Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I

by R.K. Ryals

  Chapter 9

  The wolf was a lot like the trees. He didn’t speak again. He only walked, guiding me carefully through poisonous and thorny brush. He stopped occasionally, leading me to small creeks to refill my water skin or to bushes with berries he insisted were safe to eat. The food was not enough. The walking took too much energy, and I felt weak now after almost three days on foot. But I said nothing. Neither the wolf nor the trees seemed to be great conversationalists, and I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

  It was late afternoon, the sun high enough to be hot, but low enough to cast shadows when we reached the edge of the forest. The desert lay beyond. I looked for any glimpse of my home, Forticry, but there was nothing. The trees and the wolf had led me out of the forest far from the manor.

  “The Ardus,” Oran said.

  He sat at the edge of the trees, his black eyes searching the vastness beyond. It seemed strange a desert should start only a few feet from the forest’s edge, from grass to sand with no warning. According to the Archives, the Ardus was an anomaly, the only natural abnormality in the world. This is why it was believed it was not natural, but created instead by magic.

  Shadows moved in the sky above, far enough up that they could be mistaken for birds. I was Medeisian. I knew better. Wyvers.

  Oran’s gaze followed mine.

  “Their senses are extremely keen. They will know you are within their desert, and they will kill you. Wyvers are not known for their hospitality,” Oran said wryly.

  I glanced at him.

  “Are you trying to talk me out of crossing?” I asked.

  The wolf did not meet my gaze. “The first to understand us, you are. Tis a shame you seem so willing to die.”

  The remark made me angry. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I was tired of everyone telling me who I was or what I was supposed to be. I had wanted to be a scribe, to hide my magic in the hidden bowels of the Archives until I was old and grey. It wasn’t a great ambition, but it was mine, and it would have kept those I loved safe. Instead, my stepmother had used marriage as a way to fool my father and me.

  I was to fulfill my duty, Taran had said. I think even Aigneis had believed it. I was to wed hastily to keep myself safe. But then in the woods, Taran’s treachery had been quickly obvious. Aigneis was dead. I needed to get beyond that. I just wasn’t sure I could. It was a hole in my heart I knew would never heal.

  My eyes moved back to the Wyvers. They weren’t especially large creatures. According to the dimensions on a sketch in the Archives, they were about the size of a horse when on the ground. They had serpentine bodies with two legs that ended in eagle-like talons. Their wings were bat-like, and they had a barbed tail that was full of poison. I shivered. I only knew them as shadows seen from my bedroom window in the skies above the desert.

  “There must be some way to trick them, even destroy them,” I said.

  The wolf made a sound eerily similar to a snort. “Even if there were, you couldn’t accomplish it.”

  Now I was as insulted as I was angry. How dare he pretend to know me! I glared at Oran, but he did nothing more than lick himself.

  “And if there were? You have no training. What can you do? You bear the mark of the scribe. I assume that means you can read, maybe? Write? Sketch? But fight?” Oran added.

  I was shaking now, from fear, anger, and maybe even failure. It was enough to make me move away from the wolf, to march toward the desert as if I knew what I was doing. There were sandstone boulders on the edge of the Ardus. I think they may have been part of the Mystic Mountains once, the mountains that sat beyond the Medeisian woods. The forest had no name. They were simply woods that belonged to the king. Everything belonged to the king. I glanced down at my mark, and it strengthened my resolve.

  “And you are our savior.” The wolf said the words sadly, as if he was disappointed before stepping backward and melding into the forest. I glanced over my shoulder, but saw him no more.

  I faced forward again, moving steadily toward the sandstone, my feet instantly hot when it hit the sand. The temperature around me was different now, too. Hotter, dryer. Everything about the Ardus was lonely, despairing. And yet it was beautiful in a barren, depressing kind of way. So stark. Even the sky looked cast off, neglected. It was a dull blue. No clouds.

  The sandstone rocks loomed over the desert as if they were doorways built into ancient ruins long forgotten. There was no breeze. The air was stifling, stale.

  “I will be forgotten.”

  There was nowhere for the words to go. No rush of breeze to snatch them away. The words hung there, resigned. The only thing worse than a place, a world even, abandoned is being forgotten. I don’t know why it mattered. I shouldn’t care if anyone remembered me, but if I were forgotten then Aigneis would be as well. Raising me had been her mission. If I died now, she failed.

  I reached the sandstone, and I crouched under the minuscule shade provided by the craggy stones, my back burning.

  A shadow moved overhead. The wyvers watched.

  “You tempt them, you know,” a voice said.

  The voice did not belong to Oran or the trees. This voice was deep, but different, almost melodic. It was male.

  I hit the crown of my head against the sandstone as I stood, my heart pounding wildly. I didn't turn around. If it was a soldier, I was dead anyway. I raised my hands, placing one on the rocks next to me and the other just far enough from my body it was obvious I had no weapons. My water skin fell to the sand. The man behind me laughed.

  “You think I will harm you, human?”

  I paused, my eyes on the sky. He called me human. Did that mean he wasn’t? Not a soldier then?

  “Won't you?” I asked.

  There was a hand on my shoulder before I even had a chance to react. I stood up straighter, my knees locked to keep from trembling. I would not shake. I would not feel fear. Bravery was all I had left.

  “Daughter of Soren, I would not see you dead.”

  Soren? He knew my birth mother's name.

