by Jensine Odom
“It’ll work.” Mary laughs, twirling her new weapon.
We pack away the weapons and ammo, then do a quick check of the house for anything else we can use for trade.
“Alright, let’s go,” I tell everyone as we meet back up in the small living room, and pick up one of the extra bags.
Zebulon and Tristin pick up the other two bags and run suspiciously out the door.
“I’ll carry these for you,” Mary offers, holding up my new bow and quiver.
I nod, and she slings them both over her slim shoulder, arguing with the bowstring for a moment when it gets caught on her ponytail, then heads out the door, followed by Turhion and Kerric.
Caedryn grabs my arm as I start to head out, stopping me, and I raise a brow in question.
“Did you cut off a man’s—” he finishes his question with a gesture to his groin.
“Yes, I did,” I answer, an edge in my voice as the rage rises in the pit of my stomach. “Hayden thought he could take advantage of me, and when I denied him, he tried to rape me.” I growl, the flames rising higher. “I was caught off-guard; he had me at knife point. I knew the only way out was through, and my virtue wasn’t worth my life, or my family’s. I gave him what he wanted, then took everything from him. He deserved no mercy.”
I take a deep breath, letting the emotions pass, afraid to meet Caedryn’s eyes. He suddenly takes me in his arms, as if he can just squeeze away what happened. I drop the bag I’m holding, the jars of oils and herbs clinking, and fall into his embrace.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, my rage melted away by his heat, and finally meet his gaze, finding only understanding.
Caedryn gently presses his lips to mine, asking, not demanding, and softly kisses me when I lean into him.
“Xerxia,” Zebulon screeches from outside. “Xerxia, get your fat butt out here!”
“Yeah, yeah! We’re coming,” I yell back over my shoulder, and laugh.
Caedryn lets me go, picking up my bag for me, and we head out to join the others.
The moment I’m clear of the door, something cold and hard hits my face, coming from my left, followed by two more hits, one from the right and one directly in front of me. I wipe the snow off my face, gasping as the freezing water runs down between my breasts, and glare at my family, all of them laughing uncontrollably.
“That’s it,” I yell and shuck off my backpack, then wad up a half slushy snowball and chuck it at the nearest target.
Mary swats the snowball away with her frying pan. “Oh! What?!” she gloats, then runs for cover behind an old van.
Another snowball flies past my head, hitting the wall with a wet splat, and I turn on Zebulon, quickly volleying the well-packed ball of ice I was working on at him, pinging the wooden post beside him.
“Ha! Skinny defender,” he yells triumphantly, ducking behind a large boulder; one of the remnants from Thunder Mountain.
I bend down and get another handful of snow, then come back up in time to see Tristin lifting a massive, double fistful of snow over my head.
“No! No, no, no.” I wave my hand at him, stepping backwards.
Tristin just cackles, stepping with me, then a snowball hits him in the face, thrown by Caedryn.
I laugh as he gasps and he dumps the snow on me, covering my face and chest. I pant and sputter, flapping my shirt to dump as much snow out as possible while Tristin wipes his face clean.
Mary steps out behind Tristin, snowball at the ready, but takes one to the back of her head from Kerric, and turns on him, flinging her snowball. Zebulon yells as he comes around the boulder and chucks a large snowball at me, but I jump back, letting it squish against Tristin.
“Really?!” Tristin looks cross at Zebulon and grabs a handful of snow at his feet.
He turns on me just as he throws it, but I read that play and lunge forward, slipping in the melting snow as I run, dodging handfuls of snow as my brothers give chase. I look back in time to see Turhion peg Zebulon right in the face with a snowball, sending him to the ground and leaving just Tristin in pursuit as I run across the street.
“Xerxia,” Caedryn yells as I slide behind an abandoned car, panic in his voice, and his fear squeezes in my chest.
A deafening roar echoes through the neighborhood, and I turn to see an orange dragon coming over the house behind me. It lands in the snow, spraying cold slush, an unpleasant grin on its draconic face. Well, shit.
