Only spell-weavers and demons have no parents!” Someone shouted out from the back of the gathering. The crowd erupted in shouts and accusations.
“No!” Her hands were shaking. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She tried hard to be heard, tried desperately to be cordial with these hardheaded people. If I could just get them to understand, to see past my appearance and past the rumors. “No, listen! I am not a demon or a spell-weaver!” She dismounted and stepped forward to the opposing crowd. She held her hands out, as if trying to show she wasn’t a threat.
“Look! I am just like you!” Her eyes pleaded with them. She was desperate to try one last time to be a part of the people that she had lived with all her life. The desperation overruled her lust for revenge. Dalton had always been right. She had what they did not—a kind heart. Her want to be loved trumped her want to be feared.
Braken reared as the people lunged for Stephania. His reins slipped out of her grip. Hands from all around her grasped and yanked at her. The dark cloak was torn from her body and the gloves from her hands.
The crowd roared with anger.
Someone screamed. “She has the mark of the devil! She has the mark of Susahu!”
Hands seized her as she fought her way to her horse. Her sword was strapped to the buckskin’s saddle. It was the only defense she had. She didn’t want to hurt any of them, but she would if it meant saving her life. A wild thought formed recklessly. What if I used magic? Could I control them? It had been easy enough to control Grey, but so many more surrounded her now, and she couldn’t sense the magic within her.
Someone wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her toward him. It was the militia leader of the town—a man who had always been open about how much of a danger he thought her to be. Worse, though, he was Jackson’s father.
She gasped, futilely kicking against him. In her panic, her strength had left her. Sweat dripped into her eyes, and she could barely see him. His hand tightened around her throat, and she choked, black spots replacing the world around her.
“Hag.” His lips were inches from her face, and she could smell the sweat and dirt on his skin, his breath hot on her face. “Too long I have watched you freely walk our streets, cursing those you came across, terrifying all who live here. Too long Dalton has defended you, even almost to his death. But no longer. My boy was unable to put you in your place, and you’ll pay for his humiliation. It was foolish of you to come alone. Dalton can’t protect you now. I don’t care what excuse he has for you, or how much he coddles you, or that he raised you. You’ll get what you deserve. I’ll see to it myself.”
Tears clouded what was left of her vision as she struggled to pry his hand from her throat. Dalton would have died for me? He pleaded for my life? He really did protect me all those years. He really did care. Overwhelming love poured over her. She wanted to see Dalton again, talk to him, eat with him, sing with him again. She didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when she realized how much she had to live for.
She felt the sharp point of a knife prick her skin just under her breast, directly under her heart.
“No more shall we be forced to live with the scum of Susahu! This demon will get what she deserves one and for all!”
The crowd screamed in frenzy around her, calling for justice, for blood.
Rage filled her. A fiery lust for revenge washed over her. She was reminded of their insults, their bullying, their abuse, their hate. Was she to die at the hands of these pathetic humans? Would she let them have their way after all these years of Dalton protecting her? Would she let his life work be for naught? Would she let them have the final word?
A power rose within her, a terrible, dark power fueled by rage. Her magic markings began to burn and the militia leader gasped at her in shock and pain. The smell of burning flesh filled her nose.
“What the—” He clenched his fist tighter.
The world fell black around her. Her lungs screamed for air. With her last bit of strength, she gripped his arm with her left hand.
He struggled against her before screaming in pain. She felt his skin burn under her hands, the sickening smell making her stomach turn, before he dropped her and she fell to the ground.
The mob’s shouting brought her back to consciousness as they began to drag her. She flailed, screaming and kicking against them. She couldn’t get up.
No. Tears streamed down her face. No, I will not die.
Fury burned inside her, and she felt the power again, only it was stronger. She grasped onto it, felt as its tainted power filled her, feeding off her hate and anger.
Her eyes flashed open, but they were no longer normal. They were raging orbs of fire.
Only one man looked down into her eyes before she leapt to her feet, lunging at him and breaking his arm with one effortless move.
Red haze covered her vision. She couldn’t stop herself. She was no longer in control of the magic or herself. Her consciousness had been batted aside like a speck of dust. Men—trained warriors with swords, maces and spears—fell around her like wheat at harvest, their weapons no match for her strength.
A cry left her lips. The magic tore through her body, exploding around her. A shock wave the color of blood rushed out of her and knocked down nearly twenty more men.
Stale, horrified silence gripped the town. They gazed at what had been their demon slaying gathering. It was now a small battlefield. Most of the men were only wounded, but nearly six stared up at the sky with glassy eyes, their bodies in unnatural positions.
The power had abandoned her, and she was left to gaze upon what her hands had wreaked. She bent over and threw up. A strangled cry left her lips as she staggered away. She coughed, and a spray off blood decorated her hand. Her head spun nauseously.. Her heart slammed against her chest. Her gaze strayed to the unseeing eyes of the dead men. “Gods, no. No. That’s not what I wanted. I never wanted to hurt you.” Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she sobbed, covering her mouth against the horror.
