Heart of Shadra

by Susan Faw

  Chapter 11

  Elemental Evidence

  SHIKOBA WOKE, CLAWING HER WAY back to consciousness. She thought she heard drums and dreamed of the tribal dancers with their clanking bangles and moccasins that jingled with bells, the low thrum the sound of pairs of pounding feet on the ceremonial spring boards. Utilizing the spring-levered boards gave more height to their kicks and tricks. Shikoba had always been a fan of the Spirit Dancers’ feathered costumes and garishly painted faces. Every animal of the tundra came to life in their movements. But as Shikoba lay listening to the sound, she came to understand that the rhythmic pounding was the beating of her own pulse echoing within her tender skull. She pushed aside the dream and swam toward consciousness, struggling to wake, but with the return of reality came a searing pain that scorched the inside of her skull. She blinked at the bright light spilling across her bed, then groaned, rolling onto her side and flinging her arm over her head.

  Get a grip, Shikoba. It is time to wake.

  That voice was not imagined.

  You must wake. Sarcee needs your help. The strange dragon is attacking the Shamankas’s home. I can feel it through the bond. You can feel it, too. Focus!

  Shikoba’s eyes opened, and she sat up. A distant roaring filled her ears, but this time it was from an external source. Flame was everywhere. Her curtains were on fire and dark smoke rolled across the ceiling, hungrily searching for a victim. It billowed toward her as she watched. Debris was scattered in all directions, flung by the force of the explosion. Her window was non-existent. Confused, she coughed into her sleeve and tried to make sense of her surroundings. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered toward the lone door. She stepped on shards of glass that cut her feet. She could not avoid them because she could not see them. Shikoba stumbled over to the darker rectangle that used to be a door. She reached out to steady herself against the frame. Her feet encountered a body, and she stumbled over the prone form. Dropping to her knees, she found Sarcee in human form, not moving.

  Sarcee! Are you okay? He did not reply but groaned with pain. She grabbed his arm and dragged him to a sitting position, giving him a little shake. Sarcee groaned. Sarcee! Help me. Shikoba put her arm under his shoulder and around his back then lifted him to his feet. She sucked in a breath of the foul air and choked, coughing on the dense smoke. She staggered to the door, pulling Sarcee with her out of the burning bedroom.

  The fire had spread into the corridor which was filled with flames. The door of the room opposite Shikoba’s was dark with thick black smoke that rolled across the underside of the ceiling. At the base of the wall to the right of the door, an elderly woman lay, still and unmoving. Shikoba peered into the room and on the lone bed a man lay, unconscious. The contents of a medical kit were scattered across the stone tile.

  “Sarcee.” Shikoba’s voice came out as a croak as she staggered across the hall. She coughed and fell to her knees taking Sarcee with her. “Sarcee, take care of her. I will get the man.” Shikoba crawled across the floor and into the bedroom, staying below the level of the smoke where the air was cleaner. Reaching the unconscious man, Shikoba pulled him onto the floor then began tugging him out of the room. Hoarse coughing spilled from their lips as their lungs struggled to find clean air in the burning room. Once she crossed the threshold of the room, she released the man from her grip and crawled back to the door, pulling it closed behind Sarcee to contain the smoke within the room.

  Marsai groaned and stirred on the floor, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Smoke curled around the edges of the abandoned room that had so recently housed Shikoba. She blinked at the sight of the shattered door then raised her hands and muttered a spell. A shimmering jelly flowed across the door surface, sealing the door and cutting off the smoke.

  Shikoba’s head dropped against the wall as exhaustion overtook her fear. “You must teach me,” she panted, “how to do that. How did you seal the door?”

  Marsai blinked, her pinched eyes causing a furrow to form in her brow. A similar pain was reflected in Shikoba’s eyes. “A simple spell. Perhaps you can be taught. I have sealed the door, Shikoba, but a dragon’s fire is not so easily extinguished. Best to let it burn itself out. The jelly will keep the door cool, and the stone will keep the fire from spreading.” She spared a glance for the man she had so recently treated. He appeared in the best shape of them all. Sarcee’s hair was singed and soot darkened his face. A large bleeding cut ran from above his brow to the base of his chin. Shikoba stared at Sarcee, horrified and fascinated at the same time. His blood was silver, not red.

