by Jensine Odom
“Dude,” Tristin squeals excitedly, shifting and grabbing whatever he can with his tail, like Mary and Zebulon.
“That’s handy.” I laugh, watching as Zebulon jumps into a playful sparring match with Tristin’s tail.
“There’s much you have yet to learn about being a dragon,” Caedryn says, kissing my forehead.
“Well, I look forward to it,” I reply, absently playing with the distressed silver scales on his shirt, and give him a quick kiss before turning to everyone. “Alright, let’s get going. The mountains are so close I can smell them.”
In a flurry of motion, we pack up our things and begin to move out, with Irontooth and Stormwing taking off to keep an eye on the sky. Petrie tries to follow her older siblings, looking like an oversized chicken as she flaps her wings, eventually falling back to the ground.
With a mournful squeak, she watches her brother and sister circle us, getting higher with every pass.
“In time, young one,” Sitrian soothes Petrie, distracting her with the wave of a short branch and tossing it. Petrie purrs happily and chases her toy, crashing heedlessly through the cholla cactus.
Turhion, Tristin, and Zebulon take the lead, continuing to follow along the edge of the arroyo, and I fall in behind them with Alarr. Caedryn nods to Baldure and the two men flank either side of me, Caedryn to my right and Baldure to my left. Sitrian and Kerric bring up the rear, with Petrie trotting happily alongside them, carrying the stick in her mouth, and Mary hangs back, talking with Kerric.
I glance curiously between Caedryn and Baldure, both at ease with the other as they guard me in their respective roles; one my Knight, the other my Champion. “Alright, what changed between you?”
“We came to an understanding,” Baldure answers.
“Baldure informs me my father may yet live,” Caedryn tells me, his eyes glittering with joy.
“Wait, what?!” I step back beside him, hooking my elbow in his. “Was he a Royal?”
“No. He was the Knight-Commander. I thought surely Drustana would have killed him to secure her rule.”
“When Drustana dispatched us to end the slumbering Knight-Captains and Knight-Commander, we found them already dead, buried in rubble from a cave in long ago. Malakai did not number amongst the bodies we recovered,” Baldure continues the story.
“I find it strange my father would not have been with the Knight-Captains, being the Knight-Commander.” Caedryn looks puzzled, shaking his head.
“Maybe he also had a bad feeling about that night, like you did?” I offer.
“Perhaps. Baldure, are you positive he wasn’t among the dead?”
“Yes. Seers can read things they touch, including bones. What bodies we were unable to identify with scales, we identified with a Seer. Malakai was not among them.”
“You’re sure?” Caedryn asks, almost not daring to hope.
“Yes. I was the Seer,” Baldure assures him, dipping his head modestly, and Caedryn’s joy floods our bond. “Xerxia.” Baldure takes a deep breath. “Caedryn has suggested I tell you of my past, and I believe you deserve the truth.” He looks ahead of us, struggling to find the words.
I let Caedryn go, stepping over to Baldure, and hold my hand out. “Show me.”
With a nervous glance, his large hand engulfs mine, and he opens his mind to me. My vision blurs, then fades, and I’m immersed in his memories as they play before my inner vision like a first-person movie.
Trees come into focus, large and green, then tents, most made from animal hides. Finally, there’s a clearing filled with people, faces expectant. Alivia stands beside Baldure at the head of the crowd, younger and less scarred.
She glances at her brother with a broad smile, the excitement of the ceremony thrumming through both as if they’re one entity. Standing before them are an older man and woman—their parents—beaming proudly at the pair.
“Tonight, Ammeria and I name our successors.” The man announces with a gesture to the woman at his side and waits for his clan to quiet. “Typically, there would be only one offspring, but we have been fortunate enough to have two; born of the same egg. Neither is bound to another—”
“And luck be to any who try,” Ammeria interjects, receiving laughter from most, and nervous glances from a few.
The man smiles at Ammeria, the soft gesture at odds with his rough appearance, and silences the crowd with a hand. “The day will come when we can no longer lead this clan. When that time arrives, Baldure and Alivia will become your Chieftains. You will respect their command, and should either or both have a soulbound by then, you will respect them the same.”
