Chapter Nine
I lean against the back of the sofa, my mind only half awake. My eyelids are heavy as I attempt to keep my gaze fixed on the broken window pane in the balcony door. The night has come and gone under my sleepless watch, and it is only as morning approaches that I begin to feel drowsy.
The pitch darkness of night has brightened into a grey haze, but it is still laden with the same dense hopelessness as before. Usually morning gives me a small glimmer of hope for my dreary future, and reawakens dreams of freedom in my heart. But here in Gaiztoak, the very air clouds my mind with doubt and fear.
A dark shape passes across the broken pane, and I bolt upright. It disappears around the tower before I can make it out, and I become aware of the same sound of beating wings that I heard last night when Bellator and her dragon attacked me. Only this time, it isn’t followed by that bloodcurdling screech.
I rise to my feet and draw my dagger, watching the entrance to the balcony for any sign of movement. My heart races as the beating sound continues, but I see no sign of the dragon.
Suddenly, a smaller, dark figure drops lightly onto the balcony, stooping quickly to its hands and knees. It stays that way for a moment, and then rises slowly and silently to its feet. Even though the figure is blurred by the glass in the door, I know who it is.
Bellator pushes the doors softly open, and tiptoes into the room. Her helmet is on her head now, and she is fully armed with her bow and a quiver of arrows at one side, a belt of daggers around her waist, and a sword at her other side.
She stops short when she sees me and puts up her hands in mock surprise. “Whoa! Easy there, half-breed. I thought you were asleep!”
“Would you prefer that I was?” I demand coldly. “Perhaps so you can more easily kill me?”
She clicks her tongue, wagging a finger at me. “Someone’s a little cranky. Didn’t get much sleep last night, did we?”
My irritation grows. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh dear. You don’t look too good at all. Were you up all night?”
I point my dagger at her. “Answer my question!”
The corner of her mouth turns up in a smirk. “Were you frightened?”
“You would be too if you had to worry about someone coming in and trying to kill you while you slept.”
“That’s why no one knows where I sleep.” She wipes her bangs under the rim of her helmet. They are damp with perspiration and a thick strand sticks to her forehead. “Put the knife away and come with me.”
I eye her with suspicion. “Where do you plan to take me?”
“I think you’ll like it. If you’re brave, that is.”
I hesitate. “You’re not going to try to kill me again, are you?”
She snorts, but doesn’t make any promises. “Come on! Fyra is waiting outside.”
“Fyra?” I repeat, casting a nervous glance into the sky.
“Fyra, my dragon.”
I slide my knife into my belt, not feeling very encouraged. But I keep my hand close to the hilt in case she tries anything.
Bellator goes back to the balcony and steps up onto the parapet, spreading out her arms to both sides like a bird in flight. Glancing over her shoulder, she beckons for me to follow. I approach warily and look up at the sky. The dark shape of her dragon is nowhere in sight.
“Follow me!” she cries, and dives over the edge.
My stomach drops with her, and a shocked cry escapes my throat. I throw myself to the railing and look down. Her body is plummeting toward the sharp rocks at the foot of the tower, stretched out like a leaf in the wind. I expect at any second to see her crash into the cliff side, and fall forever into the depths below. But then a black form almost too swift for the eye to behold shoots past me and is beneath her in an instant. It opens its wings, stopping itself mid-dive, and she lands on its back, unharmed. She leans forward, resting a hand on the beast’s head, and they sweep around as smoothly as if Bellator were just another extension of the dragon’s body.
“Your turn!” she calls as they begin their ascent back toward me.
I must be a fool for even considering this.
And yet I find myself climbing up onto the railing. My knees wobble and I fling out my arms to catch my balance. The rocks below seem to sharpen their teeth and the water opens its foaming mouth to receive me. I am well aware this is probably a trick on Bellator’s part, trying to get me to commit suicide, or something equally as cruel. But a small voice within urges me to jump anyways.