I shuffle backwards frantically, but trip over my own feet and fall flat on my ass, knocking my head against the car behind me. Stunned, I look up into the intense yellow eyes of the dragon as it bears down on me. It growls deep in its chest and fire fills its mouth, embers sizzling in the snow as the Beauty’s head looms over me.
This is it! This is how it ends! The citrine dragon throws its head back and I close my eyes, bracing for the worst, hoping it’s over quickly, but no fire comes. Instead, the dragon cries out in agony.
“Not today,” Tristin yells triumphantly, his hunting knife protruding from the dragon’s face, just below its eye.
In the blink of an eye, the dragon swipes its deadly crimson claws across Tristin’s chest. His eyes go wide as he presses a hand to his wound. Bright red blood trickles from between his fingers and he slumps to the ground.
“No,” Zebulon roars from somewhere across the road, and Mary screams in anguish, sounding so far away.
I try to get up, but just fall to my knees as shock renders my limbs useless, and all feeling goes numb. My mind draws in on itself. It’s safe here. Nothing can touch me in this darkness.
Then, quietly at first, Alarr breaks through. Xerxia, you need to finish this. Then louder when I don’t respond. Xerxia! There is not much time! Release her! Warmth blooms on my chest as Alarr pushes against me. Get up!
Caedryn, Turhion, and Kerric are all in dragon form, struggling to hold the Beauty down as it thrashes about mindlessly. They won’t be able to hold it much longer without causing it harm. Sheer determination gets me to my feet, and I stride purposefully for the restrained Beauty.
Its focus turns on me, pupils narrowing to stars, and it stops struggling. Caedryn takes this chance to restrain its head, and I rip the knife out of its face, rage threatening to take over, but the small whimper from the dragon pulls me from the brink.
I place my hands on the dragon’s head, watching its eyes widen then go blank as my hands begin to glow white. The Knights release the beast’s slack body and step back as the energy spirals around us like a windless tornado. My vision goes dark as my mind melds with the dragon’s, but this time I can see her citrine spark fighting. There’s a slight pain in the flesh below my eye as I heal the dragon, then the energy brightens to a blinding white, obliterating the darkness.
When my vision comes back to me, I find a woman with fiery copper hair shrouding her face being braced by Caedryn and Turhion. They set her against the car as I turn my back on them and run for my brother, footsteps that I know to be Caedryn’s falling quickly behind me.
The snow around Tristin’s body is stained crimson, the bright color mocking his pallor. Zebulon’s on his knees beside him, Mary offering comfort as he mourns his brother. Tears flow down both their faces, landing to sparkle like glitter in Tristin’s beard.
Tristin gasps; the breath of the dying. His eyes stare blankly ahead, unfocused, pupils dilated. Without a second thought, I fall in the snow and haul his large body up, laying his head in my lap. There’s still a faint pulse. It may not be too late. I blink back tears to clear my vision and get ready to heal my brother.
“Xerxia,” comes Caedryn’s concerned voice, and his worried face floats into view as he crouches beside me. “What are you doing?”
“I won’t lose another family member,” I cry, choking on my tears. “I’m going to heal him.”
“You can’t,” Caedryn half pleads. “Even if you manage to heal him, it could kill you!”
“I have to try! He’s my brother.” I look right at Caedryn with unwaveri
ng determination.
Fear and understanding war in his gaze, and he gently holds my face, kissing me briefly. “I understand,” he whispers against my lips.
Caedryn looks at me for another second, a silent wish in his eyes, then steps back, and Alarr appears in his place.
Caedryn is correct; you could die doing this, he tells me.
“You won’t change my mind either.” Impatience starts to claw at me. I need to heal him now!
On the contrary. I will assist you.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
Do not thank me yet. This may not work.
“It’s the thought that counts. Now, how do we do this?”
You should stand back, he warns Zebulon and Mary, and they retreat a good distance. Xerxia, place your hands on Tristin; one on his head, the other at his heart.
Tristin’s heart beats faint and irregular under my hand and his forehead is clammy to the touch. Alarr rests his warm nose against my hand on Tristin’s chest, and a massive surge of energy washes through me, making my body tingle from head to toe and my hand glow ultraviolet.
