Mystic Dragon

by Jason Denzel

  “Does it hurt, Brother?” Shevia said, letting her anger press out through her skin. “You wanted to strike me. To touch me. Well, I give you that chance.”

  She leaned forward until her cheek touched his palm. Tevon screamed as the flesh on his palm burned.

  “Shevia!” yelled Tibron. “Stop!”

  She kept her gaze on Tevon as he screamed. “Look at me, Brother! Does it hurt like a thousand slaps across a lifetime?”

  Typhos stepped forward. Shevia ignored him.

  “You will never touch me again!” she screamed. “You are not my brother. I disavow you. I brand you Unclaimed! Begone from my life and this world, traitor to my blood!”

  Flames burst across Tevon’s arm. He hollered in agony as his fingers disintegrated, followed by his lower arm.

  Typhos screamed and drew his sword. Tibron cursed but was slower to draw his. Without hesitation Typhos cut downward, severing Tevon’s arm just above the elbow in order to prevent further disintegration. The burning limb ashed away, but the fire continued across Tevon’s body. His screams filled the wide valley.

  Typhos, the brother who loved Tevon above everyone else, who followed him with blind affection and humility, raised his sword to strike Shevia. Tears filled his eyes. A pang of sadness clutched Shevia’s heart as she waited for him to attack her and destroy himself.

  But in the infinitesimal moment before he stuck her, another blade sliced through the air. Typhos’ sword and the hand grasping it flipped through the air and landed in the blood-splattered grass. Tibron panted hard as he watched Typhos cry out in pain and clutch what remained of his arm.

  Tevon’s cries cut off as he fell to the ground, the flames consuming his face and upper body.

  Clutching what remained of his arm, Typhos stared at the corpse of his brother. Tears coursed down his cheeks. “He did not deserve this.” He ran without looking back.

  Shevia slowly lifted her hand and pointed at him. Tibron’s hand clutched her wrist. She felt him flinch as her skin seared his flesh.

  “No, Shay-Shay!” Tibron pleaded through the pain. “Let him go.” He tried to mask the agony he felt, and Shevia admired his courage. She let the burning Myst dissolve and lowered her hand. Tibron snatched his hand back. Bloodred burns covered the palm and had already inked their way up his wrist.

  “The sister you love is dead, Tibron,” Shevia said with a mild voice. “She died as her brother did, burned by the fires lit by the cruelty of her family. But I am reborn now. I pray Tevon will find rebirth in a new, better life. Perhaps Typhos, freed of his shackles, will be reborn now, too. And you, beloved of my brothers, I command you to leave this island. For soon it will be consumed by an inferno. It will become a beacon signaling a new era to the rest of the world. Go, before the fires engulf you, too.”

  Tibron backed away from her, the shock plain on his face. “Whatever you’ve become, or whatever speaks to you, I pray it has mercy on you, Shevia.” He ran in the opposite direction from Typhos, in the direction he’d come from, still carrying his sword.

  Shevia watched him for only a moment more, letting a distant part of herself experience sadness. Then she steeled herself and burned the emotion away with the fires raging within her. She turned to the west and stared at the distant cloud-wreathed peak of MagBreckan.

  “And now, dear friend, I come to you.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  A THOUSAND BURNING SUNS

  High above the treetops of the Mystwood, Treorel blazed with energy in the night sky, pulling the world toward Crow Tallin. The world around Pomella no longer appeared as it once had. It was as if the encounter with the laghart wivan, the wolf-bear, and other axthos had broken the dam holding the celestial tide back.

  As evidence of this, overlaid atop the small clearing where Pomella and the rest of her traveling party rested was a field of wild thistles, silvery and translucent. A swarm of fay bees buzzed through them, pollinating.

  Pomella loved the Mystwood, but the near-constant travel of the past several weeks had worn on her. She longed for her cabin, her mattress, and the quiet solitude that life in Kelt Apar generally provided.

  She stifled a yawn and glanced at Lal’s unconscious form. Now wasn’t the time to rest. Vivianna moved around their makeshift camp, seeing to the last of the preparations necessary for the ceremony they were about to perform.

