by Lana Axe
“My assistance has been given,” she shot back impatiently. Her tone softened slightly as she said, “I have given all that is required. The rest is up to you.”
Taren’s mouth hung open as he searched for the words to convince her. Yes, she had helped him by giving him the book, but it wouldn’t be enough. She owed him no favors, and he dared not risk her anger. There was only one thing left to say. “I thank you for this gift, Iracidae.”
She dipped her head and closed her eyes in acknowledgement.
“Wait,” Imrit said. “We have to have your help. Unlocking the symbol’s full potential is possible only with dragon fire.”
“You are a small-minded man,” she said. “You will not find what you seek here. Learn from this young one, and take what you are given. There is no hope for you, only him.”
Imrit’s face reddened, the dragon’s words rendering him speechless.
Taren bowed slightly before the dragon. “Let’s go,” he whispered to his companions.
Iracidae remained silent as they disappeared into the tunnel. Only Zamna glanced back, wondering if she would be content to stay with her treasure until the end of her days. There was a time when he wished for exactly that. Part of him wanted to return and ask for a small gift of his own. A handful of her wealth would make him a rich man. But it would have been a waste of time. She would not part with a single coin, and he would have it all spent before he ever made it home. He’d never been good with money. Perhaps poverty would suit him better.
The Cultists were nowhere to be seen as the trio entered the main chamber. “Burying their dead, I suppose,” Zamna commented.
When they stepped outside, Taren paused and turned to Imrit. “She said what you sought was not here. Do we go in search of another dragon?”
Imrit smiled and patted the young man’s shoulder. “No,” he replied. “We have all we need right here. I didn’t understand at first, but now I think I do.”
Taren waited for an explanation, but the old man only continued to smile at him. He remembered all too well the nature of Imrit’s lessons. It was always on the student to decipher the master’s meaning. “Sit in silence until you figure it out,” he’d heard the old man say far too often. This time would be no different, he suspected. Imrit would keep a watchful eye while Taren worked out the riddle. It almost felt like old times.
There was little chatter between the three as they descended the steps and made their way back beneath the palm trees. Each seemed relieved to be out of the dragon’s presence but also felt a sense of loss. Zamna, for one, felt like he’d exited a dream. Had he truly spoken with a real-life dragon?
Attempting to lighten the mood, the La’kertan nudged Taren with his elbow. “Think we’ll see any gnomes?” he asked.
The herbalist only shook his head.
Imrit moved with a satisfied smirk on his face. Taren wanted to ask what he was thinking, but he chose not to pry. No doubt the old wizard was already planning what to do next.
Taren’s mind focused on the book in his hands. He itched to read every single word contained in the volume. Somewhere inside was the information he needed to work in harmony with the symbol. What greater treasure could he have asked for? Iracidae had given him his life back. Or at least, that’s what he chose to believe. Within these pages he hoped to find a way to live with the symbol, or failing that, a way to be rid of it that did not result in his own death.
Approaching the coastline, they expected the ship to be waiting for them. Instead there was only ocean.
Imrit strode forward on heavy steps. “They’ve abandoned us!” he shouted.
Chapter 17
Zamna scanned the coastline and pointed to the east. “No, they haven’t gone,” he announced. “They’ve only moved to a different harbor.”
Relief washed over Taren. He feared the ship’s captain hadn’t kept his word, and they’d have to spend months on this forsaken island before another transport arrived. He led his companions toward the ship, but what he saw did not give him hope for a speedy departure. The men had constructed a makeshift camp and were hard at work shaping timber they’d harvested from the island.
“What’s this?” Imrit asked.
“The kraken,” Taren replied. He didn’t need the sailors to explain it. The ship had been damaged during their encounter with the beast, and repairs had to be made if they were to stay afloat. If the monster showed itself again, the ship had to be in the best shape possible. “We’re stranded here until they’ve completed repairs.”
Imrit slumped down in the sand, landing hard on his backside. “I guess we might as well get comfortable,” he conceded.
