by C. K. Rieke
It’s strange how life can move so quickly. Growing up in Sorock, taken from the sands, I found it to be my home. I got used to the walls. I got used to being in a bunkhouse with all the other girls. The teachers I looked up to, like Elan, became my parents. I got used to the routines of eating at those proper times and drinking from endless pools of water. That was my home. Then, when Veranor took me away, took me away from Gogenanth and the others, I found a new home. Here, next to Kera, my mind is free to remember what happened in that place.
Back then, things were foggy. After the mages cast that spell on me, weeks and months flew by like minutes and hours. I still don’t have any idea how long I was really there. A couple of years maybe? Even three or four? The training was a form of torment, but now that I’m here. I don’t regret the training— it only made me stronger: a better killer.
What I regret most is— how I was used. In Sorock, I was used and manipulated and toyed with to turn me into something different. They wanted the little girl in the little girl’s body gone. They wanted a weapon in a little girl’s body, and that’s what they got. Under Veranor’s servitude, I became something different. He didn’t even want a weapon in a girl’s body. He wanted nothing in there. He wanted a blank canvas on which to paint. There were no conversations that existed between us, it was only a one-way road when he was around. I remember trying to fight against the wall created inside of me. I’d scratch and beat at the wall in my head. I’d cry out for help, and go into wild fits of rage, but on the outside, my body didn’t move. My hands stayed at my side, no matter what I told them to do. I wanted them to simply reach out, reach out and grab his neck— and squeeze. Squeeze until nothing could move under the grip of my curled fingers. No air would enter in or out.
They were all fantasies though. In my enslavement, and stuck in my own mind and body, in a weird way that became my home. There wasn’t anything else. Sorock was taken from me, the desert was taken from me. I only had my training, and my isolation in my room. Yet— here I am, looking up at the stars. They are magnificent. In all my lifetime I couldn’t count them all. How far I’ve come, from that small dark room I was kept in, to my true home. My home without walls, without borders, without restriction. I’ve never felt so alive, so free. It’s all thanks to her too. From the moment we met eyes when I was with the Scaether pack, I knew my life would be different. If it wasn’t her in that tent on that dark night, I fear I would’ve gone through with our mission for Veranor and the gods, and I’d be back within the palace walls. They wouldn’t take the Sanzoral back, and I could possibly be a trophy for them— the Six.
She has saved me. This will be a long road to the cave and the egg, and once we are there, there will be many long days and nights after. The hunt will continue. One baby dragon won’t change those things, if the dragon is alive, that is. I do think about what the Garen Pixies whispered to me though, and if they were right. The first whisper, meant that I needed to live to protect her, which I have every intention of doing. The next was Gorlen, the infamous Witch Queen is going to come after us one day, and that I’d have to find another way to defeat her. The only way I can think to kill a god is with a dragon, and that doesn’t seem to be an option yet. Kera may be a key to that, as she can dispel the mage’s magics. There’s a chance that can work on the gods, but that’s a very risky proposition, as the only way to test it would be to have a god get close to her, which I’m not willing to test. I’ll have to keep my eyes open for a clue. The third, and most troubling whisper was that something isn’t as it appears, or something won’t be what it appears. The pixie could’ve been more descriptive though, that would’ve been helpful. Of the three of them sleeping, Fewn is the most likely to flip on me, it’s possible Burr is, but he’s proven his worth a few times now, and then there’s Roren. The only flaw in Roren, is also his greatest strength— his blind and absolute dedication to Kera. I’ll have to keep my eyes open. If the whisper is true, they could be referring to someone I haven’t even met yet. Best to not let it bother me, but to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. We will walk again tomorrow, and when the stars and moon have gone off to rest, the sun will return, and under the bright light of the sun, prying eyes are our biggest threat. On our way to the cave, we are going to have to be nearly invisible. For if we fail, if we can’t help Kera fulfill what she was born to do, the sands of these lands may never change. The Arr will be wrought with sadness for another thousand years, or more. With every last breath in my body, and as long as blood runs through my veins, I will not let us fail.