  Lal appeared to be sleeping, yet his eyes darted quickly beneath his closed lids. His fingers and legs twitched often, and Pomella wondered what he saw in his dreams. She refused to acknowledge the possibility that he was consumed by a fay and no longer present in his body.

  “Hold on, Master,” Pomella whispered. “I’m coming for you.”

  Lal’s body lurched in reply. His mouth opened in a silent scream, before he collapsed again, not moving except for his hidden eyes.

  “Hurry, Vivianna,” Pomella said. “Please.”

  “Almost ready,” Vivianna said as she moved around their makeshift camp, tending the fire. An uneaten pile of mushrooms and wild blackberries that Sim had found sat beside Pomella.

  As focused as she was on the upcoming ceremony, Pomella couldn’t help admire how calm Vivianna appeared. Her commitment to the solitary life of a Mystic impressed Pomella deeply. Someday, Vivianna would inherit the responsibility of Kelt Apar, and become the High Mystic of Moth. As much as the two of them shared, including living on the same grounds, it was becoming more and more obvious to Pomella just how different their paths were. Vivianna walked a well-trod path that had been carved by the feet of a thousand noble-born Mystics before her. Pomella, in turn, walked through a life that was as lonely and unfathomable as the deep groves of the Mystwood.

  Vivianna momentarily shifted away from the fire, and Pomella caught Sim watching them from the nearby shadows, silently whittling a branch of elderberry. He’d taken over Vlenar’s role as guide on the return journey. Despite being gone so many years, he had led them quickly back across the Ironlow Mountains for the past day, and in some ways he’d done so more efficiently than Vlenar.

  Sim hardly spoke, though, and he slept apart from everyone else. Pomella yearned to approach him and try to bridge the divide between them, but there was no time. Whatever connection was possible with Sim would have to wait.

  Vlenar, for his part, had stayed behind to tend to the dead lagharts. I know thhheir ritesss, he’d said. I shhhall sssend them on to the Eternal Skies.

  His words made Pomella think of her conversation with Hizrith, and what he’d said to her about the laghart city of Lavantath, and the great palace called Indoltruna at its heart. Did Vlenar believe in the Golden Ones? Were they as real as the Saints, like Brigid and the others?

  She didn’t know, but the man whom she would normally ask lay dying before her. Right now, Lal was the only thing that mattered. Even Pomella’s worries about Shevia would have to wait. The three brothers had gone after their sister and not returned, but Pomella couldn’t bring herself to have anything more than fleeting concern for their fate, and Shevia’s, right now.

  Vivianna settled herself on the opposite side of the fire from Pomella. “Are you ready?”

  Pomella nodded.

  Nearby, Oxillian stood as a silent sentinel. He’d carried Lal the entire way from the velten into the Mystwood where they now were. Pomella had wanted to perform this ceremony right after Lal had collapsed and Shevia fled, but Vivianna had urged her to take him into the Mystwood first. The Myst was stronger there, closer to Kelt Apar. Even with Treorel, it was essential that they have every advantage possible to try to separate Lal from the creature within him.

  “Grandmaster’s body has been overtaken,” Vivianna said, looking directly at Pomella. “A fay creature—who I believe may also be a Mystic—ensnares him. Without intervention, Lal will almost certainly die. In order to purge the wivan from his body, you will need to descend into his mind, and banish the creature. While you are within him, you will be vulnerable. You must return to your own body, or you risk dying a
s well. I will wait for you in between, and give you a beacon by which to guide you back. Sim and Oxillian will ensure we are not disturbed. Do you understand all of this?”

  Pomella nodded. “Yes.”

  “Are you certain you cannot wait until we return to Kelt Apar, where the High Mystics can conduct this ceremony?” Oxillian asked.

  “There’s no time, Ox,” Pomella said. “We may have already delayed too long. Besides, I’m his current student. It should be me.”

  Light from the campfire flickered across Vivianna’s face. “Let us begin,” she said. “Go with the Myst. Bring him back.”

  As one, Pomella and Vivianna closed their eyes and straightened their backs in matching cross-legged positions. They rested their palms faceup in their laps above their Mystic staves. A warm evening wind drifted through the Mystwood, dragging the scent of a nearby sage bush to Pomella’s nose. The familiar smell reminded her of Lal’s cabin, and that in turn steeled her resolve.