Let the magic continue to flow through you; I will direct it.
At Alarr’s words, the energy swirling within me begins to move with a purpose. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and focus on letting it move freely into my brother’s dying body.
Something akin to wind begins to howl around us, growing louder until it roars like a tornado. Warmth flows through my veins and a dull pain tears across my torso in four strokes. The heat within me intensifies, spilling over, and it’s as if we’re surrounded by a blazing fire. Flames lick at my body like a caress, warm but not burning, and loose tendrils of hair dance at my temples.
Curious, I open my eyes briefly. Ultraviolet flames spiral in a vortex around us and engulf Tristin’s body.
Focus, Alarr reminds me.
I quickly shut my eyes once more, but involuntarily peek again when Tristin’s head becomes significantly heavier. I no longer hold my brother, but a large, purple, prehistoric looking dragon. The flames around us have morphed into dragons as well, and one purple sprite flits in front of my eyes.
Xerxia, we are nearly finished! Focus!
I shut my eyes and concentrate. The pain in my chest ceases, and Tristin’s head becomes lighter once more, but the energy continues to rise, reaching a fever pitch. All at once, it releases, shattering into a million stars across the dark skies of my mind. My breath comes heavy as if I just ran a marathon, and my body vibrates like I spent too long in a massage chair.
A warmth blooms in the base of my spine as my mind floats back down to earth, and my eyes blink open. The bloodstained snow has been swept away, revealing the small spikes of new grass beneath it, and Tristin’s laying there still, his breath shallow, but his pulse stronger.
He needs to rest. Take him into the house, Alarr instructs, moving off a few yards, allowing Zebulon to move in.
He struggles to lift his brother, and Kerric moves in to help. They carefully pull Tristin off me and carry him for the brick house we just left. Turhion gabs Tristin’s knife and walks after them. Mary bends down and gives me a quick hug, a small, reassuring smile flitting across her lips, then follows the procession as it disappears inside.
Caedryn appears in front of me and I lazily glance up at him, everything still moving in slow motion. He smiles kindly and offers to help me up, pulling me against his chest with more force than I expected.
“It will be all right,” he whispers, holding me tight in his arms as I bury my face against him and sob. “Shall we speak with our guest?” he asks after I go quiet, and I just nod, unable to speak yet.
Caedryn lets me go and turns towards the woman now standing beside the car. Her blazing copper hair hangs loose down her back, nearly as long as her deep orange tunic, and an elegant sword hangs from her waist.
Her bright yellow eyes meet mine, and she straightens at my gaze, bowing as we approach. Her dragon mark flickers golden orange in the light, sweeping elegantly across her cheek and eyebrow, neatly framing her right eye.
I watch her closely, wanting to be angry, but can’t find it in my heart. Remorse fills her face, and I know it wasn’t completely her fault. She may have been the sword, but Drustana was the hand. Unlike with Turhion and Kerric, I could feel her powering the darkness in the dragon’s mind.
“Forgive me,” the woman says quickly, kneeling before me. “Drustana’s magic clouded my judgement. I knew not what I was doing.”
I don’t speak for a long moment, not trusting the words that come to be even remotely coherent. Misreading my silence, she meets my gaze, ready to accept whatever punishment awaits her.
“I understand,” I finally say, all anger draining from my heart, and I gently touch her shoulder, gesturing for her to stand.
Relief floods the woman’s face, and her shoulders relax. She unsheathes her sword and holds it out to me, the long, tapered blade resting across her hands and a large, faceted citrine winking from the center of the hilt.
“Take this as partial payment for the two lives I owe you,” she tells me, and I take the sword from her; the weapon’s much lighter than I thought it would be, and glows slightly. “I will stand with you when the time comes to face Drustana,” she vows, removing the sword’s sheath and handing it over as well, then takes a step back and shifts, quickly flying away.
“What was that about?” I ask dumbfounded, glancing between the sword in my hand and the dragon’s rapidly disappearing form.
