by S. K. Sayari
“Twenty-seven years ago, when the sun was high in the sky and the heat of summer was at its strongest, we were attacked by the monster. The monster broke a pact between it and the Wyrms—a pact of peace and prosperity,” rumbled another voice.
“It enlisted the help of a druid, who bound us to this watery grave for eternity,” roared the first voice.
“The monster…” Zana shook her head, chills running up her spine. The monster sounded like a person, a human. Yet who could the Wyrms be speaking of?
“The monster is your father!”
The voices reverberated against the stone walls, and Zana shuddered, before hot tendrils of anger snaked through her muscles. The Wyrms were mistaken. Her father couldn’t have been the one to imprison them! Yet seeds of doubt grew in Zana’s stomach. Her father was known to ruthlessly crush their enemies and imprison those who defied him. But it was all for the sake of Arinta…wasn’t it?
“My father may be ruthless, but—”
“That man is not all he seems.”
Zana bit her lip. “True, he has been cruel to our enemies. But that is the price to pay for Arinta’s prosperity and safety!”
“We miss Avasal, the Everland, our home,” whispered a third voice, lilting and icy. “The land where no man has ventured, unsullied by his lust for power, his incessant greed. The land that your so-called father wishes to conquer.”
“S-so…called?” A sharp pain pierced Zana’s heart, which squeezed, beating to a primordial rhythm.
“You know the truth. You are one of the Blood. Your mother sought to free us, and the monster rid himself of her. Just as he will you.”
Zana’s fingers were trembling. “Are you saying…my father killed my mother?”
The pool was silent.
Zana looked at her feet. It couldn’t be true. Her father had loved her mother. Yet she couldn’t detect any sort of malevolence in the Wyrms’ voices, any sort of deceit. What was the truth?
“I cannot believe your words about my mother in haste,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But…I believe in your confinement. I hear the truth ring clearly in your voices. I swear I will help free you, however I can…if you help save Arinta.”
“Tanwyn of the seas, Gurgaran of the skies, and I, Naryth of the earth, bear witness to your words. Seal your oath with blood, Littler One!”
Zana nodded and unsheathed her hunting dagger. She sucked in a deep breath before raising the sharp steel to her palm, slicing a shallow cut. Blood, scarlet-bright, oozed from the wound. Three tear-shaped droplets fell into the inky liquid of the pool as her palm stung. The water rippled violently and burst. Zana cowered and shielded her face, scrambling back to the entrance of the chamber as dark beads rained down.
When the eruption of water subsided, she lowered her arm and sheathed her dagger—and met the gaze of three creatures emerging from the pool; they took her breath away.
A slick, obsidian tongue flickered from a gnarled, serpentine head, ochre-brown in complexion. Eyes of deep, burnished copper, ringed with flecks of charcoal, challenged Zana with their primordial blaze. A long neck with formidable spines disappeared into the water, where the horned heads of two more drakes emerged, one golden, one cerulean. The Wyrms snickered without a movement of their lips and sizeable, pearly teeth, and Zana jerked, her jaw dropping.
“Zana of the Blood!” they said in unison, a guttural cacophony. “We shall fight off the Titans of Kalakan and the Rocs of Angalnar, and then you shall free us!”
Zana’s breath left her as Naryth, with a guttural roar, leapt from the pool and shot up into the sky, leaving a violent disturbance of air in his wake. Gurgaran followed in a golden flurry, while Tanwyn took a moment to snatch Zana into her claws before she, too, took to the skies. Zana screamed as the air rushed past her, stealing her breath, her dark hair whipping around.
Yet after the initial fear left her, she breathed deeply, a tingle running through her body. It felt…natural to be flying. Zana smiled as the gentle light of sundown kissed her cheeks, warming her skin. She leaned into Tanwyn’s claws, casting her gaze over rolling hills overgrown in ancient evergreens and flat fields covered in waving stalks of corn. She knew that if the Titans had not attacked, little specks—farmers—would be toiling in the fields, and horse-driven carriages would be bustling in and out of the castle. The Myrtel river twisted through the lands, swelling in the generous rains of spring, its rapids stealing life from the unwary. My beautiful Arinta.
