by Jensine Odom
It’s well past midnight, the waning quarter moon just rising behind us, throwing long shadows. The fire in the center of our camp fights back against the darkness, and around it sits several figures, silhouetted by the flames. I can make out Tristin and Zebulon easily, as well as Baldure.
“They’re back,” Tristin calls, looking up at the sound of our entrance.
This gets the attention of all the dragons, not just those around the fire, and soon they’re all flocking to greet us. Madelaine crashes into me, hugging me fiercely, then runs off with Volpe.
“What happened?” Baldure asks, touching my swollen lip with concern.
“Calder was stubborn.”
Baldure drops his hand. “Is he—” he lets the end of the question fall away.
“Dead? No. I kicked his ass, though. He just managed to get a cheap shot in before Brigid put an end to his shenanigans.”
Baldure gives a relieved sigh, and laughs. “That’s Brigid. Calder thinks he leads that clan, but in truth it’s Brigid. Where is Kalos?”
“He decided to rejoin his clan. We got a new member, though.” I gesture for Jethran to come forward.
“Jethran,” Sylaena’s cold voice echoes across the camp.
“I thought all the Royals were killed?” Jethran accuses, betrayal in his eyes.
Shit! I completely forgot about her! “We did too, until Sylaena reappeared. She’s not High Royal, though; I am.”
“How can this be?” he asks, both confused and curious.
“Would you accept her as your High Royal?” I return.
“No,” comes his definite answer.
“Neither will any of the other Outcasts. Therefore, I’m High Royal now.”
“What of the Baseborn?”
“Because of my mother’s actions, the Baseborn are all beastlocked,” Caedryn answers this time.
“She kind of sealed her own fate,” I agree, glancing at Sylaena. “She has no power here anymore, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Jethran accepts this, nodding. “I suggest you speak to Calder about this. He won’t manage the surprise well.”
“I’ll tell him and his clan tomorrow, when we meet up in the morning,” I promise. “I’ll also try and remember to mention it first to the next clans. Now, someone please tell me there’s still some of that delicious meat I smell.” I look hopeful at Baldure.
“No,” my brothers both yell suspiciously, running off towards the fire.
“Yes,” Baldure contradicts them with a smile. “My clan had just returned from hunting when we arrived and shared their take with us.”
“How did turning your clan go?” I ask, following the big man to the fire.
“It went well. If you approve, Alivia and I named Destaya Chieftain, as we’re no longer able to lead.”
“You know what’s best for your clan, so whatever you decide, I support,” I reassure him, taking a slab of deer meat from the pile.
While we eat, we discuss our plans for the next day. Baldure will return to his clan, or should I say Destaya’s clan, and I’ll go back to Calder’s. From there we’ll move on the next clan. Baldure will beat us there, and is to wait.
After turning that clan, we’ll move on the last, and if the fates are kind to us, we can move on Drustana the next day. If not, we’ll just make a new plan. Either way, Drustana’s going down.
Roaring flames have turned to rippling embers, and those who haven’t already made their way to bed do so now, scattering around the edge of the ghost forest, scratching out spots in the dirt.
I look over all the glittering dragons, their scaly hides glowing ever so slightly in the night, the beauty at odds with the bleakness of our surroundings. After making a comfortable enough hollow, I lay down myself, resting my head on my crossed forelegs. Caedryn curls around me, Volpe gets comfy between my front feet, and within minutes I fall fast asleep.
The Beginning of the End
FOUR hours just doesn’t seem like enough, but try as I might I can’t convince my mind to go back to sleep, and my body agrees with being awake. Stretching my sleep heavy limbs, I carefully get up, my eyes quickly adjusting to the dark of early dawn.
Madelaine had come to join us sometime in the night, and Caedryn’s now curled up with her, both dragons sound asleep. Volpe has run off somewhere, but other than that everyone’s accounted for, all still sleeping; except for Baldure. He’s standing in human form at the edge of the trees, hands clasped at the small of his back, staring towards the northeast, where our destination lies.