“Can’t you two add some magic to help?” Zamna asked, crossing his arms. “Put that sorcery to good use.”
“I can try,” Taren said, tightening his grip on the book. He was anxious to get started reading, but Zamna was right. Magic could help strengthen the ship, leaving fewer repairs for the sailors. He approached one of the men, who recoiled at the sight of him.
“What happened to you?” the man gasped. His fearful eyes remained fixed on Taren.
Despite the constant tightness the herbalist felt on his skin, he had almost forgotten about his scales. They would appear quite strange to humans and La’kertans alike. It was unlikely they’d ever encountered anything like him before. He now had the appearance of some sort of human-reptile hybrid, though he still felt the same inside. “It’s a temporary effect of an improperly cast spell,” he told the man. The explanation should suffice for a nonmagical being.
Taren couldn’t exactly explain it to satisfy himself. He hoped the effect was only temporary, and that in time, he would return to normal. The symbol had saved his life by granting him these fire resistant scales, and he did not regret that fact. However, if there was a way to control when they would come and go, he would dearly love to learn the method. If it was contained within these pages, it would be among the first of the symbol’s secrets he wished to unlock.
The sailor seemed calmer, returning to his normal demeanor. He still looked at Taren strangely.
The captain took notice of the trio’s return and plodded down the gangplank to meet them. “I see you’ve returned,” he said, frowning. “We have at least two weeks’ worth of repairs ahead of us, thanks to your monster.”
Imrit started to argue, but a sideways glance from Taren silenced him. “We’d be happy to use magic to aid you,” Taren said. “I apologize for the damage your ship has endured on our behalf. Let us make it right.”
The captain didn’t seem convinced. “I think we should do things the old-fashioned way,” he said. “No offense, but I’ve had enough magic to last me a lifetime.”
“We will cast the spells,” Taren said. “It is in our best interest to provide for the safety of both ship and crew. If you have any injured, please send them to me. I’m a master herbalist.”
Sighing, the captain relented. “No one was seriously hurt. Just keep out of the way while you cast your charms, and don’t interfere with their work. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to depart.”
“Will we be able to stay in our rooms aboard ship while repairs are underway?” Imrit asked.
“Of course,” the captain replied before returning to his ship.
“Let’s get on board and open this book,” Imrit said, reaching for the tome.
Taren made no effort to stop his former mentor from taking the book. With his hands free of their burden, he looked at the scales that had formed on them. They were patchy, with bare skin mixed randomly between them. Were they receding? They had previously covered his entire hand. Or had they? His memory of the event was distorted.
“Are you all right?” Zamna asked.
Taren wasn’t sure. He was confused and weak, and the skin on his neck felt like blisters rather than scales. “Yes,” he lied. There was no need to worry his friend when there was nothing the La’kertan could do about it.
“Come on, then,” Imrit said.
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br /> “We should cast the spells over the ship first,” Taren suggested. “Once we get started with the book, we might not want to stop.”
“Fine, but let’s make it quick,” Imrit replied.
Taren decided to begin with the ship itself. “We’ll leave the book below deck,” he said.
Imrit appeared uneasy with that decision, so Taren offered reassurance. “The sailors have no use for such an item, and none of the island’s inhabitants could board the ship without being seen. The tome will be safe.”
With a single nod, Imrit allowed the young man to take the book. Taren carried it to Imrit’s cabin aboard the ship. Everything was as he’d left it. Carefully placing the aged volume inside a trunk, Taren reemerged in the sunlight. He felt a weight lifted from him, the burden of the work ahead seeming distant. For now he was simply a wizard about to perform some routine spells.
Zamna leaned against the mast as the two wizards visited the fore and aft sections of the ship. They leaned over each side, gesturing with their hands, various colors of magic raining down upon the wooden hull. The La’kertan was mildly curious as to how the magic worked and which spells they had chosen. When they returned, he asked, “Is it kraken-proof?”