The following morning, Lilaci awoke to a brilliantly warm sun again. Roren had been on lookout the remainder of the night, so she was able to sleep roughly five hours. They made their way to the hidden pool of water and filled their watersacks. That day, under the hot sun they walked along the foothills of the Isoz-Bor range. When they needed a reprieve from the sunlight, they found shade among the rocks. They even found morsels of food, scattered around and under the sands. It was a full day of walking burning their feet on the endless sands. Kera seemed to be in high spirits, and asked many questions about the dragons to Burr, and she loved listening to his descriptions of them soaring high above the clouds, and them slumbering upon vast hordes of gold and treasure. Fewn seemed to enjoy the tales as well, as she listened intently to them. Roren seemed preoccupied with watching out for any signs of threats.
Lilaci, herself, felt on high alert as well— scanning the desert and mountains for anything out of the ordinary. She, luckily, found nothing of concern that day. Roren, more than a handful of times, yelled out at the party to get down, as he thought he saw something. But after careful re-scanning, there was always nothing, and they continued forth. Lilaci and Roren expected the walk to take the better part of two weeks to arrive at the back entrance to the cave. Once they arrived at the Hidden Garden, they’d have a short walk into the cave to the egg. Two weeks was a long time out on the open sands though, yet, so far, Lilaci felt optimistic with the strength they held in their ranks. A pack of Scaethers would be a challenge, there was no doubt about that, but with Kera in possession of the orbs, her greatest concern was for Fewn’s fighting ability with her burned arm. But Fewn was strong; she may have even grown stronger than Lilaci herself. Whatever lay ahead, they’d deal with together— as a team, as a troupe, as a family.
Chapter Thirty
A dragonfly buzzed by, zipping past his ear quickly, and then it landed on his shoulder. Along its metallic blue body, white streaks striped its back. Its wings fluttered up and down, and then lay gracefully on the tan linen of his cloak that fell to a cape at his back. He looked inquisitively at the insect, its dead eyes staring off into the desert. He reached up with his left hand up to his right shoulder to touch the dragonfly, but then it buzzed off again, floating off in the wind. He watched it fly off, effortlessly— without boundaries, without rules, without gods.
She walked up ahead of him, always, she walked ahead. Her walk was elegant, powerful; and she never fatigued. Walking day and night without sleep was as easy to her as drinking cool water on the sands was to any normal man. Her dress of silver trailed back behind her, as she seemed to glide atop the hot sand. Her long golden hair glimmered in the sunlight, and her tan skin relished the bright sun. The silk dress left little covered, as her shoulders, neck and chest were left free, and part of the torso and legs revealed themselves from the cover of its silver fabric.
Veranor watched her walk often, as there was very little else to look at. The sky held nary a cloud in the sky, and the city of Voru had vanished behind them long ago. Ahead of them would be the Zont-ils, but they were still over a hundred miles off. There were two things that still were unanswered in his mind about the goddess he traveled with; first, why was he needed at all? She was a god, and Veranor was merely mortal— granted he was esteemed as one of the best champions and fighters in all the lands. Secondly, and probably the question that perplexed him the most; was the lack of urgency there was to
find the Dragon’s Breath and bring her back to the pyramid. He assumed that he only slowed her down in their hunt, as she would stop with him as he made a fire, ate, and hydrated. She needed none of those things. If this girl was the one thing that brings about the undoing of the Six, why did she spend all that time back in the city? Veranor racked his brain, trying to understand her, but he chocked it up to the fact that he was mortal, and what mortal could fully comprehend the ways of the gods?
