The DeCadia Code (The DeCadia Series Book 1)

by Jonathan Yanez

  “That means the deaths of all these people are your responsibility. Their blood is on your hands. My friend died today, my men gave their lives today, because of you.”

  Stephen was shaking. He had never been so upset. His moral compass was spinning in the aftermath of his own words. His logic struck a chord with more than a few of the remaining members of each crew. The pirate standing between he and the girl moved to the side, a look of understanding crossing his face. Others on board began circle around the two.

  “Do you deny it, dragon?” Stephen continued, taking a step forward, “Do you deny that you used us? That we are nothing more to you than a means to an end?”

  It was obvious the dragon was not used to being addressed with such disdain. Her violet eyes took on a look of disbelief for a moment. Just as soon as the moment came, it passed. Fire flashed in her eyes. “It’s true that I used you to escape.”

  Fuming grunts and mumbling broke through the crowd. Weapons were being unsheathed. Stephen took a look around. The rest of the deck was empty now; everyone congregated to hear the exchange between the captured Captain of the Royal Navy and the stowaway dragon.

  Heat radiated Stephen’s face as the woman stared at him. She was admitting to being the reason Amil and the others were dead. Before Stephen could release another wave of aggression her way, the dragon continued. “I saw an opportunity to be free and I took it. I apologize if lives were lost. I did not consider tha—”

  Madness filled Stephen’s mind. With a bellow, he lifted his head to the sky and laughed out loud. Silence covered the deck as all watched in disbelief. Stephen lifted both his chained hands to scratch his head. His long, hair fell around him making him look as crazy as the guffaw that had escaped his lips. “You didn’t consider?” Stephen asked, repeating the dragon’s own words in incredulity. Stephen dropped his hands in front of him and took another step toward her. The two stood toe-to-toe. “You didn’t consider, Ryder? Or you didn’t care?”

  “My name is R—“

  Stephen shook his head, “Yeah, I know first of your name and fury and wind and all that. I don’t care. Ryder. All that matters now is that you pay. I will make it my life’s mission to see you dead and buried. By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be enough pieces left to remember any part of your name.”

  Dead quiet greeted his proclamation. Seasoned veterans of the pirate life cringed; even the most battle-hardened took a step back. No one in his or her right mind would ever instigate a fight with a dragon. Although she remained quiet, Stephen knew he was getting to her. Fury burned in Ryder’s eyes like a wildfire. A single sweat drop fell from her left temple. If Stephen could get her to lose her temper, then the pirates on board would be forced to fight. Even if their captain ordered no harm to come to the beast until his or her arrival, they would have no choice if she were the one to strike first.

  “What did you think?” Stephen asked again. He paced around Ryder, his hands placed in front of him, fingers interlaced. “Was your home so atrocious? I bet you had it rough didn’t you? Spoon-fed since you were a hatchling, servants ready to do your bidding on a whim?” Stephen stopped in front of her and lifted a single finger in the air, “I bet you were even being groomed for the throne itself. Then what? You were a lonely outsider even with your own kind? You ran away from your life of hardship thinking…thinking what? You’d go on a grand adventure and explore the world?”

  Stephen paused to see how far off from the truth he was striking. Stephen must have been close to getting at Ryder’s real reason. Ryder began to tremble with rage. “And you saw this ship and imagined this was your chance. You thought you’d come on board and we’d just accept you? You thought humans could be friends with a dragon?” Stephen leaned in until their noses were nearly touching. “Well, you can’t. You are the reason so many are dead and we will never accept you as one of us no matter how often you prance around in your human skin. We hate your kind. We hate you.”

  The wrath that was boiling over in Ryder extinguished with Stephen’s last words. The fury in her eyes was replaced with grief. Stephen’s plan had failed. Ryder would not fight them. “You’re right,” she said, blinking tears from her eyes. “I never should have come.”

