Warrior

by Bryan Davis

  Randall looked into Orion’s eyes. This guy had to be the greatest actor in Mesolantrum. Not a hint of a lie shadowed his razor-sharp face. Still, if he knew Elyssa was gone, what could it hurt to listen? Getting back to the dragon world without new cuts and bruises would be a lot better than trying to get their raft down that wild river again.

  He gave Orion a nod. “Go on.”

  “Drexel had Uriel Blackstone’s diary, which revealed the secrets behind the obstacles. I read this diary and jotted down the procedures. If Tibalt is the real son of Uriel, you will have no trouble opening the portal.”

  Tibalt blurted out, “I don’t believe you! My pappy was too smart to write everything down. If he lost it, then scoundrels like you might —”

  “Tibber!” Randall barked. “Quiet!”

  Tibalt frowned, his jaw tight, but he quieted.

  Orion pulled a key from one pocket and a small knife from the other. “If you bring Jason and Elyssa back, I will grant your freedom along with information regarding Drexel’s participation in the conspiracy.”

  Randall resisted a growing scowl. He had to display a calm negotiating stance. “I haven’t been able to find my mother. A note in Drexel’s room said something about her being in the dungeon, but the guard said she wasn’t there.”

  “Ah! No wonder you are so persistent. A young man will stop at nothing to rescue his mother.” Orion slid his eyeglasses lower. “I will investigate this matter and find out where she is. Perhaps my efforts will be enhanced by your cooperation.”

  Randall maintained his stoic stare. Orion held the ultimate leverage, and he knew it. Giving Orion a shallow nod, Randall said, “It’s a deal.”

  Tibalt let out a humph and looked away.

  “Very well.” Orion crouched and unlocked their leg manacles, then straightened and sliced through their ropes with the knife. “I have notes in my desk, which I will allow you to read and memorize. When you return with your friends, please bring Elyssa to me so that I can offer my apologies in person.”

  Koren looked at Jason. His head leaned against her shoulder. Damp from rain and sweat, his sandy brown hair trickled over his ears, down his neck, and over his forehead, just long enough to reach his eyebrows. A single droplet dangled from his nose, making him wrinkle his narrow, angular face. As he twitched, his long eyelashes fluttered, and the droplet fell to his broad chest.

  A gentle buzz in his rhythmic breathing rose into her ears. Finally he was getting the rest he so desperately needed … and deserved.

  She let a smile emerge on her lips. Having a warrior at her side felt … well … comforting. She had grown accustomed to fending for herself while enduring her slave labors—chopping and hauling wood, slaughtering and butchering animals, harvesting honey while dodging bees—as well as looking after others less fortunate, especially Wallace, during their dreadful weeks at the cattle camp. And, of course, trying to find the truth about Promotions for Natalla began this dangerous journey in the first place. Being the strong one felt normal. Independence had long been her way of life.

  And now? After being rescued from the precipice of a terrible plunge to a watery death and pulled helplessly through a raging river clutched tightly in the arms of a brave warrior, she felt …

  This time the right words escaped her grasp. How did she feel? Warm? Protected? Loved? A combination of all three? Although it always felt good to be strong and independent, knowing that someone else cared enough to sacrifice for her benefit felt even better. The sensation erupted earlier when Arxad stole her and Natalla away from the trial at the Basilica, risking his own life in the process.

  She reached over and slid her hand into Jason’s. The skin of her palm warmed next to his. It had been exhilarating when Arxad carried her—with his claws and scales—but this was an entirely different sensation. It felt much better—warm, tender, alive. Jason was a man, not a beast; a rescuer, not a slaver. He was an equal, a friend, someone she could stand beside and battle the cruel dragons with until they both either died or walked away in victory, hand in hand forever.

  She drew their hands to her lips and kissed his fingers. Such a friend had been a shadow in her dreams for several months now. Madam Orley sometimes told stories about romantic love between men and women and how so few of humankind ever experienced it. With dragons arranging most marriages, and with the masters of the breeding rooms forcing women to accept the company of whichever men the dragons chose, only a few husbands and wives enjoyed the bliss of self-chosen coupling and the lasting joy of fulfilling vows of love, sacrifice, and faithfulness.

  Watching Jason had been like seeing one of Madam Orley’s stories come to life, as if Madam were a Starlighter and Jason were one of the ghosts who acted out her words. His resolve shone clearly in his eyes. This young man would sacrifice anything to protect her, and he would rather die than allow her to suffer a scratch. There was no doubt about it.

  Gently pushing Jason’s head to keep it from falling, Koren rose to her feet. About ten paces away, at the edge of the clearing, Uriel strode slowly back and forth, the sword propped at his shoulder. He was the image of a fatherly protector, or perhaps grandfatherly. Would he, too, sacrifice his life for hers and display the same brand of chivalry? She barely knew him, but it was clear his heart beat with fervor in the world of free men. Experiencing liberty and its many blessings seemed to make men strong, desirous of protecting it for the women and children they loved. Yet, in this world, the cruel whip of slavery replaced such a heart with one of fear. Only a few brave men still exercised chivalry’s lovely muscles. Perhaps some fathers still covered their daughters with a protective arm. Surely her own father did before he died.

