by Toni Kerr
No, I’m not ill. Not technically.
Then, you are punishing yourself?
Tristan cringed at the question. Why would I do that? Tell me where you are.
Pink returned from her loop around the clearing and hovered a few inches above a shrub. She pointed down with her index finger and flew away.
He’d known the plants could communicate with each other, and with Dorian. And the little cactus appeared to have heard his plea for help. Dorian had even received his message, even if somewhat skewed by the time it reached her. Yet with all the evidence, he found it hard to believe the voices were coming from the surrounding shrubbery.
You can’t talk to a dragon that way! someone called with a screechy voice.
What’s he going to do, fall on me? He can barely stand.
He probably will fall. Those with thorns—blunt your tips!
Is he dying?
His skin is so transparent.
I thought the humans were helping him.
Tristan spun again, surrounded by all the comments. They are helping me and I’m not dying. Tristan faced the original shrub Pink had pointed out and knelt before it, partly because his legs were about to give out, and partly because he had to focus on one source of information.
“Do you have contact with Molajah?” Donovan asked. “Tristan?”
“Give me a minute.” Tristan touched the scraggly shrub with the tip of his finger. The upper almond-shaped leaves were a silvery purple while the undergrowth was a vivid green. Do you have a name?
Pōkerekere.
Pōkerekere. Tristan did his best to pronounce the name the same, but mostly failed. Do you know a girl named Dorian?
Of course. She was here not long ago. Are they withholding food from you?
No. I just—
You are starving yourself? Purposely?
No!
Then why are you so weak and frail? Dragons are not known for being so.
Tristan tried to deny it then snapped his mouth shut. Pink landed on his shoulder and hissed in his ear. “Tristan!”
I’m doing the best I can, he thought angrily, shooing Pink away. What do you know about dragons?
They are fair, loyal, intelligent. I see none of these things in you. Have you judged yourself unworthy of good health?
Tristan glared at the motionless plant and clamped his jaw shut. I need to speak to Dorian, if you can send her a message.
Answer my questions first. The volume of whispers rose for a few seconds, then died into silence.
I’m still adjusting to the idea of being a dragon.
So you believed you were human, now you know you’re not. How long will it take to stop living a lie? You’re a dragon! The only choice you have in the matter is whether you want to be strong or weak. Wise or foolish. Agile or clumsy. Is your goal to be a breathing bag of bones? You must be the sorriest excuse of a dragon I’ve ever seen—
“Tristan!” shouted Pink, tugging on Tristan’s earlobe. “They’re here.”
Tristan scowled at the shrub, fighting the urge to rip it out by the roots and set it on fire. The color seeped out of his vision as an internal pressure threatened to burst fire from his skin. Do you have a death wish?
No. But clearly you’re in no condition to escape as a human…but as a dragon? This is your chance! Now! While out in the open!
“Tristan!”
Tristan flicked the annoying buzz away from his ear. “Pink!” He scrambled to pick her up off the ground, his eyesight returning to normal, and spotted three ghostly figures at the edge of the clearing. “Oh.”
He blinked several times, using the staff to haul himself to his feet. The chatter emanating from the surrounding plant life became a distant hum.
A fourth ghost appeared.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in a misty cloud; three men and a willowy woman who stood a full foot taller than anyone else. The men varied in height, age, and style of clothing, and remained still and silent while Tristan studied each of them.
“What is it?” Donovan asked, stepping in beside Tristan with a long sword drawn and ready. He scanned the surroundings, but didn’t seem to see the line of people standing a mere ten feet away.
“Ghosts—”
“Molajah?” ask Donovan.
“No.” Tristan tensed as the oldest man stepped forward, removing a fur cap from his hairless head. His lips were moving, but there was no voice to hear.
“Fill me in, Tristan. I’m at a serious disadvantage here,” Donovan whispered, tensing along with Tristan. Landon and Victor took places on his left. “Perhaps a tactical retreat.”
The ghosts seemed enthralled with Pink as she fluttered toward Landon, then changed her mind and returned to Tristan’s shoulder. “There are four, no, five,” Pink whispered, loud enough for Donovan to hear.
“Five what?” Donovan asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.
“Humans. They seemed to be waiting for something. One is speaking, but he makes no noise.”
“Well, Tristan? You know how to read lips. What is he saying?”
Tristan had learned to lip-read at an early age when he needed clues to tell the difference between what was said and what was thought. Though the trick didn’t seem to be helping him now. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s speaking a different language.”
“Aren’t you supposed to have a gift of tongues?”
The woman began speaking and three more people appeared. “I don’t know.” Tristan took a step back. “There’s more now. They keep coming.”
“See if they understand you.”
“What do you want?” He wished he could sound strong and determined to find out. Instead, his quivering voice sounded like he didn’t truly want to know. “Where’s Molajah?”
The ghosts glanced at each other and huddled into a tight group. Then one by one, they disappeared.
“I don’t like this….” Tristan shot a frustrated glare at the shrub. “Molajah!”
“They all left,” Pink clarified, leaping from Tristan’s shoulder to the safety of Landon’s hair.
