by Megg Jensen
Dragonlands:
Origins
FIRST BLOOD
Megg Jensen
Copyright © 2015 by 80 Pages, Inc
Published by 80 Pages, Inc
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
1st Edition: July 2015
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Florian crept into the dark cave, his hands trembling. He wasn't supposed to be there. His father had warned him to stay away from the man in the long cape. But when he'd heard the crackling of pebbles outside his window, he couldn't stop himself from listening.
Then he couldn't stop himself from crawling out the window.
Or from following the man down the dark street and into the forest.
When he disappeared into the mouth of the cave deep in the forest, Florian told himself to go home.
Unfortunately, he wasn't one to listen to reason—even if it came from his own conscience.
On tiptoes, he snuck into the cave. Quiet, he listened for noise, for any indication of which way the man had gone. Florian had been in this cave before searching for a special mushroom his father liked to use in his medicines. He knew each twist and turn as the tunnels led deeper underground, spiraling on for what seemed like an eternity.
Florian squatted, brushing his palm over the ground. His fingers searched for a disturbance in the settled dirt. Smooth to the right. He scuttled over to the other opening. This time he found uneven piles of dirt.
Footprints.
Florian smiled. It was as if the man wanted to be followed. Or perhaps the man didn't care.
He stood and hurried down the tunnel, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. He'd brought other children into the caves before, and they were often in tears before reaching the first fork in the tunnels. His eyes were accustomed to seeing in the dark. Florian preferred darkness to light, often shunning the outside world during the peak of sunlight.
In the light, his vision was weak. He saw bright, blinding spots whenever he looked at the sun, particularly when sunlight reflected off of something shiny. Sometimes, the spots were so bright, they blocked his vision for most of the day, resulting in a terrible headache and a weak stomach.
So, Florian kept to the night as much as possible. It helped his vision. It bolstered his sanity.
Voices echoed through the tunnel. Florian was familiar with the acoustics of the cave system. Someone else might have gone left, but Florian knew to turn right. He crept, careful not to make a sound. Discovery would ruin the fun.
The flickering light of a torch beckoned. Florian pressed his back against the muddy wall. His shirt pushed into the slimy wall, as worms wriggled to get out of the way. The pressure of something popping against his back distressed him. He'd squished a worm. Its innards would be all over his shirt. His mother scolded him when he was dirty. She would downright detest this.
Still, Florian pushed harder against the wall as he moved one step at a time closer to the cavern where the man had gone. Their voices, muffled, but slightly clearer, were arguing.
Florian strained to understand their words.
"Has he told his secret yet?" a man asked.
"No. Nothing but silence and a lot of glaring. I don't think he's realized we're not letting him go until he tells us the secret."
Secret? Florian's ears perked up. He loved secrets.
He was good at keeping them, too. No one else knew his neighbor had a mistress in the next town. No one else knew the physic spent more time ingesting drugs than making them. No one else knew Clemmy Striker hadn't fallen off the cliff on accident.
Florian had more secrets in his little mind than anyone, and he prided himself on knowing everything. Someday, it might come in handy.
"Keep at him," the first voice continued. "As soon as he breaks, send me a message. I want to be the first to know what he's keeping from us."
Feet scrabbled over the ground, and Florian raced back, his heart pounding, as he turned a corner into another tunnel. He waited, his breath coming in fits and starts under the hand he had clamped over his mouth and nose. It was a trick he'd learned the night he'd witnessed Thom, the butcher, kidnap a neighbor girl from her home. He'd pulled her behind the bushes and done something—Florian wasn't sure what—all he knew was that the girl had fumbled with her skirts as she trudged back to her home, her head hung.
It was another secret Florian kept. It was part of his collection, one he would never share with anyone else.
After the cloaked man left the cave, Florian began his search again. Before long, the sound of snoring echoed in the tunnels. One set of footsteps crunched over pebbles. Soon, they stopped as well, and another snore, this one higher pitched, joined the first.
Florian stepped into the tunnel again, making his way down to the cavern.
"It's okay. They're sleeping. You may enter."
Florian gasped, looking around frantically. He didn't see anyone behind him. No one inside the cavern could see him.
"I don't need to see you to know you're there. They are asleep, and I promise they won't awaken anytime soon. Come to me."
Florian tapped his head a few times with the butt of his palm. It was almost as if the voice was coming from inside, not outside, which was completely impossible.
"It's not impossible. I can teach you to do the same, Florian. Come to me. Now."
Hope rose in Florian's chest. If someone could speak to him in his mind, maybe he could learn to read the minds of others. There were more secrets to collect, and he wanted all of them. Despite his better judgment, Florian’s feet propelled him into the cavern.
It wasn't as large as he imagined. In fact, it was more of a hollow than a cavern. Just enough room for a stool, on which a large man sat, snoring next to the man who'd curled up on the floor, and a small cage.