  She walked up to Uriel, her hands folded at her waist. “Have you heard any strange sounds?”

  Uriel stopped and smiled. “Nothing unexpected, Miss. The wind stirs up the sodden branches, causing the fall of a cone or two, but I have yet to hear a growl or bark.”

  “Then is it safe for me to step into the woods for a moment of privacy?”

  “I believe so.” He extended an arm toward the opposite side of the clearing. “How much time should I allow before I search for you?”

  “Ten minutes should be plenty, thank you.” She walked past him and stepped gingerly through the wet underbrush, barely able to see vines of prickly ivy that crawled beneath fernlike greenery, which populated every gap between trees. When she reached a dark area surrounded by thick trunks that blocked Uriel’s view, she stopped and stood quietly, listening to the sounds of dripping water.

  Although she had let Uriel believe otherwise, it was not a bodily need that called her into seclusion, but a different yearning. Jason’s courage had brought back memories of her father’s nightly blessing, a scruffy kiss and words spoken with gentle passion, “I love you, little K.” Yet no image of his face or form ever graced her recollections. He was like one of her ghosts, a phantom who appeared when she tried to recall the early years, but he always remained a mere shadow.

  She looked up at the sky, dark and obscured by overhanging branches. Madam Orley said that Father was now with the Creator, probably looking down at her with love. Could he really see her? If she spoke to him, would he listen? If not, wouldn’t the Creator take her words and pass them along?

  As tears formed in her eyes, she clutched the sides of her dress and curtsied. Why? She didn’t know. Very few people ever prayed anymore, such was their misery, so who could tell what might be the most respectful way to approach the Almighty? The Code said to show respect, and a meek curtsy was all she had to offer. Although she had often composed songs of prayer in the past, the act of normal conversation seemed so much more difficult, as if speaking to the Creator as one would to a friend might be … well… too familiar.

  “Creator?” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while … well, in a long while. Being a slave, I have a lot of excuses, but I suppose you don’t want to hear them. If you really are the Creator of A
ll, you probably know about them already.” She brushed her foot against a prickly ivy leaf. Its sharp point jabbed her skin, feeling like a rebuke for her impertinence. Cringing, she hurried to continue.

  “Anyway, I need to know what to do. Taushin has been speaking to my mind, and he says I should return to the Basilica to help him bring justice by releasing the slaves. He says he is blind and needs to use my eyes to discern truth from falsehood and justice from injustice. Of course I want to help my people, but how can I know if he’s telling the truth? His words sound true, but — “

  “My words are true, Koren.”

  Koren gasped. Where had that voice come from? She looked to her left. A dark form approached, a small dragon whose head rose to her own height. As with the characters appearing in her tales, this dragon was semitransparent, a dark phantom.

  “Who are you?” Koren asked.

  “I am Taushin. I am speaking to your mind as before, and now that you have used your gifts to bring me here, I can see through your eyes. So much the better. Since you have asked for guidance, it is obvious that the Creator brought this about. Now we can speak as if face-to-face.”

  Koren stared at this odd invention of her mind. As seconds passed, it seemed to solidify and become as real as the trees around her. “Okay, so you can see through my eyes. But how did you hear what I said?”

  Taushin chuckled. “I think giving away such secrets would be counterproductive, but you should consider the possibility that every image you see and every word you hear might be elements of your own imagination. Perhaps I am not real at all, and the words I speak are from your mind, not from the real Taushin who is peering through your orbs at this moment. Perhaps my words are a combination of my thoughts and your own, and any sign that I can hear you comes from your imagination.” As his eyes glowed bright blue, his tone grew deep and mysterious. “And perhaps I am able to hear every word you speak and every sound in this forest. So beware what you say. Taushin might be listening.”

  Koren shivered. The idea that she might have conjured this phantasm and granted it sentience seemed too strange to be true. “This doesn’t feel like my other tales. They have never been so real … so solid.”

  “Interesting,” Taushin said. “Your powers are maturing. Zena told me the manifestations Cassabrie created appeared to be real, and she could manipulate them to move with the physical forces around them.”

  “Move with the forces? What do you mean?”

  “Reach out and touch my image.”

  Koren cocked her head. Had he really heard her response or merely anticipated her question? She stepped slowly toward the black dragon. He still seemed to be as small as one of the younglings, though he spoke with a maturity that far exceeded other younglings she knew. Steeling herself to keep from trembling, she put her hand through Taushin’s neck. “You’re not solid at all,” she said. “You only appear to be.”

  “Now concentrate. Give me a slight push and make me move with your touch. My shape and size are all your doing, so it is in your power.”

  Koren focused on the black dragon’s scales, a crisp and detailed pattern. Reaching up slowly, she touched his neck with her finger. The surface dimpled slightly. She pushed harder, this time with her palm. His neck and head shifted in response. Somehow her mind was redrawing the dragon based on her actions, and as she repeated her push, it seemed that she could feel his body on her skin, as if the image and response fooled her mind into thinking it was really there.

