“Do you miss it?” asked Linis
“Miss what?” said Gewey, feigning ignorance.
“You know what. All that power you once had. Now you are just like the rest of us.”
Gewey shrugged. “I still have my strength. And I can still feel the flow. I just can’t use it.”
“Did it affect your bond?” asked Dina.
Gewey shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, after I returned and we reconnected our spirits, it was stronger than ever.”
“Come on,” said Dina with a playful grin. “Are you saying you don’t miss being able to fly off anywhere you want whenever you feel like it?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with my family,” he replied. “So no. I really don’t miss it. Losing my power was the price I paid to remain in the mortal realm, and I’d do it again in an instant. Actually, in some ways, I’m happier without it. Powers such as I possessed can be as much a burden as a gift. Aaliyah knows what I mean.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “My powers are but a mere fraction of what yours were, and I too have found it to be so. The responsibility that goes with them is great, and the desire to misuse them is sometimes overwhelming.”
Dina smiled and sighed. “Yes…but to go anywhere you wanted…”
“And where would you go, my wife,” asked Linis in an accusing tone. “Would you leave me to tend the farm while you go adventuring?”
Dina ignored his apparent irritation and laid her head on his shoulder. “Of course not. I’d take you with me. And I wouldn’t go adventuring. I’d go to the hot springs west of the fire hills. The water there is so warm and pure…” She moaned with pleasure at the thought. “I could bathe in it for weeks.” She looked up at Linis and gave him a tender kiss. “I meant to say, we could.”
He smiled and pulled her close.
A few minutes later, Gewey and Kaylia stood up.
“We should be going,” Kaylia said. “I promised the children that we would be home before they wake up.”
“Linis and I are staying the night,” Dina told her. “But you can take our wagon if you want.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Gewey. “It’s nice out. I think we’d rather walk.”
They said another heartfelt goodbye, then left the manor. Hand in hand while walking along, they talked of how much they had missed their friends, and how long it would seem before they would see them again once they had departed.
When the farmhouse came in sight, Kaylia stopped and closed her eyes for a moment. “They’re asleep,” she said. “And it’s still several hours until dawn.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Gewey, but with a knowing smile.
“I am saying that the hot springs Dina mentioned sounded wonderful.”
Gewey wrapped his thick, powerful arms around her waist and held her tight. “Very well. But this time, let’s get home before they wake up.”
Kaylia kissed him long and deep. “I’ll try to keep my mind on it.”
The wind rose and swirled around them. In an instant they shot skyward, hurtling west like a blazing comet. Though no one could ever know the truth, whenever they basked in the warm waters of the springs, or sat upon the highest peak of the Razor Edge Mountains, or even strolled the beaches of some remote island, they were not simply Gewey and Kaylia.
They were Darshan, God of the Wind and Sky, and Kaylia, savior of his soul.
Their love, like their spirits, would live on…forever.
The End
About the Authors
Brian D. Anderson was born in 1971, and grew up in the small town of Spanish Fort, AL. He attended Fairhope High, then later Springhill College where his love for fantasy grew into a lifelong obsession. His hobbies include chess, history, and spending time with his son.
Jonathan Anderson was born in March of 2003. His creative spirit became evident by the age of three when he told his first original story. In 2010 he came up with the concept for The Godling Chronicles. It grew into an exciting collaboration between father and son. Jonathan enjoys sports, chess, music, games, and of course, telling stories.
Acknowledgements
Jonathan and Eleni Anderson, George Panagos, Vincentine Williams, Gerald and Donna Anderson, Hunter and Sarah Anderson, Bobby and Bobbie Anderson, the Ramos family, the DiBatista family, Alex Harris, Jacob and Elizabeth Bunton, Jenny Bunton, Foreward Literary, and Laurie Mclean
Dragonvein
By: Brian D. Anderson
Inspired by: Jonathan Anderson
Dragonvein (Book One)
By
Brian D. Anderson
Inspired by Jonathan Anderson
Copyright © Brian D. Anderson 2014
Published by Longfire Press
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.
Prologue
(Lumnia – End of the Age of the Five Kingdoms)
The muffled echo of footfalls running at a desperate pace roused Jonas from his sleep. Moments later, the door flew open to reveal Lorina, Lady Illyrian’s personal hand maiden. She remained there in the doorway, holding her sides and gasping for air. Through bleary eyes, Jonas regarded her. The woman was far too old and overweight to be chasing about in such a way.
He frowned. “Have you no manners, woman? I’m in my nightclothes.” He looked over to the window. It was still dark. “What time is it?”
Lorina held up a finger as she continued to catch her breath.
“Out with it,” he pressed. His eyes moved around the chamber, still shaking away the lingering cobwebs of sleep. His robe was folded neatly on a broken crate across the room. “Well, if you’re not going to speak, you can at least fetch me my robe.”
The woman glared, then with surprising speed, took three steps to the crate and heaved the robe at Jonas. It hit him squarely in the face, further fueling his irritation.
By now she was sufficiently recovered to speak. “Get dressed. They found us.”