As though she hears my inner voice, Bellator shouts, “Jump!” as the dragon soars past me.
I look down again, and the small voice grows still quieter. I’m not an imbecile. And yet I long to be able to jump like that. To feel like I am flying for even a brief moment. To grasp that kind of freedom. The thought exhilarates me.
Besides, Bellator was right. There are things worse than death, and serving Zeldek is one of them.
I take a deep breath and let myself fall forward.
The next few moments are both magical and terrifying. The ground rushes toward me and the air sweeps past me. I feel like a bird, floating through the air at my own leisure, free at last! A shout of exhilaration and pure joy escapes me, and I let it. I don’t remember a time that I have felt so happy. But as the ground continues to approach, panic begins to replace my joy. I force myself to remain calm, waiting for the dragon to swoop underneath me. But it doesn’t. The ground is so near that I can almost feel myself crashing into it, and all that I can do is brace myself.
I hit the ground, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as I expected it would. Once the air forced out by the impact refills my lungs, I realize that I didn’t hit the ground after all. I am still in the air. I am, in fact, floating upward. I feel pressure on my chest and when I look down I see four of the dragon’s formidable, scaly talons wrapped around my body.
“I didn’t think you’d jump!” Bellator calls, looking down at me over the dragon’s neck.
She sounds impressed.
But I don’t have time to answer. Bellator disappears again, and Fyra dives over the edge of the cliff. We speed right for the water until we are almost swallowed up by it, then stabilize abruptly to hover over the rocky waves. The spray of the ocean drenches me to the skin and my dangling feet cut a line through the surface of the water. Then, without warning, we shoot back up into the sky.
Something entirely foreign to me comes out of nowhere and fills my throat. Laughter. It comes out as an odd croaking sound, but it is laughter nonetheless. And it feels good. So good that I find myself wishing that I had cause to do it more often.
Fyra does a summersault in the air and glides back toward the tower, which is by now barely visible in the mist. As we sweep over the spire of the tower the mist clears away, and I gasp in wonder at the landscape below us.
Beneath us is Gaiztoak in all its splendour. Nestled in the rocky surface of a mountain is a large, five-pointed star which makes up Zeldek’s palace. Between each spike of the star is a steaming pool of lava entrapped by a circular wall that surrounds the star. A jagged tower protrudes from the centre of the star, seeming to scrape the sky itself. At the tip of each spike is a smaller version of that tower, but each is magnificent nonetheless. One of these towers is the one that I am now forced to call home.
Surrounding the pentagram is a rough mountain range that acts as a natural protective barrier. Zeldek has made good use of it. Defence towers and beacons have been built into it at fitting intervals and a walkway snakes across the mountaintop between each of them. I can see a dark hollow in the centre of the mountain where a tunnel has been built to allow access to the outside world, but it is barred by a huge iron gateway.
The flatland between the mountain range and the pentagram is dry and barren, and dotted with what appear to deep pits. Wisps of smoke twist from them, joining the rest of the haze above Gaiztoak. Even more curious are the dark shapes that move among them, disappearing into the pits and emerging fr
om them at their own leisure. The only thing clear of the pits and shapes is a large, oval-shaped stretch of ground near the ocean’s side. Toward this Fyra swoops.
As we near the ground, the dragon opens her talons and drops me. I barely have time to gasp before I land. I roll through the dust, skidding to an abrupt halt a few meters away. Pain vibrates up the side of my body that I landed on, but not enough to indicate that anything is broken. I push myself to my hands and knees, coughing the dust from my lungs.
Fyra settles across the arena from me. Awe sweeps over me as I get a clear view of her for the first time. She is all around the biggest, most majestic creature that I have ever laid eyes upon. Armoured with a coat of shining black scales and equipped with razor sharp spikes on her head and at the end of her lizard-like tail, she is very much as dangerous as her rider. A long, forked tongue flits in and out between her sharp fangs as she pants from her exertion, and she folds her massive, bat-like wings to her sides. Her red eyes sparkle like rubies and there is a deep, ageless look in them that I’ve never before observed in a living being.
