The Dragon's Heart

by David Powers King

  “I’m alive,” Celesia replied, “and I found this!”

  “Princess!” hollered the ogre. He ran full speed from the fortress gate. He held out his bulky arms and raised her high into the air. His face had been soaking in tears. “I never thought we would see you again!”

  Taika swooshed in. “Is the stone safe?”

  “Admit it, bug. You have a soft spot for the Princess, and you know it,” Groth said to the fairy with a chubby, accusing finger. “Tell us where you’ve been? Hey look! You found another fragment? How wonderful!”

  “Yes,” Celesia answered, thinking about what King Typonus had warned about the dangers of the stone. All her quest would accomplish was the return of their lost magic, or the enslavement of all. The foreboding words had stolen the celebration from her. “Wonderful.”

  Groth danced in place, clearly unable to contain his excitement. Dripping with salt water, Flint crawled to the shore. Taika was kind enough to cast a circle of light around them as the sun sank beneath the land. Celesia shivered, until Groth returned her cloak. She caught a glimpse of the dragon as she wrapped the fabric around her shoulders. His voice was sharp at first, only because he was worried for her. She understood this and smiled, but the look on his face was one of jealousy, as though he desired nothing more than to hold her, as Groth had.

  Celesia touched his side. “I’m sorry, Flint.”

  “No.” His eyes cooled. “You did well.”

  They smiled and joined the others.

  Chapter 18

  Tripping the Chandler

  That night, the group set up camp in the middle of the fortress square. Celesia’s muscles ached terribly from the swimming she had done, and she felt stiff and rigid in her soaked dress. In no time, the magic cloak warmed and dried her clothes. Groth rummaged around the fortress and found a tall stack of dry wood, and cooking implements from the abandoned kitchens. He asked Flint to light a fire, and suggested that a special occasion was in order. Celesia wondered what the ogre had in mind when he returned with fresh scallops.

  Groth didn’t hold back on his culinary skills, sautéing wild vegetables in saucepans with some wine he’d found in the basement. Combining this marinière with bits of dried flatbread, they each shared a portion together—a high-class dish that would serve well on her banquet table at home. Flint tried it as well, his portion a meager taste due to his size. Taika showed no interest in it.

  I hope no one from shore bothers us ...

  The others called for Celesia to share her adventure, about her dealings with the merpeople. Once warmed and filled, she divulged her encounter with Derrien and their struggle against Aruqua. By the time she spoke of King Typonus, Groth began to snore. The ogre and the fairy had fallen asleep. Flint was alert as always, lying where a decrepit barn once stood. Celesia laid her head on the grass, the stars blanketed by a wispy mist.

  “You realize how lucky you are,” Flint said with even breath. “Their affairs with humans left deep wounds. If you weren’t willing to help them, I have no doubt they would’ve run you through without a thought.”

  Celesia agreed, but something else was troubling her. She wanted to talk about it, but wondered if it was wise to confide this to the dragon. “I feel terrible, Flint.”

  “Are you ill?” he asked, shifting to his side.

  “Not ill, or perhaps I am. I’m not so sure.”

  “There’s something off about you tonight.”

  She sighed. “You can definitely say that.”

  “Would you like to discuss it with me?”

  Celesia wasn’t sure, but the dragon’s invitation eased her mind. She was becoming more comfortable around him, in recent days. “Something happened to me down there. I don’t know what I did to Aruqua, and I never meant to hurt anyone. Am I a murderer now?”

  Flint faced her. “Why do you say that?”

  Celesia used every ounce of her will to keep her tears from welling. “I killed Aruqua by sending him into the Eternal Abyss. I let Dálcort drink that poison. Maybe Typonus was right about the Dragon’s Heart.”

  “You saw Dálcort in Caperholm?”

  “He was in the tavern.” She recounted the other part of her story. “He saved me from a pair of thieves. They bought me a flagon, and insisted that I drink it. Dálcort stopped them. We talked. He drank it, and collapsed. I left the tavern and the people accused me of killing him. And I did something strange that killed Aruqua.”