Inside the cage was a man. Just a simple man according to Florian's observation. He was of medium height and medium build. His brown hair hung in strings down to his shoulders. His intense eyes focused solely on Florian. Stitches ran over his face and arms, indications of recent, possibly grave, injuries. He had expected the man to be angry. Instead, the man was happy. Smiling, even, his teeth, glinting in the light of the torch.
Why would anyone smile inside a cage made of steel and fitted with three locks? What had this kind man done to be locked up so miserably?
Florian had a desperate need to know the secrets hiding within this maze of tunnels.
"Who are you?" Florian asked.
"My name is not important." The man stood, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Why are you covered in stitches?” Florian asked, unable to tamp down his curiosity.
The man chuckled. “I recently had to change some things about myself, and that works just as well as a name. You may call me Stitches. Now, can you get the keys from that man's belt and let me out? I'd be grateful."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. These men abducted me in the middle of the night, claiming I have some secret. I have no secrets. Ask me anything, and I will give you a straight an
swer. I have nothing to hide." Stitches held up his bare hands.
Florian glanced over at the two sleeping men. "They might awaken. Then I'll be in trouble, too."
Stitches shook his head. "No, they won't. Trust me, Florian. They are in the deepest of sleeps, and won't awaken until I want them to."
Florian scratched his chin. The man didn't seem so awful, and he knew a little magic, which intrigued him. Florian's father often told him magic wasn't real, which irritated Florian because deep down, he knew it was real. He just needed someone to teach him.
"Tell me how you forced me to enter this cavern when I wasn’t ready to," Florian said. "If I learn how you did that, then maybe I'll let you out."
Stitches dipped his chin. "Very well. Close your eyes."
Florian squeezed his lids shut as hard as he could.
"Now concentrate, young Florian. Imagine me in your mind, then think your words to me. It is that simple."
Florian pursed his lips together. He drew a picture of the caged man in his head, then, as hard as he could, he thought one simple phrase: I will be back.
Then Florian turned on one heel and ran out of the cave.
His heart thumping in his chest, like a horse thundering across a meadow, Florian ran home.
***
Florian woke the next morning, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then sat up in bed. He'd almost forgotten what happened the night before. He'd learned magic, and it was so simple. If it worked, he'd go back and visit the caged man again.
He sat at the table as his mother cooked porridge over the open fire. His father sat to his left, counting his money.
"We made a fine profit on yesterday's mushrooms, Florian." He father pushed aside one bit. It was the same as always. He kept everything for himself, and only gave Florian enough money to buy a small sweet for himself from the kindly old widow in the market.
Not today. Florian wanted enough to buy a pastry. One dripping with caramelized cinnamon. His mouth watered. He could almost taste it.
Florian closed his eyes.
"What are you doing, boy?" His father asked. "Didn’t you get enough sleep last night? Don't be rude."
Florian sketched a picture of his father in his mind. The man's thinning gray hair donned a scalp that was showing more skin each year. The hair poking out of the end of his father's nose waved to Florian as he constructed each minute detail. Then he thought it. The thing he wanted.
Florian's eyes snapped open, and he gazed at his father expectantly.
"You know, son, you've been working very hard lately. Here's five bits for you. You deserve it." His father pushed the coins toward Florian, and it took everything in him to look surprised as he snatched them with his dirty hand.
"Thank you, Father!" Florian buried the coins in his pocket before his father could change his mind.
"Humbert," Florian's mother said, "we need that money to buy flour for bread. We're almost out."
Florian squeezed his eyes shut again, this time picturing his mother. Her doughy hips and arms moved as she stirred the pot. Her long brown hair was caught in a braid down her back to her waist. Then he thought the words he wanted her to say.
His mother laughed. "I suppose it doesn't hurt every so often. You're a good son, Florian. Go out and play with the other children."
"Thanks, Ma." Florian sprang up from the table. He pulled on his boots, then ran out the door before either of them could realize they'd been hoodwinked.
Florian ran down the street, dirt kicking up under his boots. The town of Trapper's Glen was coming to life with the morning sun. He pulled the hood of his cloak up and over his head, letting the hem sit just above his eyes. It kept out the bulk of the sun, holding his headaches at bay.
The whoops and hollers of a group of boys traveled over the din of the town folk setting up their booths for the day's market. Florian was tempted to try his new trick on his friends, but his stomach growled, pulling him first to the old woman with the cinnamon pastries.
Florian closed his eyes, imagining her in his head. Her hair in a messy bun, and her gnarled fingers arranging the pastries on a tray. Her eyes were tired because she'd been up on all night baking for the market. She only set up shop once a week. That was all the money she'd need to buy her own food and supplies for the next week. Florian had spoken with her often. He found her interesting, but he also had yet to collect a secret about her. Someone so old must have secrets buried deep inside. Florian wanted so much to know what they were. Even just one.
He thought what he wanted her to say, then approached her stall.