Bellator leaps from the dragon’s back before it has fully landed and strides toward me. She pulls her helmet from her head and tosses it to the side, her hair falling about her face in tangles. She pushes it back with one hand to reveal an annoyingly mysterious smirk.
“Well, what do you think?”
For a moment, I think that she is talking about herself and I am grasping for something to say when I realize that she’d gestured to everything in general.
“Oh!” I stammer, glancing around. “Right! Yeah. It’s nice. Has a lot of interesting detail. And fire. Who would have thought to use a mountain range as a wall?”
She grimaces in irritation. “I was talking about Fyra.”
I try to speak clearly, but my tongue won’t let me. “Oh- oh, right. Her. She’s great too. Flying is amazing!”
My stammering only makes her more irritated, driving away the sliver of friendliness behind her tone.
“Oh, shut up!” she snaps.
A menacing glint sparks in her eyes, similar to the look she had when she threw the knife at me last night.
My mouth goes dry and I back away, beginning to see my immediate surroundings more clearly. The ground is packed solid, as if trampled down by many feet over a long period of time. Battered targets are set up along the precipice walls and the splintered remains of arrow shafts litter the ground around them. I realize for the first time that I am standing in the middle of a fighting arena.
I gulp. “Why did you bring me here?”
I expect her to smirk, to mock, to gloat. But she doesn’t. Instead, she gives me a long, blank stare. “So, you have magic,” she says at last.
“I’m told so.”
“No!” She shouts it so suddenly that I jump out of my skin, scurrying backward. “You must know so with all of your being, or you will achieve nothing! Erase the doubt from your mind, and accept it. You have magic!”
“I- I have magic.”
She advances toward me, her hand on the crook of her bow. I retreat a step with every step that she takes. “Do not hesitate! These powers will be with you for the rest of your life, whether you want them or not. So far, they have sharpened your reflexes to create a defensive shield around you, but they won’t end there. You’ll be able to see things no one else can see, hear things that no one else can hear. You’ll be able to move things without touching them, make things happen without meaning to. Your power is a gift as well as a curse; you must use it with wisdom. If you do not, you will only destroy yourself and everything around you and everyone you touch!”
Fear lumps in my throat.
Somehow, she senses it. “Do not fear it. Welcome it! Fear causes you to lose control, and that is something you must never do when you possess such power.”
I nod, swallowing back my fear. But my heart replaces it in my throat as she jerks an arrow from her quiver, nocks her bow, and directs her aim at my chest. She releases it, and I throw myself to the ground in a panic. The arrow barely misses and strikes the ground a few feet behind me.
“Get up!” she orders, pulling another arrow from her quiver.
I scurry to my feet just in time for her to loose the second arrow at me. A cold wave of that new energy flashes through me. My hand goes for my dagger and I slash her arrow out of the air.
Bellator straightens up, a sudden look of interest glinting in her eyes. “Ah, I see it now.”
“W-what do you see?”
“Your eyes flash blue when you use magic. I wonder what your element is…” She dwells on this thought for only a moment. “Now, fight back!”
She has already slung her bow back over her shoulder and is holding a drawn sword in her hands. My vision sharpens. I note how she is standing, her exact footing, and what she is going to do the moment before she does it. When she leaps toward me, bringing down her blade toward my head, I am able to block it with my knife. She quickly follows it with a thrust, which I knock to the side. But then she whirls around, slashing at me. I underestimate the length of her sword and the tip of her blade cuts through the left sleeve of my shirt. I gasp as the warm metal pierces my skin. My focus cracks. I put my hand to the cut and try to stop the steady flow of blood.
“Pay attention!” Bellator snaps, thrusting her sword at me again.
“Wait!” I gasp, barely stopping her sword with my knife.