“I know this is unprecedented,” Ammeria says, picking up the speech. “As Hodhryk has said, we have been fortunate. Not just us, but our clan as a whole. We have had many return from their transformations this cycle, growing our numbers greatly, and the forest itself has prospered, giving us good hunts. We have not had to raid our neighboring clan in a season. May our luck and bounty continue!”
The clan cheers, and Hodhryk quiets them again. “Does any dragon here object to our decision?”
Silence follows for a long moment, but just before Hodhryk concludes the ceremony, there’s the twang of a bowstring from the back of the crowd, and Ammeria gasps as an arrow protrudes from her sternum, glowing with a strange light. Hodhryk catches her lifeless body as it falls, screaming with anguish, and the clan reacts to the threat.
The people standing closest to the area where the arrow came from shift, roaring with their shared anger, but they fall, each one shot with the same kind of arrow that took Ammeria’s life. Pain and rage flood Baldure, only fed more by Alivia, and with one look they split up, running into the woods to flank the enemy.
Humans flee from the clan pressing into the trees, not dragons, as Baldure had assumed. They carry bows, but have wasted their Dragon’s Bane, and are running right into the trap the twins have set.
The first three fall to one mighty swing from Baldure’s maul, the next two to Alivia’s longsword. The rest are slaughtered by the clan, leaving none alive. As their blood spills into the dirt, the clan returns with Baldure and Alivia to mourn the loss of their Chieftain.
“They will pay,” Hodhryk rages, laying his love on the pyre.
“Father, it was dragon hunters who killed Mother, not the Royal clan,” Baldure tries to assuage his father’s anger.
“Who do you think gave them the Dragon’s Bane?! Because of them we have lost many great warriors! They are cowards and will pay for what they have done!”
Baldure steps back, looking at Alivia, and the two leave their father to his grief, consoling the clan as they help them with the pyres for the others they have lost. Drums beat and a lone woman sings a song for the dead as the fires are lit, returning the souls to Source.
The memory fades to black, but the story isn’t done. Like walking down a dark corridor, Baldure leads me to the next memory, the end of the tunnel not a lot lighter.
Baldure crouches with his father and sister in the dark forest, overlooking the sleeping camp below as the rest of the warriors get into place. Only a few of the colorful cloth tents are lit, the largest being the Royal’s, and just a handful of Knights patrol the perimeter.
“Fools,” Hodhryk whispers. “Did they not think we would retaliate?”
“Father, this only supports my theory that they had nothing to do with Mother’s assassination,” Baldure replies.
“No. They think they are safe behind the lies they have created,” Hodhryk spits, almost too loud, lost to his revenge. “Are they ready, Daughter?”
Alivia reluctantly nods, giving Baldure an apologetic look, but before Hodhryk can call the charge, a horn sounds below and the enemy Knights begin to amass.
“Did you do this?” Hodhryk asks Baldure accusingly.
“Chieftain,” a young man calls, pointing to a lone golden figure weaving through the camp, heading for the Royal’s tent.
“She cannot reach the Knight-Captain,” Hodhr
yk yells. “Attack!”
The clan peels from the trees around the camp, engaging the Knights, and Hodhryk shifts, the deep navy-blue scales of his dragon barely discernable in the dark of the night. Swooping low, he lands just outside the Royal’s tent. Shifting again, he disappears inside, and the light goes out.
Baldure stays back, watching the battle unfold, unsure if he should join or defy, then an arrow pierces his leather armor, burying itself in his shoulder. He rips it out, the pain driving him into a frenzy, and looks down at who shot him.
“We take the Royal,” he roars to Alivia, jumping from their hiding spot on the hill and running straight into the camp, his sister following close behind.
With their clan taking the other by surprise, they quickly gain the upper hand, dispatching many Knights before they have a chance to organize. Before they know it, Baldure and Alivia are in front of the Royal’s tent, joined by half a dozen of their warriors. The Royal had run inside only moments before.
