Dragon’s Fate and Other Stories

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  No, they had not raised their sons with an intricate understanding of assassination, either of its political nature or its slicing, spinning dealing of death.

  Daniel rested his cheek against Antonius’s shoulder. What were his parents? What birthed the brothers? He’d grown up inside a bubble of service and fairness, not backstabbing, both figurative and literal.

  What lurked out here, in the woods and the wild and in the corners and crevices the brothers knew nothing of? What would happen to them when they activated? His parents had given them justice all their lives and had protected them from the bigger, meaner Parcae wolves who howled at their gates. But for how much longer?

  They rode through the night and into the brightening morning. Antonius groaned. They jumped logs over the shadows, and Antonius bled.

  If he died, the future would lie down in the dust and die with him. There’d be no reason left, no purpose. Daniel would become a ghost.

  Safety would mean nothing.

  “Antonius?” he whispered.

  Marcus glanced over his shoulder, first at the novice priest leaning against his back, then at his brother. He did not speak.

  Neither did Antonius.

  “Antonius?” Daniel whispered again.

  Marcus motioned to their family and reined their mare into to small clearing. Carefully, he wrapped an arm behind his back and around Antonius. “Dismount, brother,” he said. “I see a soft patch under that tree.” He nodded toward the shadowed hollow of a large oak.

  Daniel slid off the mare’s back. Father appeared and helped him dismount, and Timothy appeared on the other side of the horse, to help steady Antonius. Together, they carefully pulled Antonius down, Father taking the majority of the novice’s weight, and carried him to the hollow.

  “Antonius?” Daniel squinted at the wound, but he couldn’t see. It did, though, feel hotter than it should.

  Antonius wasn’t responding.

  Father sniffed at the wound. “Poison,” he said. “A blend that’s supposed to incapacitate, not kill.” He pulled back. “He may be reacting to it in ways the Fates who attacked us did not foresee.” But his face said the opposite: They knew what they did.

  “He said he was our grandfather.” Why would Faustus allow such an obvious ill gesture? Murdering Antonius would drive away Daniel and his brothers, not bring them into the family.

  Father nodded. “He was hidden within the dust of that Burner. I did not see his approach.” He slapped the tree trunk. “He is not my father. My father did not favor theater.”

  Marcus rubbed the mare’s snout. “Then who, Father?”

  “My father is dead, gone now many years.” Father rubbed his head. “We are not a powerful branch of the family. They only allow us to carry their name out of pity.”

  “His name is Faustus.” Daniel touched Antonius’s forehead.

  Maybe their grandfather circled in ways Daniel did not—and could not—see or understand. Perhaps he read these scrolls of the future incorrectly. Perhaps his umbra obscura was more shadow than truth.

  Father sat back on his heels. “He is my grandfather, your great-grandfather. And yes, he is an emperor-maker. Rumors are that his triad wielded more political power than all of the Roman Senate combined.” Father rubbed his face. “Faustus of the Jani came for our boys.” He shook as if someone poked his back.

  Antonius’s eyes opened. “Daniel?”

  Daniel’s thoughts bounced from strategic possibilities to immediate certainties. “I’m here.” Daniel kissed his love in the open, in front of his family. Kissed Antonius the way Timothy kissed his wife.

  Antonius tried to sit up, but he fell back onto the moss and the leaves. “I am sorry for involving you in the punishment God sent for me.”

  “God is not punishing you, young man.”

  Daniel jolted. His perception snapped to the tree just behind where Antonius rested. Papa squatted with his elbows on his knees, his face wrapped in his midnight blue scarf and his body clad in his midnight blue leathers. At his feet, his blade reflected the moonlight and a shimmer as cold as ice danced along its length.

  He’d snuck close without Daniel noticing.

  “You, like us, are caught between monsters.” Papa leaned closer. “God’s only intervention is to grant you the strength to wiggle free and run for your life. Which he will do. Correct, Cyrus?”

  Behind them, Father nodded. “Yes. That is correct.” But his voice said strength was not the future he read for Antonius.