  She withdrew her hand. “This could be very powerful.”

  “Cassabrie became dangerous because of this power. She was able to conjure an army of realistic humans that were no more than phantoms. Even if a dragon blew fire on their bodies, she could make them burn in anguish as if they really felt the pain. You can imagine what problems such power could cause for dragonkind.”

  “Or how much it could help humankind.”

  “You are as wise as you are gifted.” His tone became pleading, passionate. “Come to me, and I will help you learn your powers. Together we can rule the dragon kingdom and set your people free.”

  Koren took a step back. What was she doing? How could she be having such a deep conversation with something she created with her mind? Yet, since Taushin was communicating with her, at least she wasn’t really talking to herself. Or was she? Maybe every part of this encounter originated within. Maybe Taushin wasn’t really able to communicate with her at all.

  Still, she had prayed for help. Perhaps the Creator sent this image as an answer to her prayer. Did he want her to go back to Taushin to help the slaves? How could she know for sure?

  Koren took three steps back. “What … Who are you? Why are you here?”

  The dragon bowed its head. “You have created me—perhaps you should answer your own question.”

  “Well …” She looked at Taushin. With his ears turned away, he appeared to be inattentive. Was he listening? Would it be safe to guess out loud why she had summoned the white dragon from her mind? “I heard Uriel talking about a white dragon in the Northlands, so maybe I created you as someone to counter the words of Taushin.”

  “That is a reasonable conclusion,” the white dragon said. “Yet, if Taushin is really speaking to your mind, I am at a disadvantage. As the white dragon’s representative, I can speak only what you know about him using the words you give him. It is you who counters him through me.”

  “That makes sense.” Koren glanced between the two dragons. With one black and the other white, the scene sketched a comedy of sorts. Madam Orley once told a story about a child who had to make a decision, and an imp materialized on each of her shoulders. One told her the right thing to do while the other contradicted every word and suggested that she do something awful. Had Madam’s story caused her to imagine this silly skit? Was she so exhausted that she had lost all sense of reality?

  “Since you are the king of the Northlands,” Koren said to the white dragon, “can you tell me what to do? If I return to the dragon realm and serve Taushin, will everything turn out all right?”

  The white dragon let out a low chuckle. “Do you expect both omniscience and foreknowledge from me, a dragon whom you have summoned from your mind? I know only what you know, and you know the Creator through the words of the Code, so from that fountain alone must you drink.”

  Lowering her head, Koren took another step back. “I see.”

  “Your self-chastisement is all too clear,” Taushin said. “You are angry at yourself for your lack of devotion to the Creator, and now you have brought this figment to lash you with a verbal whip. The only help you can receive are the trite generalities of the Code and your own limited experiences, while I offer a tangible solution to the needs of your species. Again I appeal to you. Come with me, and we will work together to set every human free.”

  Koren flinched. If those were her own thoughts rather than Taushin’s, she truly was giving herself an emotional beating.

  The white dragon extended his neck, bringing his head within arm’s reach of Koren. “Your knowledge of the Code and your experiences are not trivial. They are truth and guidance, the words of liberty, and applying them correctly will provide the answers.”

  “Okay,” Koren said. “How do I do that?”

  “By comparing the elements of your dilemma to the essentials of the precepts. For example, in what manner did this dragon first call you to himself, by freedom or by slavery?”

  “He put me in chains.” Koren crossed her arms over her chest. “He said I had to stay in chains until I learned to love him.”

  The white dragon’s eyes glowed amber and crimson. “And does that claim ring true?”

  Koren shook her head. “Real love needs no chains. In fact, chains prove that love is absent by definition.”

  “You rely on dead definitions,” Taushin said. “Listen to the voice of reason. Someone who fears the source of truth cannot understand it until she listens. If chains are required to keep her from escaping what she fears, th
en the chains are no more than an embrace, a shelter to keep the wayward from bringing harm to herself.”

  Koren searched her thoughts. Hadn’t Taushin said something like that while he was in the egg? Maybe she had just reworded it and given this image a response. “But if I feared you, why would you force me to stay? That would be absurd.”

  “Really? If you found an injured animal, you would try to give it medical aid. Yet, if it feared you, it would bite and claw to keep you away. What would you do?”

  Koren imagined an injured squirrel hissing at her as she approached. “I suppose I would keep it in a cage until it learned to trust me, or I would put a sedative in its water to calm it down.”

  “You have made my point,” Taushin said. “I offer healing and liberty for the humans, but your fear of me is keeping you away. In such a case, chains, as for your animal in a cage, are a gift of love.”

  Koren looked at the white dragon, hoping for a rebuttal. Could he counter this twisted logic that made slavery appear to be something noble and good?

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

  The white dragon cocked his head. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Is Taushin telling the truth? Does love sometimes require chains?”

  “Well,” the white dragon said, “you know that the greatest love is borne of sacrifice that draws one to another freely. Yet, if you fear the light, if you cower in the presence of goodness, if you lash out at a helping hand, then what else can a loving benefactor do?”