“Sitrian prefers to be alone, and feels very remorseful for nearly killing your brother,” Caedryn answers. “She won’t be far away, though.”
“Who is she to me? She seems vaguely familiar.”
“Sitrian is your aunt, on your father’s side, though she doesn’t yet know it, either.”
I nod, no longer able to see Sitrian’s silhouette on the horizon, and turn for the house, anxious to see my brother, but scared he may not have survived. Caedryn takes my hand, offering me strength, and we walk for the house.
Just as we reach the door it bursts open, and I’m nearly run over by the very person I was afraid would be dead.
“Tristin,” I cry, tossing the sword at Caedryn as I slam into my brother with a thick thud, hugging him as tight as I possibly can. “I thought we lost you!”
“Nah,” he dismisses nonchalantly. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” He gives me a devilish smile as I hold him at arm’s length, looking him over.
Save for the gashes in his shirt, there are no signs of the wound that nearly took his life, until the breeze catches in his shirt, revealing flashes of deep purple and green through the holes. I quickly lift the ripped fabric, finding four scale tattoos like Caedryn’s, and without thinking I press a hand to the bottom one. Tristin gasps at my cold fingers, and the mark glows a faint green at my touch.
My eyes snap to Tristin’s, finding them to be an impossible shade of metallic green, and I just now realize how hot his skin is against my palm.
I drop his shirt and take a step back. “Holy shit, you’re a dragon!”
“Fuck yes I am,” Tristin agrees excitedly, a huge grin flashing in his thick beard.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were making my brother a dragon?” I turn to Alarr, sounding more accusatory than I intended.
I was not sure if it was going to work, Alarr explains calmly, understanding I’m not angry. I have not attempted that on a human before.
“Thank you!” I suddenly throw my arms around his thick neck and kiss his warm, scaly cheek.
I am glad it worked, Alarr says, a smile in his voice. There is one more thing, though; Source saw fit to make him a Knight.
“Fuck yeah,” Tristin shouts, the sound reverberating off the houses around us.
“There goes the neighborhood.” I roll my eyes.
“You are now Honorbound to protect Xerxia,” Caedryn tells him. “There’s much for you to learn, but we’ll have time to teach
you.” He offers Tristin a hand, a brief spark of gold light emanating from the contact when they shake.
“Welcome to the Order, Brother,” Turhion says, making the same golden flash when he takes Tristin’s wrist in a Spartan-like shake.
Kerric’s next, and once more there’s a brief spark.
“We’re now fatebound,” Caedryn tells Tristin. “Do you feel that sensation at the back of your neck?”
Tristin looks around, eyes narrowed in concentration, then nods enthusiastically.
“That’s how you can locate us, and us you,” Kerric explains. “With practice, you’ll be able to discern each individual Knight.”
“When do we start?” Tristin asks excitedly.
“Tomorrow, after we leave,” I answer.
“So, we’re really leaving?” Mary asks, sounding weary.
“Yeah. Not only for the original reasons, but now this makes it definite.” I gesture to all the dragons, including Tristin, Alarr, and myself. “Speaking of leaving, we should get back to the Inn, now that all the excitement’s over.”
Everyone retrieves their packs from where they hid them in our game earlier.
“What do you want to do with this?” Caedryn holds the sword out to me.
“Ooh! What’s this?!” Zebulon, the ever-present bird, swoops in and snatches the sword before I can grab it.
“Hey! What do you think you’re—” Caedryn puts his hand up, instantly quieting me.
Zebulon has dropped the bag he was carrying, his face gone blank, mouth hanging open and eyes glazed over, staring at something only he can see. He looks kind of like a zombie. I can’t tell if he’s even breathing.
Concerned, I stomp right in front of him. He doesn’t move or even blink. I look to Caedryn for help, but he’s just watching, intrigued. Stepping well inside Zebulon’s bubble space, I poke his chest, but still nothing happens. Did that sword just fry my brother’s brain? I wave my hand in front of his face in one last attempt, and his eyes snap into focus as he shakes his head.