Remembering his sense of humor, Taren said, “No, we’ll still need you to fight it. Some of the sailors are taking bets, I hear.”
Hissing with laughter, Zamna clapped his friend on the back. It was good to see him in high spirits. Hope had ignited in the young man’s eyes, and the La’kertan was glad to see it. The dragon had certainly had an effect on the herbalist, but other than the scales on his skin, there was no sign of it. His spirit seemed undiminished, and that would make the return trip far more tolerable.
“Can we get on with it?” Imrit asked, crossing his arms. “This isn’t the time for levity. We have serious work to be done.”
“The book must be calling to him,” Zamna said.
“I still want to visit the sailor’s camp,” Taren said. “You can stay behind if you like.”
Shaking his head and waving his hands, Imrit replied, “No, no. I’ll come along and help. I’m not opening that book without you at my side.”
Sensing an apology in the old man’s tone, Zamna decided not to make another joke. Imrit was an odd sort, dedicated more to his studies than the La’kertan thought was healthy. There was far more to life, and the sorcerer seemed incapable of seeing that. Even pausing to watch a sunrise aboard ship had been a burden on the old man.
Given the choice, Zamna would travel separately from Imrit. He was cranky, opinionated, and a real pain in the backside. Whatever Taren found likable, Zamna had yet to see it. Still, the old man had his moments, and he’d managed to surprise Zamna with his honesty and true concern for Taren. Perhaps he was judging him too harshly. After all, he’d seen only a small portion of the man’s personality. Some people were just terrible traveling companions, and Imrit certainly was.
The sailors’ camp was abuzz with activity. Planks laying on makeshift supports crafted from palm trees were sanded and prepared for the ship. A large cauldron boiled over a fire, the stench of it suggesting it wasn’t food. Taren knew exactly what it was. A mixture of resin and alcohol would create a nice varnish and seal the wood. It was likely a concoction they’d brought along with them. Such items would be in short supply on Ayumai.
One sailor held an oily cloth, wiping away at a freshly sanded plank. Taren made note of the bandage wrapped around the man’s wrist, and the dots of blood staining the white cloth. Searching his pouch, he produced a small pot of yellow salve. Approaching the man, he extended the medicine toward him. “This will keep that cut from becoming infected,” he told him. “Use it twice a day.”
The sailor stared at Taren a moment, his eyes tracing every scale on the once-human herbalist’s body. “Thank you,” he finally answered, reaching for the salve. He stole two more glances before returning to his work.
As the trio continued around the camp, Imrit chose various projects over which to cast his spells. He could speed the drying process of the varnish, plane the wood without any tedious work, and fell a few palm trees with the simplest of spells. If he had the knowledge of how to put the ship together, he could have cut the work time to a minimum. However, he had no such skill. He’d have to let the sailors do their part.
Taren noticed several sailors stealing glances at him as he moved through the camp. Two more sailors had minor injuries, and he offered them remedies as well. They accepted his gifts with mumbled thanks, always scrutinizing the condition of his skin. He tried his best to ignore it, but he failed. He wanted nothing more than to run and hide, concealing every inch of his body. Being rid of these scales was quickly becoming his top priority.
A familiar tingling in his arm let him know that the symbol had grown impatient. “Perhaps we should finish up here,” he suggested.
“I’ve done all I can,” Imrit replied. “I can cast more after we set sail. That should stop the ship from flying apart at the seams.”
The comment earned him some harsh words from a nearby pair of sailors, but neither sorcerer paid them any heed. Taren’s hands yearned to hold the volume once again, to open it and smell the scent of its aged pages. The knowledge inside would be his.
“Back to the ship then?” Zamna asked. He’d spent most of the time seated near a La’kertan sailor, the two of them sharing sips of an amber-colored liquid. Zamna wasn’t exactly sure what kind of liquor it was, but it was strong and tasted like rusted nails. Rising to his feet, he followed his companions. “How long until we’re underway?” he wondered.
“A week, maybe less,” Imrit replied.