  “Sarcee, you are hurt!”

  “His face will need stitching,” said Marsai.

  “No, Obsidian can heal me. It is part of the bond.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the dragon’s essence. Shikoba felt a stirring in the connection and a surge of magic. The edges of Sarcee’s skin wriggled then knitted together. His burnt hair fell away, and new hair replaced the damaged strands. Within a minute, he was completely healed. Not a hint remained to show he had ever been injured. “I am restored. Had this been a fatal wound though, Obsidian could not have saved me. Come, Shamankas, you require our care now.”

  Sarcee joined Shikoba at Marsai’s side and they lifted her between them. A large purple bruise decorated the swelling lump on her temple, and two fingers were broken on her right hand. They supported her as they walked deeper into the castle, following her instructions to a round room located near the center of the lodging. The walls were lined with bookshelves and at the center was another round fireplace, stacked with logs and ready for a flame.

  “Ignis,” said Marsai, pointing at the fire. Smoke curled from the kindling, crackling with heat that quickly caught on the bark of the logs. “Put me down over there, then bring our other guest,” she said, pointing to a well used couch.

  They eased her onto the leather surface but were halted when a male voice said, “No need to fetch me. I am here.” Chutzpa stood in the opening, his eyes flickering between the three of them. “Who do I have to thank for my care? Last I remember, I had been struck from behind by an arrow.”

  Marsai patted the couch beside her. “Come sit, and introduce yourself. I am Marsai, Shamankas of Shadra.” Chutzpa walked over and took the proffered seat, while Shikoba and Sarcee grabbed the chairs on the other side of the round fireplace, drawing them closer to the couch.

  “We need to splint those fingers. Do you have more supplies?” said Shikoba, taking Marsai’s injured fingers in her hand and examining the breaks. The fingers were purple, stiff, and swollen.

  “Yes, on the mantle of the round fireplace is a tin.”

  Shikoba retrieved the square tin from the mantle and carried it over to Marsai. The tin was decorated with winged creatures, one of which was clearly a dragon. The stamping was deep and sharp, the images clearly defined. She ran a finger over the dragon, then slid the clasps apart with her thumbs. The lid sprang open with the twang of springs releasing. Inside the box was a collection of basic medical supplies. Shikoba selected the spool of woven bandaging and a pot of thick cream from the container, and some thin sticks from the kindling box by the fire, then set about wrapping Marsai’s fingers.

  But Marsai had no interest in her ministrations. Her head was turned in the direction of their mysterious guest. “Speak, sir, what is your name? By your accent, we know you are not of this province. From where do you hail? And why have you come to Shadra?”

  Chutzpa bowed slowly from the waist, guided by the tenderness of his healing puncture. “I am Chutzpa. I am born in the province of Tunise. I am a grower of apples.”

  “Apples? What are apples?” said Shikoba, her brow wrinkling at the unfamiliar word.

  “They are an edible yellow fruit that grows on trees. They have a sweet flesh and a thin skin that protects it from bugs. They are about the size of a closed fist.” Three sets of eyes started at him in disbelief. He cleared his throat. “Anyways, I left my farm when my brother disappeared. I traced his wherea
bouts to Shadra. I am searching for him.”

  “Why would he cross the barrier to come to Shadra? There are no…”

  “Orchards. The word is orchards,” said Chutzpa

  “There are no oarshards here.” The word felt strange on Shikoba’s tongue. “He would have to travel across the bridge to the Citadel. He could not enter without a seal of approval from the Citadel guard, without a pass.” Shikoba eyes shifted to Marsai, double-checking that her information was still correct. When the Shamankas did not contradict her, she continued, “And no one comes to Shadra.”

  Chutzpa glared at her. He rolled his stiff shoulder, easing the residual pain that throbbed under his skin. “Nevertheless, that is what has occurred, but I do not believe my brother came here of his own accord.” He crossed his arms across his chest, his brows drawing down into a frown. His hawk-like gaze swept the room, taking in everyone present. “He was taken. I have tracked him to the escarpment that overlooks the sea.”