  “I sensed that we were being followed. I assumed it was Alkivar, not your prince.”

  Celesia looked down again. She couldn’t hold back her sobs. “Please don’t bring that up again.”

  Flint craned his neck to lower his head. “Listen to me, Celesia. There was no way for you to know of that poison. Don’t blame yourself. Your encounter with the merlord is of equal accident. What did the king of the merpeople tell you concerning the Dragon’s Heart?”

  “That it’s evil.” Celesia removed the gemstone from her neck. Her distressed reflection looked back at her from its surface. “He told me I should rid myself of it as soon as I can, that I shouldn’t let it rest so close to my heart, implying I would become as corrupt as Aruqua. How else am I without sorrow for their deaths?”

  “Influence,” said the nodding dragon. “Alkivar’s rise to power may have surfaced in the same manner. As long as your intentions are selfless, you should be safe.”

  “Why would Ereman make this terrible thing?”

  “Ereman created it to teach the Royal Magical Family the art of harnessing magic, so they themselves could be Castors of Magic. For all we know, its powers may be farther reaching than any of us can ever imagine.”

  Feeling thirsty, Celesia looked for her flask. “Are you saying it can do more than store magic?”

  “Based on what you said concerning Aruqua’s fate, very much so.” Flint pointed at the flask that she was looking for. As she obtained the vessel and drank a few swigs, the dragon continued. “If the possessor of the Dragon’s Heart is unguarded, the stone may claim their soul, as it absorbs magic. That’s what I think.”

  Celesia returned to the grass and draped the warm cloak over her lap. “There’s one piece left to find, isn’t there? So why don’t I feel evil, as Aruqua was?”

  The dragon raised Celesia’s chin with the tip of his talon. “Have you desired to do what’s unjust, or fulfill your own whims at the expense of others? A person of pure heart is protected from such influences. I think Ereman must’ve had this in mind before the dagger fell from the sky. He could cast over a hundred spells at once, each with a separate purpose and one collective intention. As you held the dagger in one hand and the Dragon’s Heart in the other, the dagger tethered itself to you, recognizing you as a safe possessor. Your heart is as pure as they come. Never doubt that.”

  Celesia looked into the fire with a longing gaze. “I wouldn’t call my heart pure, Flint. I have been terrible. If I hadn’t yearned for something normal to eat, Dálcort would still be alive. Maybe the stone has influenced me? Maybe Hilander sensed this, and he left.” Celesia held the chain up and looked at the stone with a heated stare. “I wish I had never found this stone!”

  She cast the jewel into the embers, and watched it glow in the heat. Flint sat up with a puzzled frown.

  A bright light poured into the courtyard—a blinding ray shot from the Dragon’s Heart. Horrific scenes of death and destruction rose from the fire. Many humans and creatures—left for dead. Villages burned. Children lost. A mirthless laugh covered the land of LaVóndia, with no one left to stand against the source. Then, one by one, a bloodstained hand smote every member of the Royal Magical Family—eldest to youngest. A man with a long gray beard faced the stone as he stood over an infant. The scenes of the past gave way to Lord Aruqua, screaming as he vanished into the Eternal Abyss.

  “Make it stop!” Celesia buried her hands in her face as she cried. “I can’t look anymore!”

  Flint reached into the fire and removed the gem. It cool
ed fast. Celesia couldn’t believe what they had just witnessed—every malicious act of Alkivar. She thought of the dark haired infant beneath the old wizard, lying in a basket. This reminded her of the stained-glass mural among the ruins of LaVóndia, of the family standing from oldest to youngest, ending with an empty crib.

  Flint swallowed discreetly. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be,” she said. “What was that?”

  “If I had known that would happen, I wouldn’t have let you cast it into the fire. That stone is a witness to all manner of atrocities, and the greatest wizard of our age only managed to shatter it. When that stone is void of its stolen magic, we may finally be rid of it for good.”

  “You think I’ll last that long?”

  “You will.” Flint smiled with a sincere shine in his blue eyes. “We’re close to the end now. You’ve been a blessing. This quest would be impossible without you.”