  They drew upon the Myst. Its current was like the Creekwaters, swollen with rain, surging around her. She guided that Myst with her breath and mind, gently easing it toward Vivianna. Vivianna received it, and mixed the flow with her own. They had decided earlier that Vivianna would lead the ceremony. Her affinity for the fay would be a boon to their efforts.

  Pomella felt, rather than saw, the Myst build between herself, Vivianna, and Lal. The hair on her arms stood upright. Her spine tingled. With this much power, what wonders could she achieve? She could single-handedly stand against the barons of Moth and force them to accept the Unclaimed, or to allow every commoner the opportunity to become a Mystic apprentice if they chose. With the Myst at her command, she could become a baroness herself. A queen. The Mystic Queen of Moth.

  She let the surge settle, and breathed out the breath she now realized she’d been holding too long. It was normal for such stray thoughts to arise. The mind worked in strange ways. It was impossible to fight against its slippery nature. Instead, she’d been taught to separate herself from it. To be aware that it was running away on wild adventures. The Myst and its energies were bound to one’s heart, not to the mind.

  Taking one more calm, steadying breath, Pomella let those thoughts slip away so she could save the man who’d taught her those lessons. She sought the Crossroads, the place where her world blended into Fayün. It rushed to her, as easily as blinking. The sensation of her world faded around her until she floated alone in darkness. In the dim Crossroads she imagined a single point of light in that darkness, a pinprick of energy like a star.

  The light flared, and even more of the Myst rushed her. Pomella inhaled sharply, forcing herself to not be drowned in the tide of energy. Suddenly the surge steadied itself and became a smooth flow. Rather than being drowned by it, Pomella now floated atop an ocean of Myst. A warm presence she recognized as Vivianna shone over her. There was nothing to see or use to otherwise identify the warmth as her friend. But it resonated in a way that unmistakingly identified her.

  “Bayyy-lew!” Vivianna chanted. Pomella didn’t recognize the specific word but knew it was the anchor she could hold on to as she descended into Lal’s mind.

  Over and over Vivianna chanted “Bayyy-lew!” until the Myst surrounding them both vibrated in time to her words. Pomella had full control of the Myst surrounding them now, conducting its flow like a skilled musician played an instrument.

  Another resonance of energy arose within the Crossroads with her. With every chant Vivianna intoned, it grew and became more solid. Pomella recognized it immediately.

  Lal.

  Over the course of seven years and countless sessions of sitting in his hut, going through these meditative exercises, Pomella had come to recognize the resonance that represented her master more easily than anything else. His light was her sun, the star around which she circled. In the human world, he was an old man, devoid of obvious power, filled with charm and a ridiculous sense of humor. But here, in the Crossroads, and when she’d sat with him before, he blazed brighter than anybody else she’d ever met.

  Today, though, he was diminished. The normally vibrant energy that represented her master shone only a fraction of what it normally did. Pomella kept her emotional reaction to this at a safe distance.

  Another presence grew around her, one she did not recognize. It was a second vibration of energy, shining with its own light, seeking to drown Lal’s out.

  The wivan.

  “Bayyy-lew!” Vivianna chanted.

  Pomella surged the Myst. “Show yourself!”

  The light that entangled Lal responded by lashing out, slicing at them with the Myst. Pomella reacted faster than Vivianna. With a single thought, she whipped the Myst out, using it as a shield to deflect the attack. Outwardly, sitting beside Vivianna, Pomella did not move except for a slight eyebrow twitch.

  Lal’s light flickered. They were losing him. The wivan’s grip strangled him. Whether the creature realized it or not, the wivan’s possession of Lal only dragged them both deeper toward destruction.

  Pomella focused on Lal’s star and faded everything else away from her awareness. She moved toward him, willing her consciousness to shift such that soon she was on his star’s threshold.

  The wivan’s fiery presence loomed over her, sinking his claws deeper into Lal’s rapidly diminishing light. His formless eyes watched her, waiting. Pomella found it strange that he didn’t attack her. It was as though he was waiting for something.