“Maybe they left to find a translator?” Victor asked.
If you were a real dragon, they wouldn’t need a translator, said the shrub.
Tristan growled as he headed back to the dilapidated building, scaring himself more than anyone else with the rumble in his chest. Don’t forget our deal—I need to talk to Dorian as soon as possible.
You don’t have to go back in there. We’ll help you—
Help me how? You’re just a bunch of plants stuck in the— as soon as the words crossed his lips, he remembered a cage of roots entwining around him like a coffin, pulling him underground. His heart raced at the flood of images. Memories.
They were escaping through the dark tunnels of the castle—Landon, Victor, Donovan, Alpheus, a woman in long skirts. They were trying to get out before the building caved in…but the walls had stopped crumbling. They were freeing him...letting him go after accusing him of attacking them. Some sort of trick, because he couldn’t exactly run or get away in the condition he was in. He could barely walk without Landon’s help.
“Let’s get inside while we can,” Donovan suggested. “Obviously they can sense your presence, so we should regroup and come back with a plan for handling the situation.”
“Something’s wrong,” Landon said.
You can’t trust them—they’re humans! They’re the ones destroying the Earth.
Tristan jerked away when a light touch on his back attempted to guide him toward the steps.
But the ground at his feet was solid and level. There were no snapping trees crashing in clouds of dust, no explosions of dirt where snake-like roots tried to impale Landon, Victor, or Donovan….
“Where’s Alpheus?” He couldn’t even remember the last time he’s seen the man.
“He and Eleonora went to Scotland,” answered Donovan. “They’re searching the smaller villages for useful folklore.”
“Maybe he’
s having a vision?” Victor asked.
“No.” A stab of anger pierced his core with cold fire. How could he forget being pulled underground by a cage of roots? Around him, the trees looked completely normal, but in his mind, they were waiting for him to acknowledge the fact that they would kill on his behalf. He just had to give the order. He reined in his anger to sort out the situation logically.
There were no enemies right now.
The ghosts were gone.
Yet he couldn’t risk going back to Samara if the people never intended to let him out again. What was in it for them?
“Shut up!” he told himself. This wasn’t the time to second-guess the people in his life when he desperately needed their help. Maybe the battle he remembered was just a past dream? Maybe Victor was right, and it was a vision?
We were trying to save you!
“By burying me alive?” The vivid colors of the forest faded to a dull gray as his heart raced faster. The people shifted into bright orange, except for Donovan. Pink blended with Landon.
“Inside, Tristan. Now.”
Tristan ignored Donovan and stared at Landon, remembering the death-grip they shared and Landon’s promise to get him out. Then Victor announced he was a pyro…and he had to decide who to trust more. “How did you get me out?”
“We’ll talk inside,” Donovan said. “It’s not safe out here until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“It’s not safe inside either! How do I know you aren’t planning to let me rot down there? I want to know what happened when the…the trees, the roots…how could I possibly forget something like that?”
“Take your anger out on me.” Donovan stepped in front of Landon. “We had no reason to trust you, and you had no reason to trust us.”
“So it did happen? You put me in the middle of some monster-plant pit? To see if I’d live?” His skin crawled, threatening to snap.
“We had to know if you knew what you were doing. If you were stupid enough to attack us from within.”
He had that sword at your throat, said the shrub.
“He says you started it with that sword.”
“Who says so?”
Were there no secrets? Tristan sighed. The rush of adrenalin drained from his will to argue. Donovan had more than proven himself—he was not an enemy. The colors returned to the forest, undergrowth, and sky. The surrounding plants groaned in a chorus of defeat. “The plants.”
Donovan motioned for Landon and Victor to move closer to the castle. “So tell me. Were the plants acting on your authority?”
“I—” He couldn’t remember. The dull throb in his shoulder ached and he tried not to slump against the staff. “I was afraid. I think I asked for help, but I didn’t expect anyone to respond.” Tristan eyed the sword. “Can you blame me?”
We took your plea as permission, and if these humans harm one hair on you, we will hunt them down and devour their flesh. Tell them.
Tristan opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind.
“You may as well say it,” Donovan said. Landon and Victor looked sick. Pink stayed hidden.
“How could I forget something so…unreal?”
“You were not ready for the world to change so drastically and you had enough to deal with.”
“How do you know what I can and can’t handle?”
Donovan rolled his eyes almost laughed.
“Fine. I wouldn’t have handled it. But you can’t just erase all my memories—”
“They weren’t erased.” Donovan paused a moment to scan the surrounding trees. “I concealed the event and saved you anyway.”
“Why?”
“Gwenna Winters. She believed you to be a part of this dragon legend, and I had to find out for myself if it was true. Also, I needed the Seraphim Council to expose themselves for personal reasons.”
“So you used me as bait? Made me forget I had a mission and threw me back empty handed?”
“You had no clear mission at the time and we let you keep the map.”
The one secret he thought he’d kept from Landon and Victor.
“To be fair,” Donovan added, “Landon and Victor would have preferred to keep you here.”
Landon and Victor agreed instantly.