"Why Florian, my dear boy. You're positively wasting away. Here, take one of my pastries. For free. But don't tell anyone, otherwise I'll be flooded with children wanting handouts." She held out a pastry with one shaking hand, offering it to Florian.
He almost didn't take it, but then decided he deserved it. The woman hadn't told him any of her secrets, and he wanted one so desperately. Florian held her gaze, then, planted the thought in her head.
She sighed, wiping her brow with her sleeve. "Don't know why I'm thinking of that now." Tears simmered at the corners of her eyes.
"What is it?" Florian took a big bite of the pastry, sating his hunger. At least his body's hunger. His mind wanted more, and he knew he was about to get it.
"A long time ago..." Her voice wavered, as if she was choking on her words. "My son..." She swallowed, a lump bobbing in her throat.
"What is it?" Florian leaned in closer. "You can tell me. I'll keep your secret safe." And he would. He had never told anyone the secrets he gleaned. They were his, and he was their keeper.
"I killed my son when he was but a babe. Drowned him, I did. His father had died not longer after we conceived. Gored by a boar while hunting. Our son looked just like his father, and I hated him for it. So I smothered him with a blanket, and told people he done died in his sleep."
Florian nodded. It wasn't the worst secret he held. He patted the old woman's hand. "I'm sorry you've carried that for so long. I won't tell anyone."
She stood up straight, glared at the pastry in his hand. "Get out of here and don't come back to my stall. Not ever. If you do, I'll slip poison in your food and you'll die a miserable death. Don't think I haven't done it before."
Florian raised an eyebrow. A second secret, just as juicy as the first. He took another lazy bite from the pastry. "Thank you for the free food, and for sharing your innermost secrets with me."
Florian ambled away, heading toward the boys kicking a ball in the field. He watched them for a few moments. No one invited him over. They never did. Florian was small and uncoordinated. And he was weird. The other boys didn't like him.
Florian turned his back on the boys and the pastry stand. He made for the forest, which lead to the caves. The man had taught him true magic. Now he would consider helping him.
***
The sound of snoring echoed in the tunnels. Florian couldn't believe those guards were still sleeping. What was wrong with them?
Then he realized. It was the man in the cage. Stitches. He must have done something to them. Florian wished he knew why Stitches had called him to help instead of compelling the guards to do his bidding. It was a mystery, and yet Florian was happy Stitches had chosen him. Without Stitches, he wouldn't have this magic that allowed him to get what he wanted. Florian knew he had to be careful. If he used it too much, or too blatantly, others would catch on. It had happened in the past. Men and women accused of using magic had been burned at the stake. Or drowned. Or buried alive.
Perhaps that was why they had imprisoned Stitches. Maybe he had been caught using magic.
"I'm back." Florian whispered in case the two guards were close to awakening.
"There is no need to lower your voice," Stitches said. "They will not awaken soon. Maybe they will never open their eyes again."
A shudder passed through Florian. He had used the magic for harmless things. A few coins. A pastry. A secret. He would not use it to tr
uly harm someone. Maybe this man would, although... he had not killed the guards. Just put them to sleep.
Florian looked up at Stitches again. The man laughed. "They will be fine. I have no intention of sharing my secrets with them, so I let them sleep until their masters come back. This has been going on for weeks now. I wake them often enough for food, for a chance to relieve themselves. I would never hurt anyone. You know that, don't you, Florian?"
Florian tried to remember when he'd told Stitches his name. He hadn't, that he could remember. Perhaps it had been taken from his mind when Stitches entered it. If so, that was a magic even more powerful than the one Stitches taught him. It was one thing to implant a suggestion, it was another to forcibly take it.
"Will you let me out now, Florian?" Stitches’ eyes locked on his. "Please."
Florian shuffled toward the guard slumped on the stool. A ring of keys hung from his belt. With shaking hands, Florian reached out toward the keys.
Part of him wondered why Stitches was inside the cage. What had he done? Florian wondered if releasing him was the right thing to do.
"Get the keys, boy!" Stitches screeched.
Florian's arm jutted away from his body, grabbing the key ring and tugging it from the guard's belt. With strength he didn't know he had, Florian ripped the ring from the man's leather belt, severing it in two.
The keys clanked against each other as Florian was propelled toward Stitches’ cage. His feet stumbled and he fell, the key sliding across the dirt floor and coming to rest under the boot of a man who'd snuck up in the tunnel behind them.
"Sorry, boy." The man in the black cloak looked down on him with furious eyes. "You can't let him out. No matter what he compels you to do, you must resist." He bent over, picking up the keys, and sliding the ring over his wrist as if it were nothing more than a charm bracelet. The ring quickly disappeared under the man's sleeve.
The man grabbed Florian by the ear, dragging him away from Stitches’ cage. He glanced back at Stitches. Why was he controlling Florian, but not the other men? What made him different? Was he special?