Shifting myself, I wander up behind Baldure, leaning against the stripped trunk of a tree. “Morning,” I greet him.
Baldure jumps, turning to face me, and I can’t help a laugh. “You can’t sneak up on people like that,” he chides, but smiles anyways.
“Mind if I join you?” My smile turns into a yawn.
“I don’t, and good morning.” Baldure nods.
“Thinking about today?” I ask, sliding down the oddly smooth tree to sit, a small cloud of fine dust flying into the air as my butt hits the ground.
“In a way,” Baldure answers cryptically, turning to face the slowly lightening sky. “I’m communing with Source, asking that it favor us in our endeavor.”
“What is Source, exactly?”
“Source is the well-spring of energy that exists in all things. It is omnipresent, omnipotent, and unbiased as it directs the way of things, keeping balance. Our clan has asked its help in important undertakings before.”
“What form does its help come in?” I ask, a flash of light deep in the trees catching my eye.
“You shall see,” Baldure answers, a smile in his voice as the flash happens again, this time closer and brighter.
I stand, curious, and walk up beside him, peering into the skeleton forest as one more flash occurs right in front of us. Anticipation builds inside me, and I take a step beyond Baldure.
“Don’t follow the lights,” Zebulon croaks in his best Sméagol voice, startling me, and I elbow him squarely in the chest.
He laughs between gasps, rubbing the spot where I hit him, then goes quiet as a soft mist stirs up on the forest floor. Small lights begin to dance on the air, flashing like fireflies between the trees, making the forest look even more haunted.
The lights begin to take shape as they get closer, looking like bubbles filled with glowing smoke, all in vivid hues. One fairly large orb, pink and yellow vapor swirling inside of it, floats in front of me, a soft, high-pitched hum coming from it.
Before I know what I’m doing I reach out, touching the orb, and it bursts, the vapor falling onto my fingertips. They glow for a moment, tingling, then the substance seeps into my hand, sending a zap of energy through me.
“What are they?” I ask as more begin to swirl around me.
“Wisps,” a new voice answers. Sylaena’s voice. Not really who I want to talk to first thing in the morning. She doesn’t sound annoyed right now, though. “Magic is returning to this world.”
“Wisps?” I ask, chancing changing her mood.
“Physical manifestations of pure magical energy,” Sylaena replies, still without that hint of disdain I’ve come to expect. It’s almost like something definite was just decided.
The Wisps’ circling gets tighter, then all at once they converge, covering me nearly from head to toe in glowing vapor, tingling as it permeates my being. The small bit of energy the first one left behind is multiplied, filling me like a battery.
Kind of like standing too fast, the rush of it makes me dizzy, and I throw a hand against the nearest tree trunk to steady myself. On contact, small sprouts of green plants appear around my fingers. I stare in awe as they spread, eventually covering the tree completely.
More and more Wisps appear, dancing around all the people that have begun to gather, filling them as they have me. Madelaine’s childish laugh rings out as she chases one wisp, and another floats in front of Volpe, almost teasing him, then pops on his snout, inf
using him with its energy.
Volpe pounces on the next one that’s floating low in front of me, popping it, and the peach vapor seeps into the ground. A moment later, plants begin to sprout from that spot.
Caedryn taps my shoulder, unable to find words, and I realize the phenomenon is happening all around us. Anything the Wisps touch is revitalized. The tree I’m still leaning against is even sprouting new branches and leaves as more energy is added to it.
The sun breaks the horizon, illuminating the new growth, and the Wisps evaporate into the morning like they never existed. For as far as I can see—which is pretty far now—green covers the ground and trees sport their foliage once again. Life has returned to this land.
“Source has seen fit to assist us,” Baldure breaks our silent reverence.
“It was you who called the Wisps here?” Sylaena seems surprised.