A woman’s scream punctures the sounds of battle, followed by the singing of metal as it slices the air. A man groans, and Baldure’s father falls out of the tent, his body gashed open from hip to opposite shoulder, shock forever etched on his face.
The Royal follows his dead body out, blood staining her opalescent dress. Her golden hair flies around her face as she looks around wildly at the enemy, her light blue eyes wide with rage. She rests her gaze on Baldure, then Alivia, her slight form heaving with every breath.
With a furious battle cry, she charges, rallying several Knights to her side. The warriors jump into action, protecting their new Chieftains, but they’re no match for the Royal’s berserk rage, and they all fall. Without slowing, the Royal goes for Baldure while Alivia deals with the Knight at her side.
Although the Royal is much smaller than Baldure, she manages to keep him on the defensive, but her attacks are wild and uncontrolled, and the sword she wields is too big for her. After one more swing, Baldure grabs the Royal’s arm, stopping her next attack.
Her eyes go wide as she realizes her fate is sealed, then an image flashes across Baldure’s vision; a spark of life, just starting off within her. Baldure releases the Royal, no longer willing to carry on the bloodshed, but she won’t quit, driven by grief and the need for revenge. Before he can call the retreat, she swings her sword hard into his thigh, then brings it around in an arc to slice his head off.
Knowing Baldure’s thoughts, Alivia pulls him back in time to save his head, but not his eye, the sword slicing deep into his face.
“Retreat,” she rasps, a bruise encircling her throat, and hoists her massive twin on her shoulder.
Baldure watches as the Royal cuts down a few more of his people, yelling in triumph at the others that flee. Before his vision goes black, she falls to the ground, holding her side as her own blood pours onto the ground to mix with that of the Honorless her kind so easily discard, and a golden draquus lays beside her.
Enter the Mountains
WHEN my vision finally returns to me, I find we’ve stopped, and everybody sits around in the shade. Petrie’s laying beside Mary, and her two older siblings have left the sky to join us, lounging in the grass nearby. A river rushes by us, water glinting in the sunlight as it splashes against boulders, and I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deep the sharp smell of pine. We’ve reached the mountains.
Baldure has let my hand go, and stands rigid, looking anywhere but at me. Even Caedryn’s unsure, standing near but not touching me, thinking the emotions swirling through our bond are because of Baldure, not for Baldure.
It isn’t like Allowyn really knew her parents. From what I’ve gathered, she was fostered by Caedryn’s clan since birth, but even if she had known them, I didn’t. This is a complete reroll for all of us.
Baldure tenses as I hug him, tears springing to my eyes for the pain he endured. “It seems there was quite a bit of bloodshed on both sides,” I say, letting him go, and smile as he relaxes, finally looking at me. “Thank you. I don’t know much of Allowyn’s past.”
“You have no memories of before?” Baldure asks, surprised.
“Not really. The soulstone gave me a crash course when my soul was reawakened, letting me see only what I needed. I never saw Allowyn’s parents, but apparently they played a bigger role in your life than in hers.”
“So it would seem. I won’t lie, Xerxia. When I awoke after surviving those wounds, I was a different man, and Drustana used that against me. She used our hate and distrust against all of us, twisting us to her will by promising revenge on those who wronged us.” Baldure shakes his head, aggravated, then looks right at me. “If you were made aware of our history, would you have still spared me?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately, and with conviction. “I already knew you had some connection to me, but I have this little thing called hope, and it begs me to try, even if I end up dead because of it. To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done had you not decided to trust me; I didn’t have any other outcome in my head.” I shrug, not wanting to follow that particular rabbit hole any farther, because I know what would have happened. Caedryn would have killed Baldure, and I would have hated him for it; hated myself for failing.
“You proved me wrong, Little One, and I’m glad you did,” Baldure admits, pulling me away from my dark thoughts. “I can only hope Alivia and the others see how wrong they are as well.”
“Me, too, Big Man.” I pat his arm. “I just don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
Baldure looks thoughtful. “Drustana usually keeps the clans separate from her camp, keeping them spread out around her.”