  “The sea? You have travelled all the way to the sea, through Shadra, in the dead of winter? Alone?” It was Marsai’s turn to frown.

  “Yes. I followed the caravans.”

  Marsai shook her head. “You are playing with dangerous toys, stranger.”

  Sarcee moved closer to Shikoba. I sense that there is great danger with these caravans, he said through the bond.

  Yes, I agree. I will try to find out more. Obsidian, how is your wing? said Shikoba.

  Healing, she sent back. What is the news in the stone house?

  I will send Sarcee back to fill you in on the details as soon as we discover the stranger’s intentions. Shikoba broke the contact, turning her attention back to Marsai.

  “Indeed. The caravan is a slave train,” said Chutzpa.

  The words brought Marsai to her feet. She glared at the stranger, offended. “Slaver wagons? In Shadra? Are you sure of what you saw? It is against our people’s beliefs. No one can enslave another. There would be war!”

  “I have seen it with my own eyes. I do not know the why or the how of it, but I have followed the wagons to the sea. I have seen their destination. It is the caves by the sea. Do you know what goes on there? Why would they need so many people? What is the purpose of the caves?”

  His voice pressed hard against Shikoba’s ears, demanding answers. She could feel the intensity of his gaze shift from Marsai to herself. His tone hardened. “I will have answers to this. I am grateful for your help, but I have not come all this way to fail or to abandon my search. Perhaps there is room for an alliance of sorts?”

  Shikoba gently pushed Marsai down into her chair, then turned her fierce gaze on Chutzpa. “Our people do not believe in imprisoning anything, including people. All of nature should be free and we protect this with our lives. What you say could only be evil inflicted by an outsider.” Her voice hardened. “If you have anything to do with this, you will wish that arrow had killed you, Tunisian.”

  “Didn’t I just say that I have been searching for my brother? I have tracked him to these caravans. I do not understand the where or the how of it, but a trail made by a wagon left the location that I last knew my brother to be, and I trace him to here.” His glare encompassed them all. “It appears to me that the Shadrian are in the business of enslaving people from other provinces. Once across the border, who will be the wiser? How it is being accomplished, I have not yet discovered, but I will make them pay when I do!”

  “Calm down, both of you.” Sarcee stepped between Shikoba and Chutzpa. “It is obvious that neither of us have any clue as to the truth. I suggest a truce and an alliance.” Shikoba’s eyes shifted to Sarcee’s. “We can search from the air while this Tunisian can only search from the ground. We can fly over the guards and see what evil stirs on our shores. If he tells the truth, we will be able to determine it.”

  “Sarcee speaks the truth,” Marsai rasped. “I have suspected for some time now that evil stirs on our shores. With your aid,” she waved her hand to encompass them all, “I think we can discover the truth of it all. Sit down, Chutzpa. You are welcome in my home.”

  Chutzpa unfolded his arms, relaxing his stance. He didn’t remember assuming his aggressive posture. He made his scowl vanish and gave Marsai a tentative smile.

  Marsai returned the smile. “We have much to discuss and much to plan. But first we need food and rest. It has been a most trying day for us all.”

  Shikoba did not relax. She shot Chutzpa a suspicious glare, then stalked across the rugs, her feet treading a silent path.

  “I am going to go check on Obsidian.” Sarcee grimaced, then followed her from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Chapter 12

  Shadrian Pride

  SHIKOBA KICKED AT THE MOSS as she stalked away from the house, seething with anger at the stranger’s words. Her pack was slung over her stiff shoulder. How dare he intimate that the Shadrian would engage in slavery? He knows nothing of our ways, of our honour. My people would rather die than imprison someone.

  Yes, but does he know that? Sarcee’s thoughts scraped across her anger, leaving a raw edge.

  It is his duty to know the truth before he speaks.

  Dragons do not worry about the honour of lesser species, Obsidian rumbled. It is assumed that lesser species are not as evolved as we are.

  Annoyance flitted across the bond. Now you defend him, too?

