A dragon shot out of the cavern, its massive multi-colored wings catching the sun. Soothing warmth washed through Ezaara. “Don’t worry,” Zaarusha melded. “Only five more days until the council gets him.”
Five days that stretched into forever.
§
Lovina passed Tomaaz Maazini’s saddlebag, her eyes bright. “And then Taliesin told me he’d had nightmares for the five nights before you came home, just like I did. The poor boy.”
“Is that so?” He was listening, but distracted by the malicious gossip he’d heard about Ezaara in the mess cavern. Someone at the next table had said Ezaara was a mage and had magicked the council members to let her be Queen’s Rider. Ridiculous. He threw the saddlebags over Maazini’s back. His dragon stood so Tomaaz could fasten the straps.
Ajeurina nuzzled Maazini. The siblings were happy to be reunited after her being on swayweed and Maazini being Zen’s captive. Roberto was still in Death Valley. Shards, it’d been five days since Tomaaz had returned. The council had to do something.
“When I told Master Hans, he said Taliesin might also have the gift of prophecy.”
“What?” Now Lovina had his full attention. “So, both of you have the gift?”
“Don’t you see? Taliesin and I both had nightmares about you being hurt—from the day you were attacked until you got home. Once you were healed, they stopped.”
Tomaaz rubbed his hip. Thank the Egg for Ma and piaua. “So, is Pa going to train you both?”
She nodded. “Your pa says, at the beginning, its usual to have visions or dreams about people you know. The trick is to train yourself to seek visions about the realm. Apparently, it’s like casting a fishing net in the ocean, instead of using a line in a pond.” She shrugged. “I’ll learn.”
“I’m sure you will. You’re so talented.” He squeezed her hand. She was finding her place in the world. No longer a slave, she was an artist, a dragon rider, and now, a visionary.
Maazini snorted impatiently. “Well?”
“Ajeurina wants to fly, too. We’d better go before they take off without us.” Lovina laughed.
Her laughter made him smile. They climbed into their saddles. Maazini bunched his legs and leaped off the ledge. A thrill coursed through Tomaaz. His heart stuttered and his stomach dropped as they swooped over the forest, Ajeurina and Lovina at their side. The wind tugged Lovina’s hair from her braid and pinked her cheeks. Today she was absolutely radiant. Since imprinting with Ajeurina, her smile had gone from being shy to courageous.
Their dragons flew out over the basin. Soon, duty would call, but for now they had time together.
§
On the ledge outside the mess cavern, Tonio interrupted himself mid-sentence and pointed over the basin at Maazini and Ajeurina. “Look at them, Lars.”
Maazini tilted his wing and banked, before descending. Ajeurina mimicked him a heartbeat later.
Lars sighed. Not this again. “I know what you’re going to say—but this doesn’t prove anything.”
“Ajeurina is a half a wingbeat behind Maazini,” said Tonio. “Tomaaz and Lovina are sitting differently, moving out of sync, so it’s obvious they’re not mind-melding. The dragons are close, brother and sister, to Zaarusha and Erob’s mother and son partnership, but it’s all four melding together that made those other partnerships so incredible. Hans, Handel, Marlies and Liesar. And Yanir, Syan and Anakisha and Zaarusha. You’ve seen them fly. Seen them think in battle; their speed and efficiency were a strategic advantage.”
“Yes, they had an advantage.” One Tonio and Lars had been envious of. Lars’ Lydia hadn’t imprinted and Tonio’s wife was dead. But that jealousy didn’t give Tonio license for a vendetta. This whole business was growing old. “And?”
Tonio whirled, eyes stormy. “Master Roberto was kissing his trainee. Antonika saw it. Dragons don’t lie. We’ve both seen them fly together. The four of them were mind-melding.”
“Master Roberto is stuck in Death Valley, and—”
“Where he belongs,” snapped Tonio. “Amato’s spawn is rotten to the core. Corrupting trainees, influencing the Queen’s Rider. I bet Zens is training him again, right now.”
Lars sighed. “Isn’t that all the more reason to rescue him?”