“I could possibly steal her forces out from under her, speaking with the Chieftains of each clan individually,” I add excitedly, catching on to his plan.
“It will give you a major advantage if you treat them as Chieftains; as equals,” Baldure says. “After gaining their fealty, Drustana forbade any from taking the title of Chieftain, calling them her Warlords instead.”
“Didn’t Drustana come to them as equals, at first, to gain their loyalty?” Caedryn asks.
“No. She swayed us with cunning words, knowing what we wanted to hear, but was adamant that she would rule. In our blind fervor we agreed, but as our passions died many of us came to regret this, resenting her as she continued to take our freedom.”
“So, essentially, she did most of the work for me. I’ll have to thank her,” I comment sarcastically, dropping my stuff on the ground and rummaging through my bag.
“That will be a sight.” Baldure chuckles.
“Now, all we have to do is wait for me to become a dragon,” I comment with a smile, playfully ripping into my piece of jerky.
I slip off my boots and walk to the river’s edge, hopping across the smooth boulders to rest on a large flat one nearly in the middle. Rolling my leggings up, I stick my feet in the cool water, laying back to soak up the warmth of the rock, surprised it isn’t unbearably hot. Fluffy clouds float by, my pareidolia finding shapes among them, and a woodpecker drums out a rhythm in the silence of the forest, searching for its own snack.
After I’ve finished my jerky, I pull my feet up to let them dry, closing my eyes against the bright sun. My serenity is short lived, though, when something splashes across the river, followed by a much larger splash. Cold water sprays across me, and I sit up, sputtering.
Petrie happily chirrups and sticks her head under the water’s surface, coming up with a fairly large, flat rock. Zebulon laughs as she brings it back to him and his brother, and Tristin just shrugs when I glare at him, then skips the rock again.
I scramble to my feet and hop to the next boulder just as Petrie crashes into the river, sending a wave over the boulder I was just on. She glances around where the rock disappeared, squeaking when she finds it, and submerges her head. A moment later, she triumphantly trots back with her prize held high, and shakes the water from her scaly hide, dousing the boys.
“Really?!” they yell in unison,
laughing as they move out of range of the spray.
“Good girl, Petrie.” I laugh, making my way to the riverbank, and pat the young Beast, noticing the edges of her scales are a soft blue, now that she’s not covered in dust. Petrie looks at me expectantly, the same blue color edging her golden eyes, and chuffs, dropping the rock at my feet. “Alright, but only one more time, then we have to go.” I pick up the frisbee-like rock and toss it in the river for her.
With an elated squeak Petrie runs after her toy, and I pull on my boots, slinging my bag and bow across my back once more. Taking my que, everyone else makes their way to their feet and I lead the way up a broad game trail, with Petrie splashing through the river as we head higher into the mountains.
✽✽✽
The late afternoon sun sits low, streaking golden light through the trees, the fresh, bright green leaves of white aspens contrasting against dark pines. The river cascades down rounded boulders in a small waterfall, and we scramble up the steep hill beside it, finding a serene little meadow sitting just beyond the top.
Grasses sway in the breeze around large shale chunks that fell from the towering cliff across the river, and insects buzz around, soaking up the remaining warmth of the day. A large black and yellow dragonfly darts by us and Petrie chases after it, nearly bowling over one of the larger boulders, conveniently broken in half to make a covered fireplace.
I laugh, setting my things down by the rock. “Alright, let’s set up camp.”
Without being told what to do, everyone breaks up into groups. Mary and Kerric begin to clear the grasses from the fire pit while Zebulon and Tristin set up the tents. Caedryn, Baldure, and, surprisingly, Turhion begin to gather some of the flat boulders from around the clearing and set them up for seating, and I recruit Sitrian to help me gather wood.
By the time we get back there’s a semi-circle of dark shale benches around a neatly cleaned fireplace, and a few racks for cooking lean against the rock, ready for some meats. Judging from the absence of my brothers, as well as Turhion and my bow, they left to supply that meat.