  Groth snored again, and rolled to his side.

  Flint chuckled quietly. “The Royal Magical Family didn’t become Castors of Magic in one night. King Axel and Queen Rhea were the first to master magic besides the wizards and mages. They passed their gift to their children. And if the fairies raised your mother, there’s a chance of her acquiring magical influence. This may have passed on to you—a potential Castor of Magic.”

  “You think so?” Celesia remembered what Modlyn and Sarandretta had said, concerning her mother. “How exactly have you come to that conclusion?”

  “From your encounter with Lord Aruqua. The way you described your struggle, I wonder if there’s some hidden potential in you. You cast magic at the merlord through the Dragon’s Heart, something that can only happen if magical influence runs in your blood.”

  “I am enchanted, you know,” Celesia uttered. “Magic touched me when I was born. My mother sacrificed her life to enchant me. That should be enough, right?”

  “Yes! That explains how you were still moving after Modlyn cast her stilling charm on you and Groth. Magic can’t touch you! When did you plan on telling me?”

  “I didn’t need to. You’re smart enough.”

  Flint playfully nudged her with his wing.

  Celesia rolled onto her back, and faced the sky with a sigh of relief. For now, she was the vessel of the stone. And thanks to the black dragon, she was content with this responsibility. The fire’s glow wasn’t as bright any more, which allowed her to see the stars twinkle in the firmament. She wanted to wish on one of them. What would she wish for? The dragon lied on his back too, and brought his head close to hers. It seemed unusual for a dragon to stargaze, but Celesia remembered how Flint wasn’t a true dragon. He was so much more.

  “Have you ever wondered what they are?” Flint asked, pointing his snout to the sky. “The stars.”

  “Sometimes. Mavarco told my father that stars are like the sun, only much farther away.”

  Flint growled. “Must you speak of that man? Just the sound of his name is unsettling. I wonder if he was affiliated with the Order of Alchemists, but that’s not likely. King Axel abolished their practices long before he was king. If they hadn’t become usurpers of power, we could’ve learned more of the world.” Flint rounded back to his feet and carefully sat near her. “I feared we had lost you to the sea. I hope you can find it in you to forgive my foolishness when I found you walking on the shore. It was truly relieving to see you.”

  “Nothing to forgive, Flint.” Celesia yawned as she curled up next to the dragon’s side, and closed her eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive. See you in the morning.”

  Flint revealed his sly smile again. “Likewise.”

  He stayed with her for a time, until Celesia felt the gusting air from his wings as he leapt into the sky. She expected this of him, for it was his nature to hunt in the night. At that moment, she realized how different their conversations played out when the others slept. It was personal—special. Given how disparately he had often treated her during the day, she wondered why he was so kind, and yet so rigid. Although her heart had calmed and her thoughts relieved of Dálcort and the merlord’s demise, a part of her remained open to the wind.

  If I lift his curse, what will he be like then?

  Would he be old? Young? A little of everything? She imagined someone else entirely, his traits charming and frank—never overbearing. She smiled at the thought as she opened her eyes to the stars. There was something desirable about Flint, hidden under his scales. If only she could be there to see it when his curse was lifted.

  That was her wish.

  ˙ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˙

  Flint woke everyone early the next morning.

  The sun had yet to rise over the eastern waters when Groth nudged Celesia. Sleepy and disoriented, she arose from her grassy bed and found a new set of clothes at her feet. An earthy colored pair of trousers, a white shirt with green sleeves, and a pair of brown boots. Taika had found an old tailor’s shop and a storage room full of edible foods. This brought a wave of relief to Celesia, as they no longer had to find a way to acquire supplies from Caperholm. She slipped on the new clothes, which made her look more like a boy from a distance, if she were to put her hair up. Flint torched her old dress, since it was nothing but rags now. Celesia didn’t know what to do with the Call of Alantica that Typonus had given to her, so she handed the seashell to Groth for safekeeping, deep inside his small acorn pouch.

  Flint carried Groth and Celesia on his back to the mainland under the cover of dawn. The dragon landed some twenty miles north of town, to make certain no one would see them. The sun greeted the world with a new day as the band started on their journey again.