  Without another word she turned her back to Stephen and the gathered crowed. She walked as far down the deck as the chains would allow her and directed her attention over the railing and into the vast open sky. In her wake, Stephen was left to hear the echo of his own words. What had he become? How could so much anger have built up inside him in the space of a few hours? Stephen wasn’t sure how long he stood there. Time meant little as Stephen felt pieces of himself deteriorating. Had he truly just been fine with enticing a dragon? Was he any better than her? If he had succeeded in antagonizing her to fight, how many more lives would have been lost? It was as though he was a guest in the mind of a stranger.

  He felt a tug on his shoulder, it was Marm, one of his few surviving crewmembers and helmswoman of the lost Dragoon. “Come along, Stephen. You’ve been standing there long enough.”

  Stephen snapped out of his trance. He looked around to see the sun setting. The ship’s deck was clear of debris; the dead bodies taken and piled together near the gangplank. The deceased were all wrapped in individual sheets from the crowns of their heads to the soles of their feet, hidden from the eyes of the world. Stephen found himself wondering which one was Amil.

  “Sir,” Marm said again in a soft tone. “We should get you something to eat.”

  Stephen allowed himself to be pulled from his thoughts and turned to address the older woman. “Was I wrong?” His voice was more a guilty expression than a question.

  Marm raised an eyebrow and looked Stephen in the eyes. “Only you can know that. I can tell you that the rest of the men would take heart in hearing a plan from you.”

  Stephen felt his shoulders slump. Anger had sapped his energy, still he knew Marm was right. No matter how severe the call for vengeance sounded in his ears, there were still a few that followed him. A plan began to form in the back of his mind.

  “Oh, I know that look,” Marm said with her best attempt at a smile, “You’ve already got something.”

  Stephen nodded, “We talk to the ship’s captain and join on as part of the crew. Wherever this dragon goes, we go, until we have the opportunity to bring her to justice.”

  Chapter 10

  Val walked regally into the village and winced when she saw the chief waiting for her. Lukas chuckled beside her: she wanted to hit him, but she refrained. The village itself hadn’t changed much. The Clauckro Clan lived off the land and moved with the seasons. Their homes were not made of stone and wood, instead consisted of long poles covered in animal skins. The Clauckros called them tipis. The structures were sizable and warm, despite their fragile appearances. The outsides were decorated in paintings of battles and family emblems to announce to all how important the residents were to the clan. Val noticed that the chief’s tipi resided in the middle and according to rank within the clan, the rest of the tipis were spaced out from there in ever widening circles.

  Children ran laughing and playing throughout the village. The women sat outside their homes doing everyday chores such as cooking and mending clothes. Some carried laundry to and from the great stream they used for washing. The men, warriors as they called themselves, stood staring as Val and Lukas were escorted to where the chief waited. Everyone’s clothing was made from deerskin. The men wore pants, their chest bare and tanned from long days in the sun. The women wore dresses, the material clinging to them. Val had a dress made by the chief’s sister and she adored it. She’d never felt anything softer in her life.

  The smell of smoke and food cooking filled the air, making Val’s stomach growl. She’d forgotten how hungry she was. They hadn’t been fed that well onboard the merchant ship and Val hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. Mayhap she and Lukas could barter for some food for the survivors of the dragon attack as well. It would go a l
ong way in raising spirits, which they all needed about now. Val would grieve for her loss later tonight, but at the moment, she had people depending on her.

  Bayour, Chief of the Clauckro Clan, waited on them with a wide smile spread across his face. Val could never figure out how old he truly was. He could have been thirty or even fifty. Bayour stood tall and proud: his long, inky black hair whipping in the wind. Liquid black eyes danced with a wicked gleam from a face that smiled more than naught. Truth be told, the warrior was a handsome man, still Val was not—and would never be—a villager. She needed to be on the deck of a ship sailing the skies.

  “Greetings, Pretty One,” Bayour’s deep, melodious voice boomed out even before Val had stopped walking. Lukas snickered beside her and she carefully stepped on his toes as she came to a halt. He grunted, nevertheless kept the grin on his face.

  “Greetings, Chief Bayour,” Val said, nodding her head to him. “You are looking well, my friend.”