“I simply asked Source to show us favor,” Baldure humbles himself. “Many others here will have done the same.”
Sylaena actually nods in acknowledgement. “I did not know the Honorless kept to tradition.”
“I guess you learn something new every day, even if you’re one of the oldest beings on this planet,” I mention, not in a demeaning way. “Why didn’t you get a blessing, though?”
“There is no need. I will not be seeing battle, and I am not High Royal.”
“Makes sense. Wait, did you just?” I leave the question hanging at the slight smile on Sylaena’s face.
“I concede to your rule, Xerxia. I was a fool to fight you.” Sylaena dips her head in what I’m going to consider a bow.
“What changed your mind?” I really don’t know how to quit while I’m ahead. Well, there’s no going back now.
Sylaena gives me a smirk, reminiscent of the ones her son gives me. “You proved me wrong.”
I’ll take it. “Thank you.” I nod in return. “There has to be a better term than High Royal, though.”
“Are you trying to do away with all the old ways?” Sylaena’s not angry, just curious.
“No. Just trying to simplify things.”
“In our world before this one, you would have the title Shiirah,” Sylaena suggests.
“Shiirah. I like it.” I nod in agreement.
“Then Shiirah we will call you,” Caedryn says, pulling me to him and kissing my head. “I like how it sounds as well.”
“What do you mean in our world before?” Jethran asks, confused.
“I forget you weren’t there for that story,” I reply, stepping away from Caedryn. “Come on, I’ll tell it to you while we eat breakfast.”
As it is, I don’t get a chance to eat as my whole clan spreads out around the log I sit on, listening intently while I tell the tale of our origins, all of them enraptured as if they’ve never heard the narrative.
I finally get to eat while Jethran digests all the information I gave him, and we go back over the plans for the day.
“Would it help you if these Outcasts saw firsthand the High Royal they despised submit to you?” Sylaena asks.
“It might be worth a shot, if I can’t turn them on my own.”
“I do not like this idea,” Malakai interjects.
“Tell you what, we’ll see how Calder and his clan react with her following my orders, and go from there,” I suggest.
“I can agree to that. What if they don’t accept her, and go back on their word?”
“Calder will not go back on his word,” Jethran chimes in. “Xerxia has earned his respect.”
“I was just about to assure Malakai of the same,” I add, then turn back to Sylaena. “What did you have in mind, to prove your submission?”
“I could walk behind the procession, showing me lower than even those I once thought below me,” she suggests. “However, it will seem the more powerful if you’re wearing the symbol of my power.” At this she nods to Malakai, and he produces a circlet from the pack at his feet, handing it to Sylaena.
Two silver dragons, wings spread out, sit on either side of a magnificent lilac stone. Sylaena stands, gesturing for me to do the same, and carefully places the circlet over my head, letting it fall from her fingers. The stone rests in the center of my brow, tingling for a brief moment before stopping, and Sylaena’s eyes go wide.
Kind of worried, I take the circlet off, finding the stone has changed. Where it was a soft shade of purple, it now shimmers with every color possible, like a star was set into the stone.
“Now you truly are the Shiirah,” Sylaena announces, disbelief in her voice. “The younger Chieftains may not recognize that crown, but the older ones will.”
“Won’t it just make them angry?” I ask, putting it back on my head regardless.
“Not when it is you who wears it. You have changed it, as you have changed everything.” Sylaena actually smiles at me.
It’s not a forced smile, either. She’s proud of me. I can feel it pulsing from her, and I won’t lie, it’s infectious, making me stand just a little straighter.
“Alright. Is everyone ready to get this day started?” I ask, unable to fight the grin that claims my face.
“Yes, your Majesty,” Zebulon says behind me, and flips the crown off my head, catching it expertly before it hits the ground and running off.
“Why you little!” I grit my teeth and run after him, but he tosses my circlet like a frisbee to his brother. “I’m going to kill you!” I laugh, despite my murderous claim, and turn for my other brother.
