by Morgan Rice
*
Kyra stumbled through the night, chilled to the bone, glad Leo was with her and wondering how much longer she could go on. She had searched everywhere for shelter, for an escape from the biting wind and snow, and despite the risks, she had found herself gravitating toward the Wood of Thorns, the only place in sight. The Flames were far behind her by now, their glow no longer visible on the horizon, and the blood-moon had long ago been swallowed by the clouds, leaving her no light to see by. Fingers and toes numb again, her situation seemed to grow more dire by the moment. She began to wonder if it had been foolish to leave the fort at all. She wondered if her father, willing to give her away, would even care.
Kyra felt a fresh burst of anger as she continued through the snow, marching she was not sure where, but determined to get away from the life waiting for her. As another gale of wind passed and Leo whined, Kyra looked up and was surprised to see she had made it: before her lay the towering Wood of Thorns.
Kyra paused, feeling apprehensive, knowing how dangerous it was—even in the day, even in a group. To come here alone, and at night—and on Winter Moon, when spirits roamed—would be reckless. Anything, she knew, could happen.
But another gale whipped through, sending snow down the back of her neck and chilling her to the bone, and it drove Kyra forward, past the first tree, its branches heavy with snow, and into the wood.
As she entered, Kyra immediately felt relief. The thick branches sheltered her from the wind, and it was quieter in here. The raging snow was but a flurry in here, its fall broken by the thick branches, and for the first time since being outside, Kyra could see again. Even Already, she felt warmer.
Kyra used the opportunity to shake the snow off her arms and shoulders and hair, while Leo shook himself, too, snow flying everywhere. She reached into her sack and pulled out a piece of dried meat for him, and he snatched it eagerly as she stroked his head.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find us shelter, my friend,” she said.
Kyra continued deeper into the wood, looking for any shelter she could find, realizing she’d need to stay the night here to wait out the storm, wake to a new day, and continue her trek in the morning. She searched for a boulder to take shelter against, or the nook of a tree, or ideally a cave—anything—but found none.
Kyra trekked deeper, snow up to her knees, brushing against snowy branches in the thick wood; as she went, strange animal noises cried out all around her. She heard a deep purring noise beside her and she spun and peered into the thick branches—but it was too dark to see anything. Kyra hurried on, not wanting to contemplate what beasts might be lurking here, and in no mood for a confrontation. She clutched her bow tightly, unsure if she could even use it, given how numb her hands were.
Kyra ascended a gentle slope and as she crested it, she stopped and looked out, afforded a view down below as moonlight momentarily shone through an opening in the trees. Down below, before her, sat a glistening lake, its waters ice-blue, translucent, and she recognized it immediately: the Lake of Dreams. Her father had brought her here once, when she was a child, and they had lit a candle and placed it on a lily pad, in honor of her mother. This lake was rumored to be a sacred place, a vast mirror that allowed one to look into both life above and life below. It was a mystical place, a place you did not come without good reason, a place where heartfelt wishes could not be ignored.
Kyra hiked for the lake, feeling drawn to it. She stumbled down the steep hill, using her staff to steady herself, weaving between trees, slipping and steadying herself, until she reached its shore. Oddly enough, its shore, made of a fine white sand, was free of snow. It was magical.
Kyra knelt by the water’s edge, shivering from the cold, and looked down. In the moonlight, she saw her reflection, her blonde hair falling by her cheeks, her light gray eyes, her high cheekbones, her delicate features, looking nothing like her father or brothers, staring back at her. In her eyes, she was surprised to see a look of defiance, the eyes of a warrior.
As she looked at her reflection, she recalled her father’s words from so many years ago: a heartfelt prayer at the Lake of Dreams cannot be refused.
Kyra, at a crossroads in her life as never before, needed guidance now more than ever. She had never felt more confused as to what to do, where to go, next. She closed her eyes and prayed with all her might.
God, I don’t know who you are. But I ask your help. Give me something, and I shall give you whatever you ask in return. Show me which path to take. Give me a life of honor and courage. Of valor. Allow me to become a great warrior, to be at the mercy of no man. Allow me to have the freedom to do as I choose—not as someone else would choose for me.
Kyra knelt there, numb to the cold, at her wits’ end, with nowhere left to turn in the world, praying with all her heart and all her soul. She lost all sense of time and place.
Kyra had no idea how much time had passed when she opened her eyes, snowflakes on her eyelids. She felt changed somehow, she did not know how, as if an inner peace had settled over her. She looked down into the lake, and this time, what she saw took her breath away.
Staring back up at her she did not see her own reflection—but the reflection of a dragon. It had fierce, glowing yellow eyes, and ancient red scales, and she felt her blood run cold as it opened its mouth and roared at her.
Kyra, startled, wheeled, expecting to see a dragon standing over her. She looked everywhere, but saw nothing.
It was only her, and Leo, who whined softly.
Kyra turned and looked down at the lake again, and this time, saw only her face staring back.
Her heart slammed in her chest. Had it been some trick of the light? Of her own imagination? Of course, it could not have been possible—dragons had not visited Escalon in a thousand years. Was she losing her mind? What could this all mean?
Kyra flinched as she suddenly heard a terrifying noise from far off in the woods, something like a howl, or possibly a cackle. Leo heard it, as he turned and snarled, his hair rising. Kyra searched the woods and in the distance saw a faint glow from behind the tree line. It was as if there were a fire—but there was no fire. Only an eerie, white glow.
Kyra felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as she felt as if another world were beckoning her. She felt as if she had opened a portal to the other world. As much as every part of her screamed to turn and run, she found herself mesmerized, found her body acting for her as she got up and began to make her way inextricably toward the light.