  Or us, whispered through Daniel’s head. They were not going to wiggle free of these monsters. Not Antonius. Not his brothers. Not Ingund either, for that matter, and most certainly not his parents.

  Daniel dropped onto the moss next to his love. “The future is talking to me,” he said. “The man who came for us called it the umbra obscura. He said that powerful Primes sometimes receive shadow reflections of their abilities before they activate as Fates.”

  Papa and Father both flinched. They looked to each other, their eyes rounded with shock.

  Papa’s eyes blanked as he used his seer. “Your umbra obscura started whispering to you a few days ago, didn’t it?”

  Daniel nodded yes.

  “When, exactly?” Papa moved closer.

  Daniel wasn’t sure. His mind had always been filled with questions, but until recently, the questions hadn’t spoken to him.

  “It started when you spied on the Dracos.” Marcus continued to stare off into the trees.

  Papa stood. “Daniel was quite interested in Livia Sisto’s insignia at the ruins.” He reached for his son’s shoulder. “Marcus, what do you see of the Dracae?”

  Marcus’s stare did not waver. “Their people show compassion. It is not their way to turn away Ingund or Antonius.” He swayed slightly, as if a breeze fluttered his soul. “It is their way to turn away Fates. We must understand this. Acknowledge it. Daniel, Timothy, and I will need to be… careful. We will need to be… precise… in order to maneuver through the walls and gates the Dracae long ago erected.”

  Father paled again. “Timothy, what do you see?”

  Timothy also stared into the trees. “We must move. We are not safe here.”

  His brothers were not staring into space. They both faced north, with their bodies turned in the direction of the Dracae’s settlement.

  Father’s back grew rigid. “We cannot wait.”

  Papa walked into the small clearing. “My family whispered of the umbra obscura. Most did not believe it to be real and thought it something the Ulpi Fates—your mother’s people—invented to frighten their enemies.”

  Father looked down at his feet. “Adela once told me that she knew in the hours before we took her that she was fated to be with us.”

  He dropped to the mud. Daniel’s father slid downward as if he pressed his back to an invisible wall and landed on his backside in the dirt.

  Their large father, the man who gave them their strength, pressed his face into his hands. “This is my doing. The first night I touched Adela I knew she was the future I wanted. I thought if we all activated together, that if I forced what I wanted out of the what-will-be, she would want that future as well.”

  Papa closed his eyes. “When is fate simple, husband? I knew I would be happy with you.” He reached for Marcus, his closest son.

  Timothy pointed into the trees. “You need to activate us. Now.”

  Father’s fingers curled and uncurled. “Both of us?”

  Even in the dim night, Daniel saw Papa’s eyes flatten as he used his seer. “Our seed mingled, though Marcus and Daniel look more like me than you, Cyrus.” Papa looked up at the sky. “That Shifter woman confirmed for us what my seer told me long ago.”

  He wrapped his hands around his throat as if to stop an invisible monster from strangling away his life. Behind Daniel, Father made the exact same movement, right down to the same twitch to his cheek.

  When they parted their lips, the inside of both their mouths glowed.

 
; Daniel stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers. They gripped hands, their bodies humming with anticipation.

  First Papa spit into his mouth, then Father. Their mingled shimmering liquid rolled along his tongue as if it were water. It coated his tongue and his teeth and when he swallowed, it slid down his throat as if this moment meant nothing.

  “We would have spit into a goblet and had you each drink, but that was not the present afforded us,” Papa said. “You will have half a day to find a talisman.”

  No, flitted through Daniel’s mind. It’s concentrated. “We have two hours, at most,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” said Timothy.

  Father squeezed Daniel’s shoulder. “Return Antonius to the horse. We will deliver you to the Dracae.” He touched above Daniel’s left eye. “It will start with a pain behind your eye.”

  “Do not believe your body when it tells you that you are dying,” Papa said.

  “That, too, will pass,” Father said.

  Daniel was about to be reborn a future-seer, but as he helped Antonius to the horse, he vowed that he would not be Parcae.

  He would leave behind the old trappings and the maneuvering of his people. Daniel would become a new Fate.