“Murderer.” The word started on whispered lips before it began to be wailed, screamed by the people.
“No! I never wanted to hurt you!”
They kept their distance as she stumbled to her horse, the stallion’s eyes white with panic. “You attacked me! I didn’t mean to. Oh, gods. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me!”
“You sickly, barbaric people!” A familiar voice pierced the violent air.
Stephania snapped her head around, her mouth hanging open in shock.
“Stephania never meant us any harm! She only wanted to live among us like a normal person, but you denied her that! You made her what she is!”
“Jackson?”
She met eyes with her former tormentor, and he grimaced. “I’m sorry for everything, Stephania. I really am. I just never knew what you were until last week.”
The townspeople, equally shocked, stood still and quiet.
Awkwardly, Jackson stood in front of Stephania before slowly kneeling before her, tears pouring down his face. “I had a vision a few nights ago. A man told me who you were. He said this would happen. I am ashamed of my conduct. I should have never treated you the way I did. I’m sorry.”
“I—I don’t understand.” She shook her head, her heart sinking inside her. Was this really the same man who had persistently mocked her all her life? What had changed him? Who was the man he spoke of?
“Go, Stephania. You have to go, before you kill them or they kill you. You don’t belong here. Go home.”
She backed up to her horse, her eyes locked on the sad brown eyes of the young man. She could sense from him that he was sincere.
She mounted Braken, instantly soothing the horse, just as the crowd spurred back to life.
The militia leader shoved his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. “Jackson? You defend her? After all she has done to you, to us? How could you?”
Jackson stepped forward. The crowd hissed
in warning. “Father, this isn’t right. Stephania never did anything to harm us. She is neither a monster nor demon. Her hate is of our own making. Please, father, I—”
His father spat on the ground. “No. I am not your father, and you are no son of mine.”
Jackson’s eyes swam with tears. “No. Please. You have to see the truth.”
“Traitor!” Someone screamed, pointing at Jackson. “He is in league with the spell-weaver.”
Stephania turned the horse but couldn’t force herself to ride away. She knew how this would end. They called for blood, and because they were unable to have hers, they would have his.
“Jackson!” She screamed as he stood between her and the people of New-Fars, pleading with them to have compassion on her. His tears fell fast down his face, but he hardly looked afraid. He never once raised his hand against them in anger or defense. The crowd swallowed him up. His screams erupted through the air before abruptly stopping. The people grabbed his body and threw it outside of their gathering, screaming insults at his motionless, bloodied, broken form.
Stephania choked as his still eyes stared up at her, unseeing. She watched his bright red blood run from his body and into the hard packed dirt. The world slowed around her. Bile rose in her throat. Her body shook uncontrollably. Her ears buzzed with noise. Her own screams of horror were silent to her.
The crowd surged forward.
Four men appeared in front of the people, but they weren’t real men. They seemed to be men made of pure light. They stretched out their hands, blocking the townspeople from reaching her. They were invisible to all but her.
One locked eyes with her. She could barely see him through her tears as she pushed away unconsciousness.
“Go, Stephania.”
Braken burst into a gallop, and within a few minutes, the cries of the murderous riot faded behind her.
The air was dark and rank. A new sound filled the air—bloodcurdling, animalistic shrieks. Black shapes chased her. Crackling red magic flashed through the forest around her. The trees swayed and shifted.
Though the suns were rising over the horizon, she only saw darkness around her as she faded in and out of consciousness. She thought she could feel someone behind her, holding her on her horse, but when she tried to look, nothing could be seen.
The blackness surrounded her again.
“Oh gods, Stephania.” Dalton’s panicking voice reached her, and she felt his strong hands pull her from her horse and lay her gently on the ground.
“Too late. Oh, gods. I was too late.”
A cold washcloth was pressed to her face, and she felt him place his hand on her chest, foreign, ancient words pouring from his mouth.
The animal shrieks grew louder. The flashing red sparks lit up the forest. Then everything went dark once again.
§
Funny how the most powerful Dragon Riders always start out as innocent children, isn’t it, Artigal?
Do you even know what lies in this child, Artigal?
You see, I know more about the Kvaźajo than anyone else does, and now, thanks to the Kijaqumok, I know even more.
So you can sense it too. I am guessing that that is why you haven’t attacked me yet. Perhaps, you have come to the realization that your Lord is not as powerful as mine.
§
“Stephania. Stephania, please wake up.”
A cold, smooth cup was pressed to her lips. The visions that had haunted her fled her mind and were replaced with memories of the slain villagers. Their glassy eyes stared back into hers.
She sat up violently, gasping and spilling the liquid all over herself.
“Dead. Dead. I killed them. They killed him!” Her eyes ached miserably and watered due to the painful ringing in her ears. Her stomach churned and she gagged. “I killed them. I’m a … I’m a murder.”
Dalton pushed her back down. “It’s okay, Stephania. You’re safe now. It’s okay.”