  Bayour’s grin widened and his chest puffed out like a preening peacock. “I strong, virile, and cunning, Pretty One.”

  “Yes, you are all of those things, my friend,” Val said, a grin creeping over her own face at his obvious attempt to impress her.

  “Friend Lukas, you are damaged,” Bayour nodded toward Lukas, whose clothes were bloody and torn, his black eye looking worse in the bright sunlight.

  “Ran into some dragons again,” Lukas said, nodding his head respectfully.

  “Death wish!” Bayour laughed. “Dragons bad.”

  “Yes, they are very bad,” Val agreed. “Broke my ship. I need supplies to fix it.”

  A calculating gleam came to Bayour’s eyes. Val had no doubt he already knew just how severely damaged The Emerald Queen was. The only question remaining: what was it going to cost her to fix the ship?

  “Broke ship?” Bayour smiled slyly. “Need wood and baka?”

  Baka was the Clauckros’ version of glue. It was made from animal fat and another unknown element. What, Val had no idea. However, the foul-smelling concoction held together better than any industrial glue Val had ever come across. Bayour’s people also had a sawmill in this area they rarely used, though they always had a stockpile of wood for bartering. Val would need more than they had amassed because her ship was nearly in pieces. It meant the Clauckros would have to work to produce them more wood, and in return it would be costly. Not wedding-vows costly, but it would cost.

  “Yes, I need both,” she told Bayour, keeping her voice even and friendly. “I have monies and silks to trade.”

  “I have no need for such things,” Bayour countered.

  “What do you need?” Lukas asked before Val could reply. She wanted to kick him.

  “A wife.” Bayour’s grin was back full force.

  Val let out a muffled curse. Lukas had to go there, didn’t he?

  “I am fresh out of wives to barter,” Val replied, her voice still even and friendly. “I do have some of the finest silk in DeCadia. Your women would love the colors to weave into their works.”

  “Our women no need silks.” Bayour shook his head, his long, raven locks swinging with the movement. “I need wife,” he insisted. “You be wife and I give things to fix ship.”

  “I can’t be a wife,” Val said, shaking her head. “I have a ship. I live in the air.”

  Bayour shook his head. “You be my wife, still fly. Just stay with me sometimes—one moon a year.”

  “That’s not a bad deal,” Lukas whispered. Val shoved her elbow in his ribs.

  “We make strong sons and daughters. Learn land and air.”

  Val sighed. She did not need this right now. “Bayour, you are a strong, brave warrior, but I do not need a husband. What I need are supplies to fix my ship and medicines for my crew and friends who were injured.”

  “One of our elders was gravely injured,” Lukas said. “He is in much pain and needs medicine.”

  “Elder?” Bayour frowned. “Bring him to village. We help your elder.” Val was grateful the Clauckros honored their elders above all others. She had hoped they would help Tobias without too much arguing. While there were no true healers in the clan, she’d seen their medicine man perform miracles, which is what Tobias needed right about a now.

  “Thank you, my friend,” she said. “I am grateful for your help.”

  Bayour nodded. “We must care for Elders as they cared for us. For supplies, you will wed with me.”

  “No, my friend, I will not.” Val put steel in her voice. If she showed the slightest hesitation, Bayour would latch onto it.

  “You took wedding gift, Pretty One.” Bayour shifted on his legs, his arms crossing. “You say yes when you took gift.”

  Val’s thoughts scrambled. Wedding gift? What wedding gift? “I don’t understand, my friend. I never accepted a wedding gift from you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Gift from sister. Contract formed. You honor it now.”

  Val’s eyes widened. The dress? It was a wedding gift? Summer Moon never said a word about it being a wedding contract gift. How was she getting out of this one?

  “I did not realize Summer Moon’s beautiful gift was a wedding contract gift,” Val said carefully. “No one ever told me that was what it was or I would not have accepted it.”

  Bayour’s stance became stubborn. “No. You took, now you be wife.”