“What? Because our lovesick Queen’s Rider is missing him?”
Lars shrugged. No, because he was a valuable master on the council, but telling Tonio that would only antagonize him. Tonio had never wanted Roberto to become a master. It always came back to him hating Amato.
Tonio leaned in. “Roberto may have even persuaded Ezaara, using his mental talents. Who’s to say it’s genuine affection and not mental force that’s making her nag us to rescue him.”
Lars had never considered that. Until this was cleared up and the dragon race was done, he had no choice but to leave Roberto where he was. His conscience pricked, but at least it was better than Roberto being banished outright. This way there was still hope. He shook his head. That was crazy. Since when was being captive to Zens called hope?
Vengeance
It must be night again. 000 and Zens were gone and the torches had burned low, the sole indication of time passing in this underground hellhole. Roberto cricked his neck. At least, only one of his hands was chained.
He pulled on a thread in the cuff of his jerkin until a clear-mind berry popped out. With clumsy fingers he slid it off the thread and ate it—his only defense against Zens’ numlocked water. His grimy, blood-coated fingernails were starting to pink again. Reaching into a discreet pouch along the inside of his belt line, Roberto extracted a pinch of dragon’s scale and ate the gray powder. That should keep his fingernails and eyes gray, disguising the fact that he wasn’t numlocked.
He let his mind back up to the surface and reached out with his senses.
Ah, peace. Zens must be asleep. It was the only time he didn’t torture Roberto mentally. He tried to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was parched. 000 would bring water in the morning. There was nothing to do, except wait and enjoy the peace while Zens slept.
His body was one dull mass of aches, with sharp pain in his ribs when he moved. He cast his mind out. What was that? Not a tharuk—the sense of intelligence was too keen. Not a slave—there was no numlock at play in this mind. By the shards of the First Egg, he was mind-melding with Zens. Roberto was about to withdraw when an image hit him.
Zens was having a nightmare.
He was trapped in a dark space, pushing against two heavy doors, a crack of light shining between them. Locked, the doors wouldn’t budge. Zen slammed his body into them, panic tightening his chest. He couldn’t get out. He pounded his fists against the wood.
Hang on. They were small fists, like a littling’s. In this dream, Zens was young.
Something thudded into the doors. Zens sprang back, hitting his head on a wall, and slid down, whimpering in a corner.
He was in a tiny dark space, like a cupboard.
“Shuddup, scummy kid,” someone bellowed.
Fear spiked through Zens’ belly and he trembled, huddling in the corner. Flashes of a face shot through his mind, too fast for Roberto to grasp. Zens sat for hours, fear building, his stomach a grinding mass of nerves. Gradually, a new sensation fought with his fear. Zens struggled to hold his bladder, but failed. Whimpering, he wet himself. His sobs were heartbreaking. Skin burning, he sat in his damp breeches for hours, waiting. Eventually, he fell asleep.
Zens pried his eyes open, wincing as the harsh light hit him.
“Not again, you stinking whelp.” Large arms yanked him out of the cupboard, dangling him in the air. A huge man with malicious yellow eyes snarled, “You’ll be cleaning that stink up yourself.”
Zens’ surroundings were strange. Whatever world he came from, it was nothing like Roberto’s.
Zens was in an enormous room with metal walls as shiny as a newly-forged blade. Strange tabletops and work benches lined the walls, littered with vials, glass tubes and stands. Something
bubbled in a glass pot on a benchtop. The fire underneath it was not powered by wood, but came out of a metal stand with a red tube attached to it.
What sort of wizardry was this?
A metallic scent hit him. A human body lay upon a bench, cut open, flesh peeled back, with the entrails showing. Along the back wall were huge glass urns containing liquid, with creatures swimming inside them.
Breathing ragged, Roberto broke mind-meld. If he wasn’t careful, he’d give himself away. Once he’d controlled his shock, Roberto slipped back into Zens’ mind.
The man threw Zens into a metal tub, mounted in a bench. Zens pushed a shiny handle and water came out of a spigot. He bathed himself in warm water.
More wizardry.