“Keep me? Like a pet?” They were certainly keeping him like a pet now. And the council still hadn’t shown itself, had they?
“You can’t have it both ways.”
Tell them.
“Fine.” Tristan let the last little burst of anger drain out of him—every cell in his body craved sleep. “They want you to know…if you turn on me for any reason, they’ll kill you.”
“The council?”
Tristan shook his head warily. “The plants.”
6
A HELPING HAND
TRISTAN REFUSED everyone’s help getting down the spiral staircase. Donovan didn’t force the issue and instead assembled an emergency meeting with all of the Makai, requiring Landon and Victor’s immediate attendance.
Tristan took his steps alone in the stairwell, with who-knew-how-much farther to go.
“Can’t have it both ways,” he mumbled to himself. They could have left Pink with him, but he suspected Donovan wanted him to fail at doing this one thing, to prove he did need help in the most basic ways.
He had to be getting close to the bottom—closer than going back outside for sure. Besides, Donovan would never leave the way out unguarded. Landon or Victor or both were probably waiting for him, just in case he flipped out and tried to escape.
There would be other chances. He could be much better prepared to make a serious attempt when the time was right.
Strong or weak. The shrub’s antagonizing accusations wormed in deeper.
There was no sense in wishing things were different, and certainly no going back to a pathetically normal life. So why all the resistance?
A dragon could kill everyone and feel no remorse.
Donovan was smart to keep Landon and Victor busy with some distance. They were probably making tactical plans for how to handle him if the worse should happen—certainly a higher priority than getting him down the stairs safely. Besides, immortality would keep him from dying if he fell the rest of the way. Though they could talk him down if the warning signs threatened to take over, making him shift in the narrow space.
But without Landon and Victor babying him along, the atmosphere was oddly silent. Peaceful. Being agitated and anxious seemed to be the trigger, and the plants knew it, deliberately provoking him into taking some action.
Tristan sank against the wall, unable to find the strength or will to move up or down the stairs. Captivity was still the best option, even if he was acting like a stray pet in a foster program. Bitterness swept through him like a winter chill. If he could just focus on something other than his own self-pity trip.
Dorian? Tristan tested calling her name, curious if it was Samara blocking communications or the castle itself.
Tristan?
Tristan froze, startled by the instant response, suddenly unable to get his brain to think straight. Can the plants be trusted?
I’m fine! she said in a sappy-sweet tone. Thank you for asking. How are you?
Tristan groaned. Why was he constantly apologizing to her? I’ve been better, I think. It’s hard to remember.
You sound better.
I need some advice. And maybe some help. Do you have a minute? I understand if you’re too busy. Tristan shut his eyes to follow the sound of her voice.
I can talk, but I can’t see you right now. Oliver’s here.
Tristan forced his shoulders to relax. Where are you?
California. How have things been? Did they let you out?
A hazy mountainside came into view. Oliver sat on a nearby stump, while Dorian dug up a collection of small wilting plants, placing them gently into a wooden box. Sawed-off stumps protruded from the ground like tombstones and most of the remaining undergrowth was brown and dried to a crisp. A smoky smog su
rrounded them both.
They let me out temporarily, but I’m on my way back down now. Is there a fire somewhere? What are you doing?
Spying?
I’m not spying.
Dorian straightened, took a quick look around with a lopsided grin, then continued digging. Don’t let Oliver catch you. He’ll wring your neck.
I’m just curious about what you’re doing in California. Didn’t you say the plants should be transplanted at night?
Her eyebrows shot up as she searched the hillside again. There’s a drought going on, if you didn’t realize, and since all the trees have been cut away for some reason, all the plants are dying. And yes, there’s a fire coming.
Tristan held back arguing over the need for lumber in the real world, sensing how angry it made her.
I’m not saying the trees shouldn’t have been cut, she said, reading his mind. I’m saying these plants won’t survive in the full sun and some of them are endangered. And with the fire coming, they’ll have zero chance of surviving unless someone does something.
Wow. I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t know.
It’s not your fault. I’m just frustrated.
Tristan nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him.
I’m beginning to understand why Gram wouldn’t let me off the island before—half the plants out here don’t even speak. It’s rather disturbing.
Tristan cringed. He wouldn’t have believed her before, but now he knew better. Can’t speak, or won’t?
I’m not sure. It’s like they’ve forgotten how, and a lot of the food plants don’t even realize they have a purpose. It’s like...how does Philip say.... The zombie apocalypse.
Tristan tried not to laugh.
It’s not funny, assuming I understand the phrase correctly.
No, I know it’s not funny. And it probably is a good way to describe things. I just didn’t expect to hear those words from you. Do you plan to save all of them?
From the drought? No, just the rarest. The rest will have to hope for the best and wait for water like everyone else.
An idea struck Tristan so squarely in the chest, he sat forward and wondered if he was truly onto something. I have a question for you, and possibly someone I want you to meet. He didn’t wait for her to respond. Can you get Philip to take you somewhere so we can get together? He can come along if you want. But there’s something I need to do, and I know I’ll need your help.