  “I cannot be your wife, my friend,” she told him. “I do not belong here. I live in the air. I would suffer here on the ground. My spirit would cry and long for the open sky.” The Clauckros cherished the spirit, so she hoped that would work to her advantage.

  “I no damage your spirit, Pretty One,” Bayour said, sighing, “But my wife you be. Contract accepted, Pretty One. One moon each year you be here.”

  Val silently cursed. Who knew a stupid dress would cost her so much? Right now, she couldn’t see another path to run down. “Bayour, my friend, I will agree to think of accepting the marriage contract, but only if you help me repair my ship and give my crew medicines.”

  Bayour stared at her for several long minutes before nodding. “I accept. You no say no. You will be wife.” He held out his hand for Val to shake. It was something she’d taught him to do, to shake on a deal. Once you shake hands, there is no backing out of the agreement. She’d taught him that, too. She let out another string of internal curse words, but she gripped his hand firmly and shook on it.

  What had she just done?

  ***

  Tobias groaned when he rolled over. He knew his wounds were critical, that he had internal injuries. His belly was swollen and purple. He’d seen enough in his day to understand he wasn’t going to live. They were too far from any healers to hold onto the hope of a miracle. He’d lived a long time had had a good life for the most part, and death wasn’t unwelcome. He now understood that death was only another adventure he would encounter. His people had many journeys to travel and this life and his death were only a small stepping-stone on the pathway to his endless journey.

  The girl worried him. There was so much she needed to know, to understand, but he was afraid he wouldn’t last long enough to even begin to tell her about their people. He snorted and then grunted when pain lanced through him. That birthmark on her back had given him quite a start. He’d known the minute saw her she was different, that she wasn’t a slave; still it wasn’t until he’d seen the insignia in the birthmark that he’d known who she was. Frightened him good, it did. He’d thought for just a moment his past had caught up with him.

  Maybe it had. He lay here dying: his life meaningless. He’s spent the first half of it exploring, looking for the way back to his own people, and searching for the meaning in his own birthmark. His mother told him he came into the world not roaring like the lion, but quiet, not making a sound. The birthmark had been there when he’d been born, as clear as it was now—almost a hundred and fifty years later.

  For over a hundred years, he’d ran from the mark on that girl’s back. Now, here she was, asking him
for help, asking him to take her to the place they both came from; the one place he couldn’t go. Not ever again. His entire body ached with the need to go back, the need to feel the magic in his body repair itself within the walls of Atlantis. He wanted to go home.

  But he couldn’t.

  There was a shuffling outside his door and then it creaked open. A man he didn’t know came through, followed by another. They stared at him grimly. Tobias knew he must look like death. He felt like the Grim Reaper was just a hair’s breadth away. Death had been chasing him for countless years and this time there was no more running for Tobias.

  “Captain sent ahead to bring you into the village,” the taller of the two said. Long, dark hair was tied back and his clothes were dreggy and streaked with smoke. Even though Tobias hadn’t seen the fight, he knew it must have been bloody and costly to the crew. One did not outrun dragons easily. “The Chief agreed to do what they can to heal you.”

  “The Chief?” Tobias asked, his voice low and rough with pain.

  “Chief of the Clauckro Clan,” the man said. “They are natives to the area and friends with Emerald.”

  Tobias’s eyes widened. The girl was Emerald? It was a name known by everyone who took the risk of flying the skies. The Emerald Queen and her crew were the most feared pirates in DeCadia. They were swift, brutal, and always took down their prey. They weren’t vicious, though. Casualties were always low. It made crews respect the pirate ship and her captain, and that inspired more fear than anything else amongst the captains. Crews were less likely to fight as hard if they knew their lives would be spared if they surrendered.

  The men lifted up Tobias off the bed he’d been put into earlier and then helped him walk out and up the steps to the deck above. The smell of burnt flesh hit his nose even before they’d cleared the stairs. His eyes watered at the stench. He marveled at how the survivors were pulling together to take care of the dead and repair the ship. Even what was left of the Navy crew was busily working.