by Linda McNabb
Copyright Linda McNabb 2007
www.mcnabbnz.com
Images Copyright : Christopher King /Victoria Kalinina / Frenta
Smashwords edition
Linda McNabb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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CHAPTER ONE - THE MASTERS OF THE BOOK
“Which book is next, Davyn?” Zaine looked wearily at the older man standing next to him. They were in a large reception room on the ground floor of Willow Castle. By the wall was a table piled high with leather-bound books, and inside each book a runeweaver was magically trapped.
“You choose.” Davyn wished he could help, but, even though he was a runeweaver too, only Zaine seemed to be able to free the trapped runeweavers.
“I know which master I would like to free next,” Zaine said, taking an old green book from an inside pocket of his purple robe. The book’s cover was badly worn around the corners, and the pages were tattered along the edges and yellow with age.
The book had changed everything when he found it hidden under a shelf eight years ago as a five year old. Zaine had traced the mysterious design on the cover with his finger and the locked book had opened. Inside were more of the fascinating designs, and since then he had secretly studied them whenever he could.
Now he knew that the designs were runes and that using them made him a runeweaver.
Nobody had been happy to find out that he had learnt the runes, however. When Zaine was born, it had been decided that he should not fulfil his destiny to be a runeweaver – but people could not alter fate, and he had found the runes. He’d had no choice. In fact, he’d learnt so many runes that he had not aged since he‘d turned twelve over a year ago, and he would never age again.
Now the reason for this gift seemed to be coming clear. Over the past few hundred years, many weavers had been trapped within the paper bounds of a book just like the one he was holding. With the destruction of the Circle of Dreams he – and only he – was able to free the runeweavers.
Zaine wondered about the runeweaver who was trapped inside this green book. How long had the master been imprisoned in it?
“Hasn’t he done them all yet, Davyn?”
Zaine did not turn at the sharp sound of his mother’s voice. There was little point. She didn’t want to speak to him and he definitely didn’t want to speak to her. She had abandoned him as a baby and she despised him now.
“Our son has freed a dozen masters already, Trianna. They are resting in the rooms down the corridor,” Davyn replied in a much gentler, placating voice. “It is very tiring for him and is not something we can rush.”
A deep rumble shook the room and a pile of books toppled from the heavily laden wooden table. Several novice weavers rushed forward to gather the books up as a loud, cracking sound flooded the room. Windows shook and Zaine’s head buzzed briefly as the noise faded.
“The storm is getting worse,” Davyn muttered. His voice reflected the uncertainty and fear that had filled them all for the past week. “It sounds like it is breaking away from the Circle of Dreams and getting closer.”
“We need all the runeweavers we can get right now. We must find a way to get rid of the storm before it destroys us all,” Trianna said flatly, then paused. Zaine could almost feel the stare of her deep green eyes boring into his back. “Tell him to leave that one until later. Do the books with more pages in first. The runebooks with more pages contain runeweavers of much greater power. If the storm gets here first, it will be too late.”
Zaine looked again at the green leather book. He had been about to put it back in his pocket and try a newer one when his mother had spoken. The older runeweavers he had freed were so weak that they would be of little use to anyone for weeks or even months. Logic told him that the newest and thickest were the best ones to free first, but something inside him grew angry at his mother’s orders. Who was she to decide what he was to do? She might have been the previous king’s personal runeweaver, and the head of the Council of Seven, but she had no right to tell him what to do.
“I will do this green one next,” Zaine said loudly, in a defiant tone that said he did not care what anyone else thought. “He has waited more than long enough.”
A weak tingle of relief seemed to ease into the hand that held the runebook. Zaine knew the master trapped inside must be very weak.
He turned, still holding the runebook, and stared at Trianna. She looked about to argue with him, and then pressed her thin lips together. After a few seconds she turned to Davyn.
“I am going to the library to see if there is anything there about the storm that will help.” She flicked an angry glare at Zaine and turned to leave the room with a shake of her long, red hair and a flourish of her fur-trimmed red robes.
Davyn stepped forward and leaned close so that only Zaine could hear him. “I understand your feelings, but after this one we do need some of the more recent masters.”
“Yes, Davyn,” Zaine replied. He still had trouble thinking of the blond-haired man as his father, even though looking at him was like looking at an older version of himself. Zaine had grown up on a farm, a long way from Willow Castle, as the servant of the Tatiem family. He had known Davyn as the local village herbmaster, but now he knew differently. Davyn had been watching over Zaine to keep him safe – and to keep the world safe from Zaine.
Zaine stepped into the middle of the large room and placed the battered old green book in the middle of the floor. All the furniture had been pushed to the sides of the room to make enough space for his spell. He took a dozen steps back and closed his eyes. It helped him to remember the spell if he imagined himself standing back in the Circle of Dreams. He remembered the wind and the lightning and the deep sense of loneliness at being left on his own. Anger grew within him, and his eyes snapped open as he began to recite the spell.
The small green runebook began to grow. It grew larger and larger until it covered most of the floor. It shuddered to a halt as Zaine fell silent, its edges pressed against his purple cloak.