  I did not hear the conversation, little one. But from what I could hear of your thoughts and Sarcee’s I gather that the stranger believes there is slavery being practiced in Shadra.

  Shikoba crossed the bridge and turned in the direction of their recent fall from the sky where Obsidian waited. Yes, he believes that there are slavers in Shadra.

  If he has evidence, it has to be so. We are living in perilous times. Many have sworn allegiance to the emperor. Even your close friend Casper. Why do you find it so hard to believe that others may have done the same?

  Shikoba let out a heavy sigh that whistled through her pursed lips. We don’t know that Casper has turned to the emperor. I guess I don’t want it to be so, Sid. I don’t want to believe that my best friend, the one closest to me in this whole province, could have changed so much in the short time that I have been absent. The path twisted away from the stone fortress and into the deepening dark of the swamp. Shikoba stepped over a newly fallen log, the tree snapped in two by the most recent dragon attack.

  Sarcee jumped onto the log and fell into step beside Shikoba. The evidence is all around you, Shikoba. Ignoring it does not change the facts.

  There is no proof that the dragon is being ridden by Casper! Shikoba retorted.

  I think Sarcee is correct, little one, said Obsidian. I caught the scent of the dragon. It is not familiar to me. It must be one of the hatchlings, one of the stolen young.

  That doesn’t make the rider Casper! It could be any traitorous scum of a wizard. Shikoba strode down the short hill and into the clearing where Obsidian lay curled up like a dog, her head resting on her hind legs. Her tail wrapped around her feet and her head lifted as they entered the clearing. Shikoba hurried over to Obsidian and knelt by her side, stroking the ridges of her head. “How is your wing?”

  It is nothing, she snorted. I have hurt myself worse digging for my dinner.

  Spread your wing. I will heal the wound, said Sarcee. We can’t afford for it to become infected. Obsidian spread her wing, resting it on the ground. Her ebony scales sparkled with tiny flecks of white, a starry sky set in a heaven of obsidian. Several scales were fractured and torn. Sarcee placed his hands over the sharp edges and called forth the magic of the Djinn, working his way along the wing. The plates drew together and snapped back into alignment. Shikoba watched the ministrations while she absently pulled the mix for Obsidian’s jeweled meal from her pack. Her mind had drifted back to the stranger.

  “You know, the stranger could have been mistaken,” she mused, “but it really has nothing to do with our mission. We are here to bring down the barrier. The in
ternal politics of Shadra are important only so far as they interfere with our main objective.” She waved her hand in the direction of the coast. “If some overenthusiastic miner is bringing in workers from afar to harvest the salt fields, what is it to us? It doesn’t make them slavers. I say we stick to our original plan and tomorrow, we speak to the Shamankas about the bones and carry on with our mission. We need to find the source of the power for the barrier. We mustn’t fail in this.”

  “I agree,” said Sarcee. “We cannot solve all the ills of Shadra. Our focus must be on why we were sent here. Emperor Madrid grows stronger by the day. If you and your sisters of the heart fail in this task, the whole world will be enslaved. It will be much worse than anything that may or may not be happening on the coast of this province. We cannot afford to be distracted from our mission. The fate of two worlds, Gaia and Jintessa, rest on the outcome of our quest.”

  Three worlds, rumbled Obsidian. The world of dragons is not of Jintessa. Though we cohabit, our world is the skies and beyond.

  Shikoba nodded her head. Three worlds. Exactly how long do dragons live, Sid?

  Obsidian lifted her head and tilted it to one side as she considered the question. Dragons do not count time as humans do. Our young are hatched, this is true, but every dragon that has ever lived has lived before. We share our consciousness across the generations. There is no such thing as an elderly dragon.

  Really? I didn’t know that. Shikoba stroked Obsidian’s glossy scales. Then we are immortal, the three of us together?

  Sarcee shook his head. No. You are still mortal kind. You will continue to age, Shikoba, because that is your nature. It will be slowed due to the magic of our bond. But nothing can stop death in your species. It is the difference between our worlds and the reason why the time barrier exists. To come to Jintessa without a dragon’s help is to die in the attempt. That much of the stories of your land are true.