  The answer came to her immediately. The wivan wanted to survive. He knew Lal was dying, and if he did so, the wivan would perish with him. The only way for the creature to survive was to find a new host to ensnare. If she went too far into Lal’s consciousness, Pomella’s body would end up providing a perfect host.

  Pomella plunged toward Lal. Her instinct told her that hesitation would only hurt her at this point. With her formless body she rushed through the Crossroads. The pinprick that was Lal’s light grew until it was a mountain, making her feel as though she were an ant beside MagDoon.

  Like water tumbling over a cliff, there was a final rush as she raced toward Lal’s light. Her mind burned away and she wanted to scream with a formless voice. The world shuddered. The world exploded in light.

  She stood in a small, strange valley between rolling hills that she didn’t recognize. White-gray boulders dotted grasslands while overgrown thorn hedges filled most of the valley floor. Thick gray clouds roiled overhead. Pomella breathed deep and the scent of pending rain filled her nostrils. Where was she? She peered down at herself and gasped. Her entire body, along with her Mystic staff, was formed of translucent, silvery light, as if she were a fay creature herself. Smoke gently wafted off her like fog above a pond on a cool morning.

  Two ripples of motion tickled her ears. Pomella couldn’t help but grin as Hector and Ena flew past her and swirled in the air. They zoomed around her, exploring the nearby boulders and thornbushes. Their enthusiasm and youth rolled over her.

  She held out her palm for Hector to alight on. His body and her hand merged as easily as two shadows coming together. When they did so, she suddenly became aware of him in a way that went far beyond their normal bond. Every pulse of Hector’s tiny heart trembled through her body. His thoughts skittered through her, leaping from place to place so quickly that she couldn’t keep up. But mostly, overwhelming everything else, she felt Hector’s deep love for her. It was like a little match that lit her own heart.

  Hector buzzed away from her hand and their connection broke. But a lingering affection remained with her. Pomella marveled at the experience, and at the little bird. She couldn’t wait to tell Vivianna about it.

  As she thought of Vivianna, a distant memory returned to her. Of where she was. And what she needed to do. Overhead, the rolling storm clouds pulled together. Lightning suddenly leaped through them, briefly illuminating their interior. A heartbeat later thunder shuddered the whole world. The sound shifted and vibrated, and it sounded to Pomella as though the thunder carried anoth
er sound with it, like it was delivering a message.

  “Bayyyy-lew!”

  Pomella had to steady herself. The whole world shook with Vivianna’s warning, her reminder.

  Another sensation tickled the back of Pomella’s head. She turned in the direction of her hummingbirds and felt her stomach leap in surprise. A young boy, perhaps nine years old, stood on a nearby boulder. He had light-brown skin and wore a fine coat and shoes. A long braid of hair hung below his shoulders, marking him, along with his wealthy clothes, as a noble. In the distance behind the boy, upon what she guessed was the highest hill for some distance, stood a fine manor house. A ridiculous urge to bow to the boy came over Pomella, but she managed to ignore it.

  The boy looked directly at her, clearly aware of her. She knew him, even though she’d never seen him like this. There was no mistaking his face. “Lal,” she said, and this time she bowed. Not because he was a young nobleman, but because, even as a little boy, he was forever her master.

  The boy spoke in Qina and pointed.

  Pomella looked over her shoulder but only saw more rocks and thornbushes. “I don’t understand,” she said to the boy.

  Hector and Ena returned to her, and buzzed in an agitated manner. The boy pointed again, and this time he yelled.

  Pomella looked again at where he was pointing. “What are you—?” She cut off as she saw it.

  A short distance away, a thin column of smoke rose from what seemed to be the very center of a cluster of thornbushes. The smoke grew thicker as it rose. More thunder shook the ground.

  “Ssshhhe comesss!”

  Pomella spun back toward young Lal and saw him staring at the sky. Above him, the clouds had shifted again, this time to form the shape of a laghart’s scaled face.

  Lal yelled a Qina word, “Gee!,” and ran back toward the manor house.

  Flames erupted behind her, shooting upward from the thornbushes. Hector buzzed wildly above Pomella’s head while Ena poked her free hand several times as if dipping for nectar from a flower.