She talked very little to him as they walked the last couple of days, and mostly they were insults veiled in quick comments, or observations. Veranor didn’t dwell on her snide remarks about his slower pace compared to hers, or how his sweat made him ‘unbecoming.’ The Commander felt those remarks slide off him, like butter on freshly baked bread. He cared little for her words, as he assumed that his path was coming to an end, one way or another. He’d either die in battle, even at her hand, perhaps she’d cast a spell of poison on him like he’d seen her do to others before. Or— they accomplished the task at hand, and he fell back into the favor of the gods. If they didn’t kill him for his failure with Lilaci and Fewn, they may even reward him. And when the gods personally rewarded you, life was never the same. When they gave their thanks to a soldier, it came with it vast plots of land, exotic castles, titles of valor and esteem, and most indulgent of all— the favor of the gods themselves. You’d never have to see them again, but in the eyes of every living soul around you— you may as well be a god. For if any one of them thought they fell in a low regard to you after that, they thought the gods themselves looked down on them then. You’d never want for food, water, or a warm body to sleep next to again. Death or the life of a king. Veranor thought those were the only two options left for him, and with his present company, he thought the odds weren’t in his favor.
“Warm under the midday sun?” she said, not looking back at him. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes, it is,” he said.
“I can smell your sweat upwind.”
He didn’t respond.
“You know you can tell the wits of a man by his flavor, by his stench.”
Again, Veranor didn’t respond.
“The cowards smell of rancid fat and vinegar to me. Do you want to know what you smell of?”
“I know how I smell. I don’t need you to tell me.”
“You smell of cat piss,” the Witch Queen laughed a howling cackle at that. Her laughter echoed in the winds. Sands blew softly by at their feet.
“I believe I have a normal scent. I smell like a man, that is all.”
She stopped laughing abruptly. “You are only a man, you have no idea what my senses are like.”
“I know your sense of taste,” he said in a confident tone of voice. “You really seem to enjoy cat piss.”
Before he could blink, Gorlen was abruptly at his side, staring into his eyes. He was so startled, his first reaction was to grab his sword. He found her hand on his, holding his hand firmly on the hilt of the sword. She was so strong, he couldn’t budge her hand. “If I wanted cat piss, I’d just take it. And with a flick of my wrist I’d toss it onto these sands and leave it to rot under the sun.” She released his hand, her fingers falling back to her side. “I don’t care for this new tone you carry: I suggest changing it.”
“I thought we were more like lovers than companions now. Lovers can talk with one another.”
“Ha,” she gave a single burst of forced laughter. “We are not lovers.”
“Aren’t we?” He winked at her.
“I’ve had my pleasure,” she gave a wry smile. “If you’re lucky enough, you may feel that pleasure again in your short lifetime.”
He turned, and with his hood covering the side of his face, he began to walk forth again.
She, in a quick motion, rallied back to the point again. Walking the sand before him. They walked for not even ten minutes when an eerie wind began to blow through. It started as just a normal gust of wind at their feet but blew in with a strong force moments later. Veranor and Gorlen looked up at the sky, as it began to fade from its bright, cloudless blue, to a murky gray. The sun began to fade, and biting winds whipped through. Veranor dropped to a knee and pulled his hood down to cover his eyes from the rushing sands.
“Sandstorm,” he yelled out over the storm. “I’m going to have to wait it out here.”
“This is no sandstorm,” she said. She only had to speak in a normal tone, and her words were still perfectly clear in the storm. As the sky grew darker, it fell to almost the dark of night, and the winds suddenly ceased. Veranor knew then what they were witnessing, and he dropped his head low, so low he could see the sands inches from his eyes. Then he could sense the bright light before them.
“Welcome,” Gorlen said. “Dânoz, my king.”
Veranor looked up slowly, and with his hood covering his forehead. Dânoz hovered in the air ten paces in front of Gorlen. Veranor could hardly look up at him, as bright as he was. He wasn’t wearing the same golden robes Veranor had seen him wear the one time he saw him before, he was now in a black and gold armor, finer than anything he’d ever seen. His silver hair flowed down his back, and his blue, piercing eyes glowed on his strong, pale face. Veranor didn’t fear Gorlen as he used to, but he felt like a speck of dust in the presence of the Great God.