After he’d bathed, Zens pulled on a suit of soft fabric.
“Done, are you?” said the yellow-eyed man. “Now clean up that mess.”
The man shoved some rags and a clear bottle—too light to be glass—into Zens’ hands. The boy stumbled to the cupboard to clean up his mess.
The stench of stale urine and blood made Roberto’s empty stomach roil.
Zens squeezed a handle on the neck of the bottle and a fine spray shot out of the strange spout-shaped lid. When he was done, Zens threw away the rags. “Sorry, Papa.”
The man towered over him. Eyes slitted, he backhanded Zens so hard his jaw snapped shut.
Zens bit his tongue, the coppery tang flooding his mouth. He curled in a ball, blows raining on his head. Blinding flashes of pink and yellow seared through his mind.
Roberto snapped mind-meld. Nausea hit him as his memories of Amato beating him resurfaced. He almost pitied Zens, until he remembered the countless slaves he’d murdered and villages he’d razed in his quest for power. He tried to moisten his lips again, and failed.
Should he dive back in? What if Zens woke?
Despite his trepidation, Roberto slunk back into Zens’ mind, a silent witness to his worst nightmares.
The man kicked Zens in the gut. He retched on the floor, clutching his abdomen. Dark blood flew out of his mouth as he vomited, splattering the cupboards under the benches.
Aiming a final kick at the boy, Zens’ father spat on him. “Clean your filth up.” He left the room, slamming the door.
The scene of Zens’ nightmare changed.
Zens was in the center of a group of littlings, taunting him and jeering.
“Your father smack your nose in?”
“How’d it get half way across your face? Fall off a roof again?”
“You’re uglier than ever—suits you.”
Shame knifed through Zens. He lashed out with his fist and connected with someone’s stomach. As cries broke out, he fled along a shiny metal corridor. Flexing his fingers, he shook his hand, but the pain felt good. Better than cowering in shame.
A new memory surfaced.
A thin dark-haired woman was seated on a high stool at one of the workbenches in the room where Zens had wet himself. “This won’t hurt a bit,” she crooned, strapping Zens’ arms, legs, chest and neck to a worktable. She tightened the bands and gave him an acrid red drink, cradling his head as he swallowed.
Sweet dreams flowed through him—of sunny beaches edged by vast forests full of colored birds. Zens reveled in the air’s salty tang, the cool water lapping around his ankles and the sun on his skin.
Something pricked the soles of his feet. Heat surged through them, building until his feet were blazing hot. His body convulsed. The bands cut into him. Small, neat stabs of pain trailed up his legs. Fire seared his veins. He was burning up. He screamed for help, “Mama.”
“You’re all right, darling,” responded the dark-haired woman, her eyes cold as she plunged needles into his arms.
His arms were on fire. His chest, his belly.
She stuck a needle into his neck.
His head throbbed with heat. “No, Mama,” Zens whimpered, over and over.
The woman stalked from the room without a backward glance.
Zens twisted and writhed but couldn’t escape the burning.
An age later, the fire ebbed and he collapsed like an empty sack. Everything went black.
Had Zens stopped dreaming? Gods, his parents were devils, evil torturers.
Light entered through a narrow window high in a wall. Dawn was breaking. Zens was still strapped to the table. His body ached all over. What had his parents done to him this time? Darkness clawed inside Zens, robbing him of hope.
Muted voices sounded. Large metals doors were flung open. His parents entered. Zens’ mother flicked a tiny lever in the wall and white light flooded out of strange globes in the ceiling.
Zens’ eyeballs were on fire. He squeezed them shut, trying to stamp out the burning with his lids.
“Open them,” barked his father, his voice grating, hurting Zens’ ears and head.
Zens opened his eyes, but the light burned them. Through a film of tears, he faced his parents, still bound to the bench.
“Oh, God.” Zens mother recoiled. “What have we done?’
“He’s a monster.” Even his father looked shocked.
“What have we done? This experiment was supposed to give him extraordinary mental powers to help subdue our enemies, but look at him.”
“As ugly as sin.” His father grimaced.