  His father and papa could not explain why a Fate needed a metal object—or objects—as a talisman. Nor could they explain how it focused a triad’s seers. But they did explain its purpose: A talisman acted as context, Father said. It gave shape and purpose to their visions, and would stitch the brothers’ abilities into one cohesive unit.

  The what-was-is-will-be was fabric, his Papa said. Their talisman was their needle, their abilities their thread. The talisman made them sharp.

  Just as Faustus had said. But Daniel would not cut and rip, bind and control. He would not force onto others a future they might not want just to mollify his own present.

  Without their talisman, they would be blunt and would rip and tear at the fabric. They would see too much. It would feel as if they looked directly at the sun.

  “It is ugly,” Papa said. “It will drive you to take your own lives.”

  Daniel and his brothers rode toward the settlement of the dragons praying that they would reach the gates—and the talisman Daniel knew was their true future—before they flared brighter than the sun itself.

  Antonius groaned and bled but Father said they were close. So they rode.

  Until the arrows made them stop.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The fast-moving river gurgled up ahead, the rocks along its shores visible through the branches. The freshness of lavender filled the air here, along with warmer spices, smells that reminded Daniel of the incense clinging to Antonius’s bloody frock.

  The first arrow pulsed between the horses and struck a tree an arm’s length from Daniel’s head. The second arrow flew so close he felt it against his cheek.

  The third nicked Papa’s cheek.

  One of Daniel’s voices whispered, knowing full well that he and his brothers were not supposed to sense the dragons in this moment. Not the Dracae’s legion of Shifters, either. They were supposed to be sensing the circle of Parcae contracting around them.

  Make your future dragon, the voice whispered. Your present is your fate.

  He groaned and leaned his head against Antonius’s back. This time, the voice hurt, and in particular, hurt behind his left eye.

  Your past is dead.

  “It’s starting,” Daniel whispered. They had to go. Now.

  “Ride!” Father slapped the rump of Timothy’s horse. “Take Antonius and ride for the gates!”

  Papa’s eyes blanked into the flat stare of his past-seer. His face grew slack. His skin paled.

  Daniel’s papa must then have seen the truth that led them to this moment.

  “They will not become a tribute to Justinian,” he yelled. He pointed toward the river. “Go! Do as your Father says!”

  Another arrow cut the air between the boys and their fathers.

  They’re going to die, whispered through Daniel’s head. Papa, Father, Mama too. His family was about to die.

  “Marcus!” Around the slumped Antonius, Daniel thumped his brother’s shoulder. “Do you see it? Is it true?”

  Timothy reined his horse near. “We must leave. We have no other option.”

  “They’re going to kill Father and Papa,” Daniel whispered. “They’re—”

  Marcus turned their horse toward the river. He spoke no words. He asked no more questions. He only responded.

  And Daniel knew deep in his bones—deep within the now-chattering voices in his head—that the brothers had just signed their parents’ death warrants.

  The next arrow lodged in the haunch of Timothy’s mount.

  The animal reared. A wave blasted off Daniel’s brother. Timothy knew what to do, knew in the what-is how to move and balance and not fall off the horse like a bag of broken bones. He gripped and twisted and held, and slid off the horse without injury.

  “River!” Timothy ran into the trees and for the flowing water ahead.

  Marcus flicked their horse, following.

  He’s here! He’s—

  “Marcus!” Daniel slapped his brother. “Do you see? We’re…” He pressed his forehead against Antonius’s back.

  His brother stopped their horse behind a wall of bramble and tree trunks. “Timothy’s through. He’s by the river.” Marcus twisted his head. “He has just passed a moment of surprise.”

  “Dismount,” Daniel whispered. They would leave Antonius here, with some protection. “Antonius?”

  Daniel’s love opened his eyes. “I will hide,” he whispered. He, too, slid from the horse’s side. “Go.”

  Daniel helped him into to a hollow in the brambles. He looked too weak. Too pale. “We will get you help.” Daniel kissed Antonius’s forehead. “I’ll come for you. I swear.”