“I wasn’t expecting you to grace our mission,” Gorlen said. “What tidings do you bring?”
“I have information about the girl,” he said. His voice was like thunder.
“I have sensed her,” she said. “She is out north, curving over back west. We will find her.”
“I have no doubt you will,” he said. “I come to tell you what it is they seek, and with whom she travels.”
“Lilaci,” Gorlen said. “And the girl Fewn, her inferior from Sorock.”
“Yes,” the Great God said. “Along with two others. One, a young man of little importance to us. Roren is his name, he is of the Order of Drakon. You will kill him easily. The other . . . A Whiteblade.”
Gorlen smiled. “Yes— after all of this time. They’re finally creeping out of their holes in the desert.”
“He came alone,” he said. “He has magics. Old magics.”
“He has nothing compared to the magic I bring to them,” she said.
“That is not all,” Dânoz said. “They’ve found one.”
Veranor’s ears perked up.
“No,” Gorlen said. “They’re all dead.”
“Not this one,” he said. His eyes burned in blue flame. “Not yet.”
“Where is it?”
“Our vision is blurred, we cannot see where the dragon lies,” he said. “Where they travel, is where the egg lies. She cannot release the dragon. But if she does, if she manages to crack its shell, you have to kill it.” Dânoz looked into Veranor’s eyes. “Either of you. You kill it then and there.”
“She won’t reach it,” Gorlen said. “I’ll have her back to the palace and I’ll rip the location of the egg from her, whether she wants to or not. I’ve got a special poison in store for her. Her skin will slowly rot off her body. It will crack and burn viciously for weeks.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll return her to Erodoran. Finish this and let this blasphemous prophecy die with her. Just know that we are watching, and eagerly waiting for her.” Dânoz looked at Gorlen, and then down to Veranor once more. “You have not told him his role yet?”
“No,” she said, as she turned and looked at the Commander, kneeling on the sand, this cape tails spread out wide. “I have not.”
“We cannot reach the girl,” Dânoz said. His booming voice was as serious in tone as Veranor had ever heard in his life. He felt it crawl down his spine. “You will be the one to take her and bring her back to us. Gorlen will handle the rest, but you must take her.”
“Your will be done,” Veranor said, bowing his head. “Whatever you wish of me, I will do as a service to the Six. I am your blade.”
Dânoz didn’t respond, he didn’t ne
ed to. Then, the winds returned, and quickly Veranor found himself in the middle of a vicious sandstorm again. He had to shield his eyes, yet he was still able to make out the fading bright white light from where the god hovered.
“Once the breath of the dragon is gone, then let the dragons die,” Danoz’s voice called out loudly in the storm, his words echoing in all directions. “When the dragon dies, then the light of the Six will shine like never before. Bring us the girl, and the light of the Six will shine brightly upon you— once— the Dragon’s Breath breathes no more.”
The winds faded, and the light of the blue afternoon sky returned with the sun above. Gorlen began to walk forth again, without saying a word.
“So that’s why you brought me?” Veranor said with a smirk on his face. She didn’t respond.
Chapter Thirty-One
Long days of walking passed, and with the help of shade from the rocks of the mountains to their right, the party made their way closer to the cave. Every day without incident, made their hopes grow a little higher that they’d reach the Hidden Garden, and the dragon egg. This day, they even had the luck to have a cloud-filled sky above, raising their spirits even further, now that they wouldn’t have the sun beating down on them, so they pulled their hoods down. Lilaci even caught Kera skipping as she walked occasionally, humming an unfamiliar tune.
Midday turned to dusk, dusk to dark, and dark to dawn. They pressed on, following the mountain range as it carved its way around the northern border of the desert. Everything seemed to be going as well as could be hoped, and with little surprises. That was until one day when they stumbled upon something quite unfamiliar, and it appeared to have formed since they’d first crossed the desert. Even forming overnight perhaps.