As Dalton’s face came into focus, Stephania sobbed, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Dalton.” She threw her arms around him, crying into his shoulder and shaking in his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Stephania. I was too late to save you. If only I had been there a little sooner.”
She pulled herself away from him, wiping her eyes and nose. “What? What do you mean?”
Dalton sighed, looking down at his hands, disappointment in himself plastered across his face. “I had a dream. A man—he said he was a messenger of the Great Lord—told me that you were leaving the house and that I needed to stop you. He urged me to go after you, but I thought I was just dreaming. He told me something was haunting you—a dark power—and that it was trying to consume you.” He buried his face in his hands, and Stephania’s heart broke for him.
She had never seen him so weak, vulnerable, and broken.
“I always knew something haunted you, with your nightmares and such.” He choked back his tears, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her. “I could always feel something around you, something evil, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It drove me mad. Even so, I didn’t think much of it when I woke with that sense of evil permeating the house. I thought, maybe, you were having a nightmare or something. But then I felt it.” His face paled. “Some sort of power had come into New-Fars. Everything was dark, darker than it should have been. And I didn’t hear you, or sense your mind anywhere near. I ran through the house, calling for you, searching for you, but you had already left.”
He took a deep breath and wiped his face again.
Stephania, her own tears rising in her eyes, moved to his side and put her hand on his arm. He took her hand in his, gripping it in his own.
“That’s when I heard it. Screaming from the village. I nearly collapsed under the influence of the evil power, but that man kept it at bay. I saw you riding out from the village, and I grabbed my horse, following you and Braken here. You were completely unconscious when I caught up to you but—”
Stephania choked back her tears. “Dalton.” She took a few deep breaths, forcing herself not to cry. “You did your best. I wouldn’t have listened to a vision either. What happened, happened. I’m not sure you could have stopped it.”
“Yes, I could have.” His eyes blazed with anger. “I have before in the past. Many times I stayed down a riot in your defense. Sometimes, I even used magic against them.”
She shook her head. The taste of bile made her gag. “Dalton, you couldn’t have stopped them. Nothing could’ve stopped them.” Her tears spilled unchecked down her cheeks. She thought of the power that had overcome her. It was a rage, a blind, consuming rage that had driven them all to murder. “Dalton.” A deep, shaky breath escaped her. “They killed—” She hid her face from him, ashamed. “They killed Jackson.”
The Duvarharian man’s face paled. “Jackson? They killed him?”
She could only nod.
“Why?”
“H—he defended me.”
“Gods.”
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him everything. She felt dirty, tainted after the power had consumed her; it felt as if she had committed some great sin. As if she had sold a part of herself to something darker.
Silence replaced their voices and she eventually slipped into a restless sleep.
She woke up a few hours later. Her entire body hurt. It felt as if she had been dragged behind a horse. Her mind was foggy and slow. She looked around. Dalton was sitting, though his eyes were closed and his breath slow.
A rotten stench wafted in the air, and she recoiled; the stench was familiar. Red eyes flashed before her, and she quickly blinked them away. She knew those eyes. Was it a memory?
She looked above her. It was dark. Everything around them was dark. She realized that she couldn’t see through the trees. It was as if they were in a room.
“Where are we?”
Dalton jolted awake and followed her gaze, squinting and pursing his lips. “Um, well, Braken took you to the waterfall in the dark forest, but when we got
there and I got you off your horse, the forest kind of, um, swallowed us.”
“What?” She couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous that sound-ed. The movement caused her to wince as a shooting pain raced up and down her side.
“I’m not really sure what happened either, but the forest just kind of,”—he gestured to the trees, which could barely be seen above and around them in the dark—“hid us, I guess.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Hid us from what?” The unsettling feeling that she had felt when she first woke up now grew, filling her with dread.
“Etas.”
Chapter 28
A faint cry rent the hollow air, and both Duvarharians’ eyes darted from side to side, searching for something they couldn’t see.
“Etas are real?” The name resonated inside her with burning hatred and fear. She could feel the vengeful magic grow inside her, but she was too tired. It fled, taking the unexplained emotions with it.
“Of course.” Dalton’s face was pale. “They are as real as you and me.”
“I’m still having trouble really believing that we’re Duvarharian, let alone the fact that shape-shifting demons really exist.”
He laughed nervously. “Sometimes, me too.”
“What time is it?”
“About noon.”
Stephania’s eyes widened. It was completely dark where they were. The forest was shielding them even from the sun itself, but why?
The unearthly screams grew louder. Their hands hovered uneasily over their weapons.
Stephania gently plucked her bow string. Its dull twang rang muted in the small clearing. Her heart pounded in her chest; her palms were slick with sweat. Any anger she had felt toward the Etas had vanished and was quickly replaced by stark fear. “You can use magic, right? To kill them?”
Dalton barely glanced at her.
She felt the blood rush from her face and her stomach dropped uncomfortably; her hands were trembling uncontrollably.
“Yeah, a little.”
“Why are they here?”
Child of the Dragon Prophecy Page 27