“What?”
In an instant he was out of bed and had donned his robe. The bite of the cold, stone floor quickly encouraged him to put on his slippers. “Are you sure?” But the fear in her eyes told him the answer. “How long do we have?”
“Minutes,” she replied. In spite of the hard emotionless expression perfected by many years of practice, tears streamed down her plump cheeks.
“Where is Lady Illyrian?”
“In the basement.” She turned to leave, then paused for a moment. “Bring your sword.”
The door closed behind her with an ominous boom.
Jonas tore through his pack, hastily donning a shirt and trousers, nearly toppling over while pulling on his boots. His hands trembled as he attached his sword to his belt. He had used the weapon only once before, and even then, not very well. He clenched his fist, cursing himself for such a display of fear. He must be strong. The enemy was coming and his mistress needed him. He took a deep breath, steeled his wits, and then left the room with even, deliberate strides.
The barren halls of the dilapidated fortress were cold and dimly lit. The rotten doors and rusted fixtures along the walls made the gloom seem deeper and even more depressing. Once, long ago, it had been a mighty castle built for the defense of a kingdom that stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions. But that was another age, and the kingdom had fallen long ago, its lords and lady’s lost to time. And the fortress was but a forgotten relic, unfit for human habitation - now used only by bandits and smugglers.
He had argued that they could find more suitabl
e accommodations. A place where his mistress could at least lie on a soft bed and have a hot meal. But he knew his objections were foolish. They had been fortunate enough already to have made it this far unmolested.
The smoke rising from Dragonvein Manor as they fled on that first fateful night was still etched in his memory. They had watched helplessly while the place he'd called home for most of his life burned to cinders. And he could see the tears in Lady Illyrian’s eyes as she looked back at the brightly glowing flames silhouetting the tall spires and proud walls that had housed a hundred generations of the Dragonvein family. The vivid recollections brought a lump to his throat.
Upon nearing the stairs that led to the basement, he saw Lorina waiting for him. She was holding a brass lantern in her right hand and a small dagger in her left.
Jonas nodded curtly and waited for her to lead the way. Just as his foot touched the first step, a loud boom echoed off the stone walls.
Lorina gasped. “They’re here. We must hurry.”
They moved down the stairs as quickly as they dared, but the wet stone was covered in slime, making the descent treacherous. Jonas frowned. The last thing either of them needed right now was to injure themselves. Suddenly, he was keenly aware of the sword hanging from his side. It felt heavy and awkward and pulled him off-balance.
A few steps from the bottom, his fears very nearly materialized. Lorina's feet slipped from under her and she fell sharply backwards. Only by making a desperate grab forward was Jonas able to catch her just before her head would have struck stone.
Completely forgetting the etiquette of expressing appreciation, she pulled free of his hold and started off down a long hall, lit only by a few flickering torches. Along the way, the tiles were broken and the ground littered with refuse. Even with danger lurking so close behind, Jonas could not help but be repulsed by the rancid odor.
They hurried through a series of passages that ended in a wrought iron gate. The metal hinges screeched in protest as Lorina pushed it open, causing Jonas to wince and cover his ears. She allowed him to pass before picking up a thick chain and lock from the floor. Wrapping the chain around the bars and through a metal ring protruding from the wall, she snapped the lock shut.
A wooden door a few yards further down was slightly ajar, allowing the dim light of cheap tin lanterns flickering inside to escape. Jonas ran the rest of the way and yanked the door completely open.
The small chamber was moldy, and in his opinion, ill-suited for the magnitude of the activity taking place within its walls. In the center, Lady Illyrian was kneeling on a round black rug, the twelve symbols of Arkazhi sewn in pure gold thread around its border. Her purple satin ceremonial robes were tied at the waist by the golden Rope of Making: a gift given to her by her late husband. Jonas had never seen her wear it before. Then the full realization of what she was doing struck him.
Her auburn, shoulder length hair was damp with perspiration, causing it to seize into tight little curls. Her alabaster skin was flushed, and the extreme exertion of the spell she was casting could be seen by the multitude of tiny veins protruding from her slender neck. With closed eyes fluttering as if in a dream state, her body began to sway rhythmically from side to side. In her hands she clasped a blue rajni stone about the size of an apple. It glowed and pulsed with the tempo of her movements.
“Trinity save us,” Jonas gasped. “She can’t be serious.”
He heard the boom of a door being kicked in as the enemy searched the fortress above. Time was running out. The iron gate would slow them, but not for long.
Fear was now showing on Lorina's face. “She is very serious,” she stated, at the same time moving quickly to the other end of the room where a small basket rested in the corner. After a quick glance at her mistress, she put away her dagger, reached inside and lifted out a bundled cotton blanket.
Jonas knew very well what she held in her arms. Panic gripped him. “No! She can’t do this!” he cried.
Another boom, then a crash told him that the enemy was drawing closer. He prayed that it would take time for them to find the stairwell. He looked hopelessly around for an escape that he knew for sure didn’t exist. They were trapped. There was only one way in and out of the basement.