The cover looked even more faded now that the book was big, and the weave of the master’s cloak was almost threadbare. The single rune on the cover was huge, but Zaine ignored that and leaned forward to what had been a small golden dot on the book before, but was now a circle of runes. He traced them firmly and steadily, then stepped back as far as he could. He tried to keep watching the runebook, but it shimmered with a light so bright that it was impossible to look at. A second later, an old man lay crumpled on the floor where the book had been.
Zaine and Davyn hurried forward to help the old man in the dark green robe sit up. He didn’t look quite as old as Zaine had expected, considering the state of the book he had been trapped inside. Deep lines creased his face and his skin was sallow. His wispy hair was as white as snow, and kind blue eyes looked at them with a gratitude that made Zaine pleased he had chosen that book.
“At last,” the old runeweaver said, with a sigh so deep it made his shoulders sag.
“What is your name?” Zaine asked. “You taught me all the runes I know.”
“Aldren,” the weaver replied. He frowned a little as he looked at Zaine. “You learn very fast. Faster than anyone before you.”
“I’m not sure everyone is pleased that I’ve learnt so many,” Zaine replied a little awkwardly. “How long have you been in the book?”
“Too long. I was the first to be struck down.” As the old weaver replayed the memory, his eyes glazed over. “I was trying to get the crown. Guyan was counting on me and I failed.”
“Who is Guyan?”
Davyn asked. “Was he a contender for the throne?”
“Guyan’s not here?” Aldren’s attention snapped back to the present and he looked worried. He was about to speak again when a small rumble of thunder shook the room – the old man looked terrified. He grasped at Zaine’s sleeve and stared at him with wide eyes that showed that he knew exactly what the noise was. “The storm dragons are loose! Who freed them?”
“What’s a storm dragon?” Zaine asked, concerned that the old man might have gone insane from being stuck inside the runebook for so long.
“They’re angry. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. I thought it would work,” the old runeweaver muttered, shaking his head. He tried to stand, but collapsed back to the floor. “We have to find Guyan before the storm dragons regain their full strength. We must tell the king about them.”
“There isn’t a king,” Zaine told the old weaver gently. “We have a queen. Well, we will have as soon as Maata is crowned.”
He didn’t add that the crown with which Maata was to be crowned had been destroyed and nobody knew how to fix it.
“Then warn your queen … Thank you for getting me out of that book.” Aldren gave Zaine a brief look of thanks through rheumy blue eyes, then fainted.
Several castle servants hurried forward with a stretcher to carry the old runeweaver away.
“He‘s the weakest one so far,” Davyn muttered sadly. “I can hardly bear to imagine what it must have been like to be trapped inside that runebook for so long.” Zaine remained quiet; Davyn would have some idea of the horror, as he had been briefly incarcerated in his own runebook.
“What do you suppose he meant about the storm dragons? Do you think he’s gone mad?” Zaine asked, watching the guards carry the green-robed runeweaver out the door.
“I’m not sure, but I’d like to talk to him when he’s feeling stronger.” Dayvn rubbed his short-cropped beard, looking thoughtful, then walked over to the table and pushed a stack of runebooks to the edge. “This pile is next. We need to find more runeweavers who have knowledge of the storm. We must contain that storm and do it fast. I’ll watch over Aldren for a while in case he wakes up. It seems he knows how this all started, so he could hold the key to fighting it.”
Zaine nodded. He was tired, but he didn’t have any choice except to continue. Nobody else had been able to cast the spell, even when he had explained the runes he used.
As Davyn hurried out of the room, Zaine sensed someone standing behind him. He turned and then frowned when he saw Tercel only a pace behind him. He was one of the runeweavers of Prince Theodane, a rival contender for the throne.
“If you’ve come to hassle me, don’t bother – I’m going as fast as I can,” Zaine said bluntly. He did not like the dark-haired runeweaver, who was only a couple of years older than himself.
“I’m here to make sure my master is the next to be freed.” Tercel withdrew a tattered red runebook from the folds of his robe. It was burnt in places and was in very bad condition. The runeweaver inside it was Calard – Tercel’s master.
“He can wait his turn,” Zaine said evenly and pointed to the heavily laden table.
“He is needed for a meeting,” Tercel muttered through clenched teeth. “The order to free him next came from the princess herself.”
Zaine doubted that Maata had said any such thing, and he did not intend to free the arrogant runeweaver before the rest.
“Perhaps I’ll go and ask Maata about that,” Zaine said with a slight shrug. He needed a break anyway. He turned his back on Tercel and headed for the door.
The others in the room, seeing that nothing was going to be happening for a while, also headed for the large double doors, which led to the corridor.
“Come back and free Master Calard!” Tercel shouted, waving the battered book. His cheeks were almost as red as the book as he fumed at the departing youth. “He paid good money for you! You belong to him.”
Zaine kept walking, having no idea where he was heading but not caring so long as it was away from Tercel. He smiled briefly at the thought of making Tercel and Calard wait.