  Celesia asked where they were going, and she wasn’t thrilled with the answer. The next most logical place to search for the last fragment was in the desert realm of Trisontia, a three to four week journey from the shores of Caperholm. The realm had deserts, sharp rocks and hissing grounds that smelled of poison, according to the stories she’d heard from passing travelers.

  This would be their longest stretch on foot.

  Her foremost concern about Trisontia was the prince who lived there, the one she’d met last summer, who had broken his leg after climbing up her balcony in the middle of the night—Prince Owen. If there was any hope of avoiding him, she would do so. Maybe her new clothes would give her an advantage. The fresh fabric on her skin was a welcomed treat after wearing the same dress for a season.

  A slow week passed. The land became bland. Groth found ways to pass the time by composing sonnets and riddles. Flint stayed with them longer than ever. Celesia could count on one hand the number of times he had taken off. They laughed most evenings, and even Flint shared songs and stories of his own when the others called for him to. Taika was the most difficult to read, from what Celesia could observe. Her task was so vital to her that she couldn’t seize a moment to have fun.

  Tall grass returned to their path on the second week. They even saw the eastern shoreline with small patches of snow along its beaches. Winter was slowly melting into spring with each passing day. They saw no trees in this part of the country. Celesia had looked forward to seeing tiny flowers blossoming on their branches. She would miss it this year. Nothing exciting happened the third week, except to hide from occasional caravans.

  After another morning of flatbread and groundhog for breakfast, the company walked northward, the land becoming looser and lifeless. Groth was conjuring up another riddle, like the one they’d read in the ruins of LaVóndia, when a stranger showed up on the road, walking southward. Flint turned invisible and Groth used her cloak to hide. They stood still as the fellow traveler scurried down the hill. It was a man, maybe ten or fifteen years older than Celesia, guiding a cart being pulled by an old horse. Celesia sat by the roadside as the man approached. He wore a robe with a rope sash. He smiled and waved as he passed. Celesia did the same, until she felt the warmth of the dagger flare up again, as it always had in the presence of Castors of Magic.

  “My dagger! He’s a Castor of Magic!”<
br />
  “You’d better be sure about that,” Groth said, trying his best not to shake under the cloak. “Catch up to him. We’ll watch for you.”

  “Excuse me!” she called to the stranger.

  The traveler quickened his pace. Celesia chased after him, causing the stranger to lead his horse into a rapid trot. A hazy yellow flash marked the ground in front of him. A tangle of roots sprang from the dirt, forcing the man to trip over them. He landed on his face. Celesia came up to him and unsheathed her dagger. The man saw her weapon and held up his arms, as if succumbing to a murderous thief. The dagger was warm again, but not enough to burst into flame as it had before.

  Nevertheless, a few words managed to appear along the last, wordless edge of the blade:

  To return peace to our mountains and desert sand—

  The blade fizzled and lost its warmth.

  The stranger stared at her blade with a look of terror and hesitation. Celesia wasn’t sure what to make of the new passage. Why was it only partially revealed? This had to be the final verse, so why wouldn’t it show the entire message? Celesia kept herself from being upset, but that didn’t make it any less fair. She approached the stranger, itching to ask him a chain of questions.

  “That’s all we’ve got?” Groth pulled the cloak off his back, much to the surprise and aversion of the stranger, whose skin was turning paler by the second. “You’re a Castor of Magic, are you not?”

  “What about talking about?” he shrieked, sounding much older than he appeared to be. “I don’t know what this is or what you’re going on about. If you have any sense of respect, you will leave me alone!”

  “You don’t understand,” Celesia said, trying to sound calm. “See these words? You made them appear. Words only appear in the presence of Castors of Magic. Why were you running away from us?”

  “I don’t want to be eaten by an ogre, for one thing,” the man answered, less afraid than before. “I see he won’t do so unless ordered. I’m just a simple chandler. There’s nothing I can offer you except the stores in my cart.” He pointed at his undercarriage. “If you want money, I have a chest buckled to the bottom of my—”