Kyra hiked up the hill with Leo, the glow getting brighter as she weaved between the trees. Finally she reached the ridge, and as she did, she stopped short, aghast. Before her, in a small clearing, was a sight she could have never expected—and one she would never forget.
An old woman, face whiter than the snow, grotesque, covered in warts and scars, stared down at what appeared to be a fire below her, holding her wrinkled hands to it. But the fire burned a bright white, and there were no logs beneath it. She looked up at Kyra with ice-blue eyes, eyes with no whites, all color, and no pupils. It was the scariest thing Kyra had ever seen, and her heart froze within her. Everything within her told her to turn and run, but she could not help herself as she stepped closer.
“The Winter Moon,” the old lady said, her voice unnaturally deep, as if a bullfrog had spoken. “When the dead are not quite alive and the alive not quite dead.”
“And which are you?” Kyra asked, stepping forward.
The woman cackled, a horrific sound that sent a chill up her spine. Beside her, Leo snarled.
“The question is,” the woman said, “which are you?”
Kyra frowned.
“I am alive,” she insisted.
“Are you? In my eyes, you are more dead than me.”
Kyra wondered what she meant, and she sensed it was a rebuke, a rebuke for not going forth boldly and following her own heart.
“What is it you seek, brave warrior?” the woman asked
Kyra’s heart quickened at t
he term, and she felt emboldened.
“I want a bigger life,” she said. “I want to be a warrior. Like my father.”
The old woman looked back down into the light, and Kyra was relieved to have her eyes off of her. A long silence fell over them as Kyra waited, wondering.
Finally, as the silence stretched forever, Kyra’s heart fell in disappointment. Perhaps the woman would not respond. Or perhaps her wish was not possible.
“Can you help me?” Kyra asked, finally. “Can you change my destiny?”
The women looked back up, her eyes aglow, intense, scary.
“You’ve picked a night when all things are possible,” she replied slowly. “If you want something badly enough, you can have it. The question is: what are you willing to sacrifice for it?”
Kyra thought, her heart pounding with the possibilities.
“I will give anything,” she said. “Anything.”
There came another long silence as the wind howled. Leo began to whine.
“We are each born with a destiny,” the old woman finally said. “Yet we must also choose it for ourselves. Fate and free-will, they perform a dance, your whole life long. There is a constant tug of war between the two. Which side wins…well, that depends.”
“Depends on what?” Kyra asked.
“Your force of will. How desperately you want something—and how graced you are by God. And perhaps most of all, what you are willing to give up.”
“I will sacrifice,” Kyra said, feeling the strength rising up within her. “I will sacrifice everything not to live the life that others have chosen for me.”
In the long silence that followed, the woman stared into her eyes with such an intensity, Kyra nearly had to turn away.
“Vow to me,” the old woman said. “On this night, vow to me that you will pay the price.”
Kyra stepped forward solemnly, her heart pounding, feeling her life was about to change.
“I vow,” she proclaimed, meaning it more than any words she had uttered in her life.
The certainty of her tone cut through the air, her voice carrying an authority which surprised even her.
The old woman looked at her, and for the first time, she nodded, as her face morphed into what appeared to be a look of respect.
“You will be a warrior—and more,” the woman proclaimed loudly, raising her palms out to her side, her voice booming, louder and louder as she continued. “You will be the greatest of all warriors. Greater than your father. More than this, you will be a great ruler. You will achieve power beyond what you could dream. Entire nations will look to you.”
Kyra’s heart was slamming in her chest as she listened to the woman’s proclamation, spoken with such authority, as if it had already happened.
“Yet you will also be tempted by darkness,” the woman continued. “There will be a great struggle within you, darkness battling light. If you can defeat yourself, then the world will be yours.”
Kyra stood there, reeling, hardly believing it all. How was it possible? Surely, she must have the wrong person. No one had ever told her she would be important, that she would be anything special. It all seemed so foreign to her, so unattainable.
“How?” Kyra asked. “How is this possible? I am but a girl.”
The woman smiled, an awful, evil smile that Kyra would remember for the rest of her life. She stepped in close, so close that Kyra shook with fear.
“Sometimes,” the old woman grinned, “your fate is waiting for you just around the corner, with your very next breath.”
There came a sudden flash of light, and Kyra shielded her eyes as Leo snarled and pounced for the old woman.
When Kyra opened her eyes, the light was gone. The woman was gone, Leo leaping at thin air. The forest clearing held nothing but blackness.
Kyra looked everywhere, baffled. Had she imagined the whole thing?
Suddenly, as if to answer her thoughts, there came a horrific, primordial shriek, as if the heavens themselves had cried out. Kyra stood there, frozen in place, and she thought of the lake. Of her reflection
Because, although she had never set eyes upon one, she knew, she just knew that was the shriek of a dragon. That it was waiting for her, just beyond the clearing.
Standing there alone, the woman gone, Kyra felt herself reeling as she tried to process what just happened, what it all could mean. Most of all, she tried to understand that noise. It was a roar, a sound unlike any she had ever heard, so primal, as if the earth were being born. It at once terrified her and drew her in, leaving her no place else to go. It resonated through her in a way she could not understand, and she realized it was a sound she had been hearing somewhere in the back of her head her entire life.
Kyra tore through the woods, Leo beside her, stumbling knee-deep in the snow, branches snapping her in the face and she not caring, feeling an urgency to reach it. For as it screeched again, Kyra knew it was a sound of distress.
The dragon, she knew, was dying—and it desperately needed her help.
CHAPTER TEN