The La’kertan suppressed a groan. How was he going to pass the time? The dragon’s tome was of little interest to him. They likely wouldn’t need his help until they reached wherever it was they were sailing to next. Suddenly curious, he asked, “Where will we be off to once the ship is repaired?” They hadn’t discussed further travels at all. Everything they’d talked about ended with retrieving the book.
“Wherever the tome sends us,” Imrit answered.
A short and to-the-point answer, Zamna decided. “Another wild dragon chase?” he asked. “The ship’s captain might have something to say about that.”
Unamused, Imrit replied, “He’ll do as he’s told.”
Zamna had to give Imrit credit. If nothing else, he was sure of himself. He could certainly respect him for that. Though he still wasn’t sure the captain would be prepared to go on another of Imrit’s adventures, no matter the promise of payment. Krakens and dragons weren’t things average sailors wanted to deal with. Pirates might enjoy it, but not merchant ships. Imrit had found himself the wrong sort of captain for this line of work.
Near the ship, Zamna announced, “I guess I should go take a walk.” They weren’t likely to need him while interpreting a book of magic.
“No,” Taren said. “I’d like you to come with us if you would.” The words spilled out without any thought behind them. Taren had no idea why he wanted the La’kertan present. Zamna knew nothing of magic, but Taren had a sudden urge to have him present when they opened the tome. Could it be the symbol’s desire? There was no accompanying sensation in his arm, but things hadn’t felt quite right since the scales erupted on his flesh. Something was changing in him, and it was far more than his skin. Maybe he was frightened, and the La’kertan’s presence made him feel safe. He was formidable, after all. Taren hadn’t wanted to admit his own fear, even to himself, but he felt it lurking deep inside him.
Surprised, Zamna furrowed his eyebrow ridges. It was an odd request, one that sounded almost desperate. “All right then,” he replied. He saw no reason to refuse his friend’s wish, even if it was an odd one.
Imrit hurried up the gangplank with Taren and Zamna in tow. Lifting the lid to the trunk, he breathed a sigh of relief. The book lay inside undisturbed. Carefully lifting it, he passed it to Taren. “You should open it first,” he said.
With b
oth hands, the young man grasped the ancient tome. When his fingers connected with the leather cover, his body went into violent convulsions. The breath stolen from his lungs, he struggled to take in a single breath. The air was like fire in his chest, the searing pain muting his cries for help.
The dragon’s book fell hard against the floor, and Imrit stooped to pick it up.
“Can’t you do something?” Zamna asked.
Imrit shook his head. “The symbol was torturing him. Only the knowledge in this book can spare him from it.”
Zamna knelt next to Taren and cradled the young man in his arms. Before his eyes, more black scales erupted on Taren’s skin. The sides of his face from his neck to his ears became scaled, tapering off as they reached his hair. Seeing them this close was far more disturbing than what he’d seen before. These scales were different from his own. They reminded him of Iracidae in every way. “That dragon cursed him,” Zamna said. “Can you remove it?”
“I can’t,” he replied. “This is not the work of the dragon but of the symbol. The artifact has a mind of its own, and it’s imposing its will over his.”
“Then do it!” Zamna shouted. Taren’s body contorted in pain, the La’kertan powerless to stop it.
“These things take time,” the old man insisted, his manner strangely calm. “There is much studying to be done.”
Growling with frustration, Zamna tried to lift Taren to his feet. The least he could do was place the suffering man in a bed. Taren, however, wouldn’t hear of it. He fought wildly, his mind raging with fever. Zamna found it impossible to restrain him without resorting to excessive force. Rather than harm his friend, he released him, and Taren ran from the room.
Following the herbalist, Zamna raced across the ship and back through the sailors’ camp. He heard footsteps behind him and managed a single glance over his shoulder. Imrit was following as well, and the book was nowhere to be seen. Zamna couldn’t believe the sorcerer would cast the book aside for a moment, but apparently he’d done just that. It was almost respectable, unlike the man’s reaction when Taren had fallen to the ground in agony.