“Papa,” Zens’ littling voice shook. “Mama?”
His mother turned on his father, lips tight with rage. “I told you we shouldn’t use that DNA, but you wouldn’t listen.”
Roberto had no idea what she was talking about, but Zens seemed to.
“Mama,” Zens whimpered. “What is it?”
His mother held up a mirror. Zens’ eyes had become enormous yellow orbs. His head had grown and his neck had thickened. All of his hair had fallen out. He was ugly. Uglier than ever before. The bullies would never stop taunting him.
“Let me go,” he yelled, bucking against his restraints.
“You’re uglier than a scum-sucking dog, but it might have worked.” His father’s smile sent chills down his neck. Turning to Zens’ mother, he said, “Let’s test his powers.”
Zens lay helpless, crying, on the workbench.
Zens’ dream flipped to the same corridor where Roberto had seen him being taunted.
He was surrounded by a crowd of littlings.
“Your eyes are big and yellow. Did your daddy’s experiment go wrong?”
Experiment? That word again. Its meaning eluded Roberto.
“Your body’s huge. How did you get so big?”
“Yeah, what have they been feeding you? Pig slop?”
“Your ugly nose is still squashed, though—that’s how we recognized you.” A girl shoved him.
A rush of power coursed through Zens. He pointed at the girl, and squeezed his fist. The girl gurgled, clutching her throat. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.
At last, it was his turn to be strong. Zens laughed—his voice rumbling out of his bull-like chest.
The others fled, screaming. Rejoicing in his power, Zens dropped another two before the corridor was empty.
Zens’ memories flashed by: jabbing animals with needles in his parents’ metal room; slicing samples of their tusks, fur, and flesh; setting the samples into fluid-filled jars; watching them grow; all the while, making notes.
He was following in his parents’ footsteps—bending nature with strange magic. A blur of images passed before Roberto’s eyes, then one came into focus.
Zens was older, hauling a furry, tusked creature out of an enormous jar and helping it stand. Its nose was snout-like and its beady eyes, red. A tharuk.
Elation surged through Zens. He’d done it. He hugged the beast. “Welcome to my world, 000. Together we’ll strike our enemies.”
The tharuk growled, rubbing its head against Zens’ palm. Zens laughed, patting it.
Footsteps and voices echoed outside the room. Zens thrust 000 into a metal cupboard to one side of the entrance doors, sending it mental in
structions.
Roberto flinched. Surely, he’d misunderstood.
The door flew open and Zens’ father entered. “Still mucking around? You’ll never amount to anything.” He spat in Zens’ face.
“It’s not his fault. We ruined him. Can’t you give him a break?” Zens’ mother pleaded, wringing her hands.
“Mother, come and see what I’ve made.” Zens called her over, taking advantage of her soft spot for him. “Here, in this jar.” He escorted her toward his jar nearest the cupboard.
Falling for his lure, she came closer. “Has one of your pets grown, dear? Do show me. It’s a shame you can’t go to school anymore, but after you harmed those boys … let me see. It doesn’t look much larger.”
The cupboard doors flew open. 000 burst out, roaring. It lunged at Zens’ father. Grabbing him in its strong arms, it squeezed his ribs until they punctured his clothing, blood soaking his shirt. 000 twisted the carcass. Its claws slashed the man’s neck open with his claws. It ripped his belly open with its tusks, flinging entrails over the room.
‘Enough,” called Zens, “Now it’s mother’s turn.”
Her screams were silenced as the tharuk ripped her head off with a sweep of its claws and smashed it against the metal cupboards, splattering gray tissue over the walls.
§
Zens woke with a pounding headache. His nightmares had been riddled with memories of his parents. When the nightmares came, they came hard and fast—always about their experiments. “Your father and I bred you as a living experiment,” his mother used to say, filled with pride, as they’d meddled with his DNA. Idiots. That had been their downfall. They’d changed him so his mental and physical powers had exceeded theirs. And his lust for power. They’d only wanted to control the world, whereas Zens was determined to rule other worlds as well his own.
At least, that had been his plan until that master wizard had shut the portal.
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