  Antonius leaned against a tree as he closed his eyes. A small, pained grin curled his lip. “Is that the future you see?”

  Yes.

  “No matter what happens, know that I love you, Antonius.” Daniel’s kiss fell quick and gentle upon Antonius’s lips.

  Marcus pulled him away. “We must go.” He nodded to Antonius. “My brother speaks the truth.”

  Antonius’s eyes rounded and widened but he nodded and waved them away. “Go.”

  He didn’t want to leave. He shouldn’t leave. He should stay here with Antonius but the pain behind his eye propelled him forward. His brother gripped his arm and yanked. Daniel had no choice but to leave Antonius in the moss, alone, poisoned, and bleeding.

  “I’ll come back for you,” he whispered.

  Antonius looked away. “Go.”

  Marcus pulled Daniel between two large trees. The world opened up, the sky revealed from behind the dense leaves of the forest. The river, wide and fast-flowing here, gurgled over rocks and pebbles. Like their home, this place also had wide boulders along the shore. Places to lay one’s clothes after a good wash.

  And smooth, flat surfaces along the bank where one could squat in worldly and expensive armor, a dagger in your hand and an unconscious woman at your feet.

  Faustus loomed over Mama’s still body. A large piece of leather spread out from under Mama’s head and shoulders, as if Faustus had laid it on the rock so as to protect her cheek from the cold stone.

  On the leather, in front of her face, lay the dagger.

  Below Faustus and Mama, on the pebbles of the riverbank, Timothy stood still and rigid.

  “Mama?” Marcus whispered.

  “A talisman.” Timothy pointed at the object. “Of war and strategy,” he said.

  “Yes.” Faustus rocked on his heels, but he did not stand or move.

  Pain flared through Daniel’s head. It jabbed both his eyes from behind, and it flowed downward, into the hollow places in his skull. It crept upward as well, into his ears and toward his scalp.

  He pressed on his forehead. Perhaps the pain would stop as fast as it had started. Perhaps h
e’d be able to look at the man claiming to be his grandfather without feeling as if he’d swallowed a Burner demon. Perhaps he’d actually see, to take in the actual, stinking world around him. He needed his eyes to work right now, not to have his mind occupied with the spurting of his activating seer.

  Do not cower, Daniel’s future-seer whispered. It didn’t mean now. It meant—

  An image burst into his mind—more than an image, a full moment of time: A beast, but not one of the horses. A great snout sniffing his face. A great cat-like eye looking him over. The warm scents again, spices for which he didn’t have names. Vanishing. A small woman who took up a lot of space yanking away their talisman…

  Daniel swayed. He would have fallen, but Marcus leaned against his shoulder.

  Faustus tapped the tip of his dagger between Mama’s nose and the talisman. “Time to choose, boys.”

  “Why do you interfere?” Marcus tipped his head and stared at Faustus. “You understand what’s happening here better than you wish anyone to know, including your own men.”

  Faustus rocked back on his heels. “Well, well.” But his shock quickly dissipated. “You three choose now, otherwise we will all experience the horror of a Prime triad activating without a talisman.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. “My guess is that it will be enough to lure both dragons down here, to the river.”

  He wants a fight with the Dracae. Daniel groaned. The pain flared again, but this time, he didn’t lean into his brother.

  Faustus tapped the blood dagger. “This belonged to Alexander the Great himself. The Palatini had been saving it for a special triad.” He tapped the hilt. “But I took it. Now it belongs to the Jani.”

  His back straightened. “Face Justinian within the context best for the Empire.”

  They had no choice in their fate. They were to go to Constantinople with this man, as a tribute to an Emperor. But under what fabric would they present themselves? Which measure, which cut, would they chose?

  “We do not want your talisman,” Timothy said.

  No, they didn’t. Not your talisman, echoed through Daniel’s mind. The dagger was not their talisman.

  “You will take the talisman of your ancestors!” Faustus bellowed. His gloved hand cinched around Mama’s neck. “Who do you see dying first if you do not cooperate, boys? I will hunt your wife, Timothy. I will hunt your love, Daniel. They will die in the dust and the dirt.”