Lady Illyrian, oblivious to everything around her, began to mutter the forbidden charm. Just a few feet away, a blue light blinked into existence.
As Lorina moved back across the room to Jonas, the soft cries of the young lord could be heard from within the blanket. She passed the child to him, as though handing over the most priceless of jewels.
“Why wasn’t I told of this ahead of time?” Jonas demanded. “I could have....”
“Old fool,” Lorina snapped. “There was no plan. We’re trapped, and there is no longer any other choice. She began the rites just after she sent me to fetch you.”
Harsh shouts and the barking of orders sounded from above. Jonas tried to guess how close they were now. He looked across at Lady Illyrian, who was rocking even more intensely. The light had increased to the size of a dinner plate and was beginning to spin. Swirls of black merged within, making it appear an ethereal vortex of pure magic - untempered and powerful beyond human understanding.
Lorina reached inside the folds of her dress and pulled out a small amulet, together with a coin purse. Jonas' mind reeled as he recognized the amulet. It was a blue rajni stone set in a superbly crafted silver dragon’s claw.
“What the hell are you doing with that?” he demanded.
Lorina did not bother to reply. Instead, in one swift movement, she placed the amulet around his neck. Had he not been holding the baby, he would have snatched it off in an instant. She then attached the purse to his belt and checked his sword.
“Stop this!” he commanded.
The magical tempest had now doubled in size.
Lorina slapped his face hard. “You stop, damn you!” Her eyes blazed, though her lips still quivered. “They’ll be here in moments. We are to take Weslyn to Earth and protect him. There is gold in the purse, as well as instructions on how to return when the time is right.”
The shouts, together with the stomping of boots and clatter of swords, were getting louder. They had obviously found the stairs. Lorina responded to this by once again reaching into the folds of her dress, this time producing a tiny glass phial that she threw against the door. The phial shattered, instantly creating a cloud of red smoke that settled just beyond the doorway.
“That won’t hold them for long,” she said. “As soon as the portal is big enough, we must enter.”
Jonas recoiled at the thought. “We can’t leave Lady Illyrian,” he contended. “They’ll kill her.” He wanted to plead with his mistress, but he knew she could not hear him. The terrible magic she was now wielding had blinded and deafened her to all but the task at hand.
“Break it down!” he heard a harsh voice command.
A few seconds later there was the crash and clang of men battering away at the iron gate.
Lorina looked to the door than back at Jonas. Her jaw tightened and she pushed him toward the portal, which by now was almost large enough to pass through. “Go!” she ordered.
Reluctantly, Jonas moved closer, stopping a few feet away to assess things. If he ducked low he might just be able to squeeze through, but in doing so he would risk harming the baby. Even so, it was a risk he would be forced to take in mere moments. He heard the gate come crashing down and men storming along the passage. Only seconds later, a solid kick from a booted foot had the ancient door bursting into splinters.
Two men in black plate armor, the red raven of the emperor’s guard splashed across their chest, stood in the doorway glaring menacingly through their steel helms. Towering behind them was General Hronso, his gold, chain-link veil revealing only his penetrating gray eyes.
In spite of the danger, Jonas glanced down at the tiny pieces of broken glass scattered in front of the door and smiled.
Drawing their swords, the two soldiers steppe
d over the threshold. It was as far as they made it into the room. The moment their boots crunched over the remains of the phial, violent flames erupted, consuming them instantly. Their horrified screams were still filling the chamber when Hronso jumped back, narrowly avoiding the trap himself. He cursed loudly.
Jonas looked again at the portal. Only a few seconds longer and it would be large enough for him to enter without risk to the baby.
“Give me the child!” roared the general.
The flames were already beginning to become less fierce.
“You will have nothing,” screamed Lorina. Drawing a dagger from her sleeve, she hurled it with all of her strength.
With astonishing speed, Hronso reached out and caught it in mid-air. And though his mouth was covered, Jonas could see the sinister smirk in his eyes. Before Lorina could react, the dagger came flying back at her. With a dull thud, it buried itself deep into her chest.
Jonas looked on with horror as she fell to her knees, clutching desperately at the blade. She looked back at him with tears streaming down her face, then slumped to the floor.
The flames would very soon be low enough for Hronso to safely enter the room. Jonas knew he must act fast. He moved closer to the portal.
“No!” Hronso's voice bellowed out, the sound reverberating off the walls. He was already reaching for a long leather whip attached to his belt.
Holding the infant close, Jonas tried to leap into the blue light. But it was too late. The whip snaked out and wrapped around his left ankle, jerking his leg back. He was only just able to extend his arms sufficiently to keep himself from falling on the child and crushing it. The impact as he hit the ground forced the breath from his lungs, but still he was able to keep his wits. Stretching as far as he could, he managed to push the baby forward far enough for it to enter the portal. There was an enraged cry from behind and the whip tightened. Consoled by the thought that he had at least saved the child, Jonas was dragged relentlessly back toward the remaining flames.
The Reborn King (Book Six) Page 37