The Wyrms roared as they neared the grassy plains of the battlefield, where the giant Titans and Rocs overwhelmed the Arintan forces. Tanwyn dropped Zana near the heart of the battle, and she stumbled to her feet. Gasping, she looked up, the hair on her skin raising. A frozen Titan stood slack-jawed as he stared at the Wyrms circling above.
The Titans began to shout and grovel as the Wyrms descended onto the battlefield, the earth shuddering as they landed. The Rocs screamed, their razor-sharp talons reaching for the Wyrms, but the Wyrms batted them away like flies, rending their flesh. From Gurgaran’s snarling maw flashed bolts of white lightning, from Tanwyn’s crystal ice, and from Naryth’s jaws seethed sanguine fire of scorching intensity. The enemies attempted to flee, but Gurgaran pounced on them, her teeth tearing through flesh like a knife through butter as Tanwyn crushed them beneath her paws.
When all Titans were dead and the Rocs had fled, the battlefield grew silent. Not a single soul made noise until King Tarin dropped his weapon. He threw his arms into the air and the soldiers of Arinta cheered, banging their weapons on their shields in triumph.
The Wyrms bounded back to Zana, looming over her petite form, baring their teeth. “Release us now, as you promised!”
“You promised what?” roared King Tarin, stomping over to Zana. His soldiers arranged themselves in formation behind him with furrowed brows.
Zana licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry with fear. “They spoke of treachery, Father. They said…that you killed Mother.”
Tarin shook his head. “Are you really going to believe the lies from such creatures? Order the Wyrms back to their prison!”
Why had her father simply brushed her away? His behavior was strange, sending prickles of doubt up the back of her neck.
“Tell me, why did Mother want to free the drakes?” Zana demanded, challenging her father with a glare.
“She—this is madness, Zana! Do as you’re told! I will not tell you again!”
“Wyrmsblood,” whispered Tanwyn, “follow your heart.”
My heart…. My heart beats too haphazardly, too loud with fear to follow. Yet I know what song it sings.
“I will free the Wyrms,” she declared.
Tarin’s grizzled face, frozen with shock, contorted into an ugly sneer. “I should have killed you when I killed your pathetic mother,” he spat. “If you will not control them, then I have no use for you anymore, baseborn wretch!”
Zana’s breath caught in her throat. Impossible! She wasn’t the king’s daughter? Memories of happiness with the man she had called ‘Father’ turned dark, wretched, corrupt, oozing within her mind. She watched the soldiers look to one another, murmuring, whispering. “You lied to me for all these years?”
“You think I would lie with a wretched dragon woman? I only needed you for the dragon blood that flows in your veins. When your mother dared disobey me, at least I still had you to control. But now I will slaughter you as I did your mother and father, and the Wyrms of Avasal will never be free!”
Tarin brandished his axe and leapt forth. Zana stepped back, her blood rushing to her head, her body frozen with fear, yet a sliver of anger started to build. Gurgaran bellowed, slamming her tail in between a charging Tarin and Zana, who gritted her teeth.
“I already bested you once, you snakes! You think I cannot defeat you twice?” boomed Tarin, brandishing his axe.
The Wyrms hissed, muscles tense. “Through trickery! You had no honour, no true triumph in your victory over us!”
“Ha! Yo
u speak of honour, you vile creatures, when you have none! Brainless, baseless, bloodthirsty—”
Zana stepped forward and raised an arm, interrupting the king. She held her head high, clenching her hands into fists. She would never forgive the man who stood in front of her. Never. “Naryth, Tanwyn, Gurgaran. I command you to do me one last task.”
The Wyrms were silent as their tongues flickered out, awaiting Zana’s command. Fire burned through her body, so fierce it threatened to erupt, but she hesitated as her eyes met Tarin’s. No longer were they warm toward her.
“Soldiers! Attack!” shouted the king.
The soldiers looked to the Wyrms, then to the shredded Titans and bloodied feathers that lay on the ground. They dropped their weapons, backing away.
“Treachery!” bellowed Tarin. “I will deal with this myself!”