His smile faded instantly, though, as he opened the heavy wooden door at the rear entrance of Willow Castle. Ahead of him was the battered landscape that had been so very different just a matter of days ago. What had been a rolling slope of a green-grassed hill was now a blackened, bare slope with a deep gash cutting right through it. Through the gash in the hill he had a clear view of the Circle of Dreams. It had been more like a circle of nightmares – the Circle of Dreams was where the new ruler was decided and where many runeweavers had been turned into runebooks in the process.
“It can’t hurt you now.” A voice behind him made him jump, and he turned to see Maata staring at the barren field with as much despair as he felt. She wore the customary white clothing of royalty, a simple long tunic held at the waist by a golden chain-link belt. Even out here in the muted daylight, the white tunic contrasted with the rich brown tones of her skin and her long black hair. She stepped forward to join him, and they both turned their attention back to the broken field.
“The storm isn’t over the field anymore,” Zaine observed with a small shudder. His father had been right – the storm was moving.
A week before, when Zaine had destroyed the Circle of Dreams, a storm had begun to form over the field. This was no ordinary storm, though. A loud rumble shook the sky, and black clouds billowed and jostled against another. The wind was blowing strongly, but the clouds did not move across the sky as they should. Instead, they hung sullenly just in front of the Circle of Dreams, and appeared to be heading very slowly towards the castle, heavy with the threat of destruction.
Zaine shuddered as he watched the angry black clouds. For a moment, he fancied he saw the shape of a dragon in the swirling clouds. Was that just because the old man had talked of storm dragons or was it really there? “Have you ever heard of anyone called Guyan?”
“No,” Maata shook her head. “Who is he?”
“I have no idea,” Zaine said as he walked down the stone steps to the back courtyard. “I think he might know something about the storm. One of the runeweavers I freed today spoke of him.”
“Then I suggest we find him,” Maata said, following him. “And urgently. If life is to return to normal, we must get rid of the storm.”
As Maata spoke, Zaine felt drawn towards the remains of the Circle of Dreams. He wanted to look down on it and prove to himself that the horrible place that had caused so much trouble was really gone.
“Hopefully the weaver I freed will know where to look,” Zaine said absently as he walked up to the top of the mound. The storm swirled and crackled angrily as he drew closer, but it stayed confined within its invisible boundaries. A faint howl made Zaine look up, and again his mind made out a dragon-like shape snaking through the clouds. He shook his head and brought his attention back to what had been the Circle of Dreams.
At the base of the hill lay the blackened field. The storm that had brewed in the past week had struck the ground with so many shafts of lightning that it had all but obliterated the circle of runes that surrounded the field. Zaine stood and stared at the barely visible runes that had been burned into the ground to mark the edges of the Circle of Dreams.
Only a week ago, three contenders had gone into the circle to race for the crown. Once inside, their fears and thoughts became reality; so they had to battle themselves as much as one another. However, this time the competition had been even less straightforward. This time, the crown had been destroyed, not won, and the contestants and their runeweavers had all been trapped in the circle. Zaine had managed to break the rune circle to free them. A large gash in the ground had ripped through the runes and carried on up to split the hill.
“You did what you had to,” Maata said softly, right next to him. “It needed destroying.”
Zaine jumped slightly as the storm threw a bolt of lightning to the ground not far from where they stood. A breeze stirred the air in fro
nt of Zaine, and then a sudden shower of icy rain drenched them both. Zaine’s blond hair was instantly plastered over his eyes, and he brushed it away with a shaky hand.
“The storm has moved,” Zaine muttered, and they backed off down the hill at a pace that showed they were both more than a little concerned. The bolts of lightning would seek them out if they stayed there, and neither of them wanted to start dodging lightning again. If the lightning struck him, Zaine would be just another runebook, waiting for someone to free him from the pages.
A single guard stood on the stone steps, frozen in horror at what he had just seen. He held a scroll in his hand, but did not attempt to give it to either of them as they approached.
“You have a message?” Maata asked.
The young guard dragged his attention away from the storm, nodded, and handed the scroll to the dripping-wet princess. His attention immediately returned to the black clouds.
“We’re expected in the great hall in ten minutes,” Maata said with a sigh. “An urgent meeting has been called by Trianna.”
“We’ve just got to find a way to get rid of that storm,” Zaine said, staring at the storm with as much fear as the guard. The black clouds had moved again and were heading slowly down the hill. The storm was following them.
CHAPTER TWO - DRAGON SONG
Zaine cast one more glance back at the storm then stepped back into the dubious safety of Willow Castle. Before they had gone a dozen steps, Davyn came hurrying along the corridor to meet them. He, too, was holding a scroll similar to Maata’s. He looked concerned and very tired. Nobody had slept much in the past week.
“I thought we were meeting tomorrow to discuss the storm. Trianna must have a reason for bringing it forward to today. I had hoped to have more weavers released before the meeting,” Davyn told Zaine after bowing his respects to the princess. “Perhaps we have time for just one more?”