But she doesn’t. She slashes at me again and I duck just in time. Her blade passes over my head, but when she brings it back, she puts it under my guard, cutting across my right thigh.
My knife slips from my hand and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. I lose my footing and stumble to the ground. Blood darkens the fabric of my trousers. I clutch my leg, my breath hissing through clenched teeth.
She points her sword at my chest. “Get up!”
I try to push myself up, but my leg has grown weak with shock. I fall to my hands and knees, shaking my head.
“I can’t!”
“I don’t care!” she shouts, thrusting her sword at me again.
I attempt to block her blow, but I am too slow. Her blade pierces my side. This time I do scream, pressing my fists over the wound.
“You have to trust your abilities!” Bellator shouts, her eyes afire. “You have to feel the power flowing through you at all times! And you certainly must never give up during a fight! Do you understand me? Never! You’re a natural fighter with an incredible gift, but none of that matters if you are going to give up as soon as you feel a little pain!”
Angry tears sting my eyes. “I don’t want to be a fighter!”
“That doesn’t matter!” she shouts just as angrily. “If you expect to survive for much longer, you have to be one! Fight through the pain! You won’t get anywhere if you sit around whining when you get a little cut up!”
“You think you’re the first person to hurt me for their own amusement? It’s like I was born to be hurt! When’s it gonna stop?!”
Her cheeks flush a dark red. “Never! People will never stop hurting you until you make them. I’m trying to show you that, but you’re too busy wallowing in self-pity to listen!”
I feel a pang of guilt. She is right, and I know that. But the anger is still there.
“I never asked for your help.”
The venom in her voice doubles, but the volume of her tone lowers decidedly. “I don’t care what you asked for! You will either learn to control your magic, or you won’t. But I would rather see you learn and free yourself from the bonds of your kind than have you waste away in misery! Why? Because I’m not the heartless beast that you apparently think I am, although I am tempted to be flattered that you think so highly of me!”
“You can’t blame me for having a hard time trusting you, Bellator!” I say her name with spite. “Not only have you tried to kill me three times in the past day, but you’re also the right hand of the man who’s threatening me with torture if I don’t give him my f
ull and undivided loyalty for the rest of my life!”
Her anger fades like water over embers. When she speaks again, her voice is subdued. “It was never my intention to kill you. I was merely testing your skills. On my word of honour, I would never kill a half-breed.”
I’m not sure whether to take her seriously. “What is your word worth to me?”
She glances around as if someone might be listening, and then looks back at me. “A half-breed once died so that I would not lose my hand. I can never repay the debt that I owe him.”
My anger, my pain, my bitterness; it all drains away with her words, replaced by a dull numbness. “Your hand?” I ask quietly as a memory from years long passed stirs in its slumber.
Her eyes find mine for just a moment. “What would you know about it?” she snaps.
Now that the memory has stirred, it moves to full consciousness quickly. It becomes vivid, though it is of an event that happened over eight years before, when I was in the employ of a butcher in the city of Sustinere, Zandelba. It was in that city that I realized just how badly normal people treated their own. Sustinere had a lot of orphans and beggars roaming its streets, and thievery was common. I was beaten many times and missed more meals than I cared to count for meat that had been stolen from the storeroom.
One day, the butcher caught one of the thieves. It was a little girl in ragged clothing. Her dark hair was knotted and messy, her cheeks were hollow, and there was a vicious, hungry look in her eyes. I remembered seeing how thin and frail she was and I realized that she was only stealing so that she wouldn’t starve to death.
The butcher wasn’t so inclined to compassion. He called for the city guards and they were dragging her away to cut off her hand for thievery. What struck me most was that she did not scream, or plead, or even beg for mercy. Her eyes echoed the hopelessness that had seized her soul, and mirrored the terror that ripped her apart from the inside.
Reckless as I was even then, I leapt forward, calling for them to stop. They did, surprised and angry that a half-breed dared to speak to them.
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 7