“Butcher this wretch, this false king, this murderer!” Zana screamed.
Tarin roared and threw his axe at her, but Naryth deflected the weapon with his claws. Together, the drakes unleashed their fury on the King, their Wyrmsbreath combining into a silver stream. Zana screamed with them, the Wyrm’s roars carrying years of pain and betrayal. Her heart ached, the taste on her tongue bitter, yet sweet.
Once the blaze died away, she gasped. The only remnant of Tarin’s existence was a pile of ashes. The wind took pity on Zana, chilling the hot tears that cascaded down her cheeks, whisking the ashes away until nothing of the king was left. She fell to her knees, sobbing, as the soldiers crowded around her. Some wept with her, or perhaps for her.
“My Lady!” said one. “Who will lead us now?”
Zana shook, looking down. “Though he was terrible, and lied, and killed my mother, he was still my father,” she whispered. “He was still…”
“Littler One,” whispered Tanwyn.
Zana hesitated, then looked up. The Wyrms were trembling.
“Free us,” they whispered as ghostly chains materialized. The chains traveled from the Wyrm’s necks and over the bloodstained, scorched grass to the castle. Zana knew that they were anchored in the Dragonspool.
She wiped at her tears, gritting her teeth as she trudged to the king’s axe, gripping the smooth wooden handle. Arms quivering, she slashed at the ethereal chains. Scathed, the chains turned to glowing dust, twinkling up into the sky as if to join the stars.
Naryth and Gurgaran shrieked their ecstasy, surging into the sky. Tanwyn hesitated, nudging Zana with her nose.
“Dearest child of Wyrmsblood. Find the vessel that contains your powers, your dragonsoul, and you shall be free of this earthly form.”
“I must rule this kingless kingdom; bring light to the darkness, happiness to the sorrowful, and heal the wounds that my fa—that the king has created. But when the time comes, I shall fly with you,” declared Zana.
Tanwyn bowed, then leapt into the air. Zana watched them fly away until they were but specks in the distance.
Then she cried.
Zana tapped her chin with her fingers, looking down at her court. How many years had it been since she had taken the throne of Arinta, since she had freed the Wyrms of Avasal, since she had slain the king? She had given her life to her country and had grown wise and learned over the years.
She nodded to the weathered man who stood before her, and he cleared his throat.
“And so, we ask for aid,” he concluded.
Zana nodded, raising a quivering, wrinkled hand. “And aid you shall have, Sir Daran of Aiswel. Chancellor Rosal, please provide this man with the necessities,” she croaked.
“As you will, my Queen,” murmured Rosal with a low bow. Zana clapped her hand on the armrest of her throne, ending the hearing, and the next began.
When court finished, Zana shuffled to her chambers. She looked into the polished surface of a crystalline looking-glass and smiled. Her once-thick, dark curls were now wispy white threads, her skin mottled and lined with multitudinous wrinkles, but her earthy eyes were still bright and vivacious.
Zana played with the necklace she wore: a stone of deep, dark garnet tied to a string of gold. She recalled sifting through the king’s bedchambers all those years ago, finding the soulstone carrying her dragonsoul within a pile of other jewelry. Once she had seen it, she had known it was hers.
The air was heavy with the scent of spring, but it carried with it a hint of sorrow. It was a strange sort of sorrow, resting on her shoulders—not heavily, but giving her a sense of peace and finality, with an undertone of excitement.
Avasal called to her.
“Perhaps it is time…” she whispered.
With a trembling hand, she wrote a note of farewell and a declaration of her heir to her chancellor before she crept her way to the Wyrms Gate. Each step took its toll, her limbs growing heavy and her heart heavier. She loved Arinta and its people, but she knew she belonged elsewhere. She hauled herself up the stone steps, clawing at stone and reaching for the intricately embossed iron doors.
The raven waters of the Dragonspool, silent and still, called to Zana. With shaky fingers, she tore the stone from the gold, clutching it close to her chest, rising to her feet. Then she let herself fall into the ink.