  The hand fell away, and I looked over my shoulder, my eyes wide. A young man stood in the sand. He was lanky, but tall, his russet hair long enough it swept his shoulders. Strange, reptilian eyes narrowed on my face. I knew what he saw, but I didn't shy away from him. I had been on the run for days now. The blue gown Aigneis had put me in was in bad shape, ripped in places, the grungy petticoats beneath obvious. Dirt was smeared on my tanned skin and crusted under bitten nails, and my dark brown hair was streaked with blonde and red highlights I’d had since I was a child. My hair was an odd mix of colors for a Medeisian. It was also now wildly tangled.

  “Who are you?” I asked him. His eyes were definitely not human. “What are you?”

  “Same as you I'm guessing,” the boy said, his hand gesturing at the sky.“The wyvers’ senses are very keen. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of one of their barbs, you best follow me.”

  The stranger’s words almost mimicked Oran’s. I didn't move.

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  It bothered me that I had not heard him approach. It bothered me even more that he must have been near when Oran was here, that he must have heard our conversation. And yet the wolf had not seemed aware of the boy’s presence. Or maybe Oran had been aware. Maybe the wolf hadn’t wanted me to know.

  The boy sighed, his hollowed cheeks sucking in as he blew hair out of his face before lifting his arm. The mark on his wrist was stark against calloused skin. A mage.

  The boy sported brown pants made out of a strange hide I'd never seen before, and the loose, blue tunic he wore was almost the same color as the sky. His sleeve almost covered the mark, but it was there all the same.

  “Girl, I am not a patient creature. Never have been. Never will be.”

  His voice was harsh when he spoke, but my eyes were still on the mark. A burning star.

  “Rebel?” I asked.

  In a blur, the boy crouched, his han
d suddenly a vise around my wrist, forcing me down next to him. His eyes were slits now, searching the skies earnestly.

  “You have a death wish, girl? Is that what it is? The wyvers have claimed the desert. Choose wisely. Death at the hands of man? Or painful death by poison? If you fear me, fear me. But death by my hand would be much more peaceful than the one you bring on yourself now.”

  I twisted my arm, pulling my wrist from his grasp before rubbing it gently.

  “They will not harm me.”

  My words were confident. And foolish. I was extremely weary of strange creatures and their demands, their crazy prophecies.

  The boy looked down at me, his yellow eyes dilated. He was not human. No way was he human, and he had the mark of the mage. I had every reason to fear him.

  “The wyvers know you are here.”

  I didn't flinch.

  “But they will not harm me,” I repeated.

  A kek, kek filtered down to me from the sky, and I looked away from the boy. Ari. Her calls were low, trusting. Falcons could sense danger, predators. She circled low, away from the wyvers, but she didn’t seem to be avoiding the boy. There was no unease in her call. The boy was not my enemy.

  “Were you planning to cross the desert?” the boy asked.

  He was ignoring the falcon's call. I peered across the golden sands at the mountains of dunes that separated me from the land I knew lay beyond. Sadeemia. Refuge. Sweat beaded along my hairline as more sweat dripped down my back and between my breasts.

  My eyes finally moved to the boy's, and I knew the answer was in my gaze.

  He shook his head. “You wouldn't make it. Even with your power.”

  We were close, close enough I could see my reflection in his strange eyes.

  “Who are you? What would you know about my power?” I asked.

  The corner of the boy's mouth lifted, his eyes twinkling.

  “Lochlen. I'm called Lochlen.”

  And with that, he stood and moved away from the desert's edge toward the dense forests of Medeisia. He paused a few feet away from me. In the sky, Ari mimicked his moves.

  “I am safer than your desert, girl,” he said.

  With his back to me, he kept walking, and I sighed before following.

  In the desert, I might die, forgotten. In the forest, I may die as well. But Aigneis had taught me I would one day inherit a power that would call to the forest. It had come to me now, in a time of need, following Aigneis’ death. I was a stubborn girl, even foolhardy at times, but I was not stupid enough to keep ignoring signs thrust at me. Talking trees and wolves. A strange boy with reptilian eyes. The forest wasn’t just calling to me, it seemed to be begging me to stay.

  And so I followed Lochlen warily, keeping my distance, my weak legs stumbling over sand and rocks before I finally fell to my knees on the grass and prickly seeds of the forest beyond.

  “Up, girl! I have no desire to hold you.”

  I made a face at the boy’s back as I pushed myself up. If I had any say, he would not be coming anywhere near me much less carrying me.

  “You live in these forests?” I asked as I followed him.

  He didn’t seem as patient as the trees or Oran, and he moved quickly. Almost too quickly. I kept stumbling, my palms reaching out to steady me. It wasn’t long before my hands were scraped, some of the scratches bleeding, others just raw abrasions.

  “I rule these forests,” Lochlen answered.

  I stumbled again. Ruled it? No one ruled it except King Raemon.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “What am I, you mean?” he asked in return.

  “Riddles are not becoming,” I snapped crossly.

  The boy laughed. It was a sweet sound. “No? And here I thought scribes liked riddles.”

  My heart felt heavy. “I am not a scribe. Not a licensed one."

  Lochlen didn’t slow even as he talked.

  “Ah, and you have magic in your blood. A predicament that.”

  I narrowed my eyes.“You bear the mark,” I pointed out. “You have magic in your blood as well.”

  Lochlen laughed again, the sound as confident as it was amused.

  “Of course I do. The mark is an illusion, as is this body. All dragons have magic in their blood. Magic beyond what you could possibly imagine.”

  And just like that I froze, the late afternoon light beginning to blanket the forest causing the boy ahead of me to appear as scary as his words, covered in the orange glow of a late day sun. Like fire.

  A dragon. He was a dragon.