He’s taller than me and holds the crown just out of my reach for a moment before throwing it back to Zebulon. This time, though, it doesn’t reach its destination.
Volpe flies into the air, snatching the crown right before Zebulon can close his fingers on it, and brings it back to me. With a triumphant smile, I place the circlet back on my head, scratching Volpe’s ears as a reward.
“Traitor,” Zebulon hisses playfully at the little creature.
“He just loves me more,” I tease, and Volpe yips his agreement. “Alright, let’s break into our teams and get going.”
✽✽✽
With all the new growth, the landscape has completely changed, and it takes us a little longer than expected to reach Calder’s clan. Unlike before, though, we don’t need to sneak in. I just walk right in like I own the place, because I kind of do.
Caedryn’s at my side, and Turhion’s at my back, having traded Jethran his spot on my team to keep his word about watching Sylaena. Malakai also traded spots, letting Sitrian take his place with Baldure so he could keep Sylaena safe. Since we’re moving camp completely, Robert, Allicyn, and Madelaine are accompanying us, walking somewhere in the procession behind me.
Calder’s in the middle of a ring of people, sparring with one of the young warriors he had at his side last night. I’m thinking it’s his son; he has Calder’s face, but Brigid’s blonde hair and bright, round eyes.
Both men are shirtless, sparring with just their hands. Calder’s dragon mark is obvious, if much more extensive than I first saw. In addition to the four strokes on his dome, a wine-red slash runs from hip to shoulder across his back. In contrast, his son’s is nearly hidden from view, just a hint of lime green flashing above the low waist of his pants.
Volpe gives away our presence, flying ahead to greet Kalos, making Calder and his son stop immediately. They give a respectful bow, and Calder’s eye widen slightly as they rest on my new crown.
“High Royal,” Calder greets me formally.
“It’s Shiirah, now,” I correct him.
“So, it is true.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Where is she? Or is she too cowardly to show her face?”
“She’s here,” I answer slowly, testing how Calder will react. “I told her to wait beyond the trees until I spoke with you. I’m sorry I didn’t mention she survived last night. If you want to rethink our alliance, you can.”
“Nonsense,” Calder reassures me. “Kalos told me of the one who survived, and how she is not High Royal. Her own soulbo
und chose you, and now that I see that crown upon your head, I know it’s true.”
“You know about this crown?”
“I have never seen it personally, but my father spoke of it often. He called it the crown of the true Royal, for the Royal who wore it was wise and just. He spoke of the day Sylaena stopped wearing it; the day she cast out all Honorless.”
“Do you think it will help me convince the other clans to join us?” I ask, genuinely wanting his opinion.
“It may. The other Chieftains will know of it, if not from personal experience, then through stories handed down by those who have seen it. Wear it. It becomes you.” A slight smile flashes from behind his red beard. “Now, where is Sylaena?”
With a thought, she appears at the edge of the trees, revealed when Epona steps into the clearing, releasing her concealing magic. The white draquus makes her way towards us, carrying Sylaena like the Royal she is. The only thing that doesn’t look so royal is Sylaena’s attire.
No longer does she wear the fancy silk dress, but something made of simpler material, making her look less like a High Royal, or even a Royal in general. We hadn’t discussed the wardrobe change, and it catches me off guard, but I recover quickly, shutting my mouth before anyone sees.
Sylaena dismounts at the back of my group, waiting for me to tell them to make way before walking up to Calder and me. This seems to impress Calder some, and gives me confidence the same show just might work on the other clans.
“I am truly sorry for the hardships I caused as High Royal,” Sylaena begins. “I was in the wrong, and it has taken me the death of my kinsman to see my mistake. I know this does not make up for what I have done, but I hope it is a start.”
“Always the Royal, Sylaena.” Calder dips his head, and Malakai relaxes. “Stepping down from High Royal is a good beginning towards fixing that mistake. Kalos, take my place against Hadrian.”