The viscous liquid assaulted her nose and mouth, slick and slimy against her skin, tasting of brimstone and charred wood. Choking on the water, she breathed in, struggling for air, feeling the waters flooding her lungs. Through the darkness, she saw a crimson light. The light grew until it enveloped her, driving the thick water away and out of her body.
The light grew stronger yet, blinding Zana. She screamed as her bones cracked and snapped, growing, multiplying, reshaping, strengthening. Her skin crawled, smooth scales forcing their way through to the surface. Her cries turned to guttural roars, her nails to claws, her teeth to spikes. From her back burgeoned wings of satin and bone, and a sleek tail lined with deadly spikes.
When the transformation was complete, Zana burst out of the pool in obsidian glory. She climbed higher, panting as she made her way into the open skies, the light of dawn washing over her, inviting her to reach out for new life. As she flew, she remembered the wind in her hair, the kiss of sunset on her cheeks, the smooth touch of ivory on her skin.
Farewell, beloved Arinta. I have served you with loyalty and compassion. I have wished only for your prosperity, and have dedicated my lifeblood to your safety. Now, I must find my path—my peace.
To the Land of Wyrms.
To Avasal.
About the Authors
The authors of this book descended into the realm of darkness in order to write these stories.
* * *
Some never came back.
S. K. Sayari
Shasyra Kavat Sayari, from B.C., Canada, tends to get lost in the many stories whirling in her head. Though she often daydreams, she never really thought to write them down until she started journaling. The journals turned to larger notebooks, and then to larger documents on the computer. In 2019, she decided to take the leap and write with the intent of publication.
Her inspirations come mainly from the various video games she plays, as well as the books she reads. You can always find her thinking up another story, scribbling madly in a notebook, or trying to beat that final boss without losing any units.
To keep updated, follow Shasyra at:
https://sksayari.com/
A. M. Dilsaver
A. M. Dilsaver grew up on books and chocolate. As a teenager, she added coffee to the mix and decided to start writing her own stories. Despite majoring in English and teaching for several years, her heart was always drawn back to books and writing. She now works as an editor for a local publishing house in Tennessee, where she lives with her husband and young daughter. “Beauty’s Curse” was her first darker fantasy, and she’s pretty sure she’ll never go back! Follow her on Instagram @amdilsaver for updates on her projects and pictures of funny memes she found when she should have been writing!
R. L. Davennor
Raelynn Davennor has been creating a
nd discovering fantastical worlds for as long as she can remember—often getting scolded for reading while her teachers were talking. As both an author and composer of music, Raelynn utilizes her creations in her fictional worlds full of darkness, dragons, and sassy heroines. She’s made appearances with artists such as The Who, Weird Al, and Hugh Jackman, and performed on many of the largest stages in the United States. Her inspiration takes no mercy on her despite her busy schedule.
Even when completing the most mundane tasks, Raelynn is usually lost in her head, flying across the sea on the back of a dragon or humming a tune she can't wait to scribble down. In her little remaining free time, she enjoys pampering her menagerie of pets and pretending she isn’t an adult.
She can be reached @rldavennor on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, or her website.
Christiana Matthews
Christine, who writes under the pen name Christiana to distinguish her from another author, fell in love with words as soon as she learnt to read. Words have power, words are magic. And when they’re used to describe realms of magic, their power is increased tenfold.
As a child she was entranced by fairy stories and wonder tales, and after discovering the works of Tolkien as a teenager and realizing that fairy tales for grown ups were a thing, she determined to write her own stories and create her own lore. Thus was born the saga of the Heirs of Aureya, as well as several short stories and a retelling of the Welsh myth of Blodeuedd from the fourth branch of the Mabinogian.
Christiana lives in South-East Queensland, Australia, with three cats and a houseful of books. Visit her Facebook Page for more stories or follow her on Instagram.
Jay Rose
Jay Rose is a fantasy writer residing in the beautiful state of Colorado. When she’s not writing or spending time with her family you can find her at her favorite fishing holes or watching her favorite pair of reckless Monster Hunters. Though, don’t be surprised if you find her raiding the horde of enemies on whichever game she may be playing. If you enjoy quirky, nerdy gamer, comic loving, camo obsessed weirdos, then she’s your girl. Follow her at: