“I saw it once when we sat on the cottage porch and tried to determine its identity, but it detected me and slipped away. Will you wait to deal with this until you return, or come now?” he asked.
“I’ll wait. I need to finish the quarter. It’d be too hard to leave now. Meredith wondered if I should take a leave of absence next term.” Lyra absently bent a paperclip out of shape. “What do you think? I’m so confused.”
“I agree. If someone in Dragonspeir brought about her death, it’ll take a while to sort through and bring justice since the evil factions remain strong and on the attack. If it was someone in your world, working with the sheriff will prove equally—”
“I can’t imagine that…she was so well-liked in town.” Lyra interrupted him. “You saw the hundreds of people at her funeral.”
“True, and I agree. The presence of that butterfly is curious, but there might be a simple explanation. Perhaps, he or she acted to stay some suffering. Hopefully, that’s the case. Then you can spend the remainder of your leave beginning magic studies as you intended.”
“Oh, didn’t think of that. I hope you’re right. Maybe it was an act of kindness. Yes, please make arrangements for my lessons.” Her tone brightened, and she relaxed into her desk chair. “But who do you think that butterfly is?”
“Well, it could be many, some I don’t even know. Tarom possesses enough power, but I don’t see any obvious reason for him to gain from helping or harming your aunt. Perhaps the Qumeli nomads, like Glisla, our deceptive guide into the Dark Realm. I’ll never trust her again. Some of them might be capable of transformation.”
“It could be her. What about Eburscon?” she asked.
“Well, he certainly has enough power. Like Tarom, he walks to his own beat, no matter whether good or evil. Alchemists seem oriented that way. I’ll do some checking on him during my work for the Imperial Dragon’s High Council. In the meantime, try to think it was as you say…an act of kindness. You need to get through the next few weeks and be safe on that long drive.”
“You’re right. I have a lot to do and need a clear head. I wish I was there now.”
“I wish you were here too.”
Lyra melted hearing the warmth in his words. “Miss you already. We had a fun vacation.”
“We did, but I want us to be in one world. That will only come to pass once dark forces in Dragonspeir are overthrown. You must strengthen your magic, enabling the Alliance.” Cullen’s voice resonated with determination.
“I’m eager to learn. Drive safely, and give me a call once you get to your bookstore.”
“I will. Although I’ll be in Dragonspeir a lot in the coming days and won’t be able to call. I’ll return to the store each night in case you need to contact me.”
“Thanks. Take care. Love you.”
“And I love you.” His low, masculine tone comforted her.
She took a deep breath, finally relaxed enough to fill her lungs.
***
Later that afternoon, Lyra met with her department chair and presented him a brief, formal letter requesting leave of absence.
His bushy eyebrows collided above his thick framed glasses when he read the date beginning next term. “I don’t have time to hire a new instructor. Not sure I can even get staff to cover your classes with this short notice.” He laid the paper down. “Although, I do understand your concern.”
“Meredith volunteered to take some of my load.” She nervously fingered her earring, anxious for his decision. He could deny her request, making the choice hers—to remain or go without pay and most likely face non-renewal on her contract at the end of the school year.
He stroked his chin and eyed her, weighing the possibilities. “She’s capable for your American Lit course, but what about the two specialty Fantasy courses? I’ll ask Andrew if he’ll take the one examining Tolkien’s world, but the class on myths and folklore…”
Lyra held her breath. Darned that one course she’d been so eager to propose.
“…would you consider teaching that one online? You might send lessons two or three times per week and be available to help with assignments.”
Exhaling the breath into a sigh, she replied, “I could do that, certainly.” His request seemed easy enough because she knew that content inside out. Surely, she could leave Dragonspeir long enough to be online and meet those responsibilities.
“Fine then.” He leaned forward onto his elbows and peered at her above his glasses. “Be certain you get teaching materials to Meredith and Andrew. Whether you’re renewed or not will depend on how well you work with them.”
Although his caution made her tremble, she smiled, grateful for his decision. “Thank you.”
The days of the next three weeks slipped past as Lyra worked feverishly to prepare her colleagues and her home. She planned to be gone until, perhaps, the end of next summer. Both fear and determination pulsed through her veins as she drove off, car loaded to the roof, after her last class on the Friday before Christmas.
Chapter Two: Mind Guards
Cullen trudged through icy slush in the Sault Saint Marie airport parking lot and unlocked the trunk of his Barracuda. The hinges creaked slowly open, their lubricant viscous after days in the cold. He tossed his suitcase inside. The chill of the vinyl seats made him shiver, and his breath condensed into fog. He glanced around, checking for people nearby, and found the closest person three cars over. Cautious to not alarm any non-magical beings, he held his hand below the dash, opened his palm, and sparked a small orb of blue light.
“Dispergo!” The ball shattered into myriad sparks, radiating much-needed warmth throughout the air and falling over the car’s interior. “Ah. Better.”
He took his time driving on the snow-covered roads, his mind wandering to Lyra’s news. Damn! If only he’d identified that black butterfly last summer. At the time, Lyra was upset after learning that her grandmother, four times removed, had marked her to be the next Scribe of Dragonspeir. Distracted by her unrest, he didn’t go after the butterfly fast enough.
Large purple wing spots, almost like eyes on a moth, had stood out from the otherwise all black body. The purple coloring brought Eburscon to mind. Claiming a need to display his independence, the alchemist refused to wear the blue color of allegiance to the Alliance. Instead, his full-length robe of purple velvet hinted at association with the Black Dragon, the evil red hue blending with blue. Could it be him?
Why would someone kill Jean? To harm Lyra, so she couldn’t complete her assignment of writing the next Book of Dragonspeir? If so, that plan failed…but at a tremendous price to Lyra and her aunt. He slammed the heel of his hand onto the steering wheel. He should have put protection on her aunt too!
He hoped he was wrong, and that the person masked as the butterfly merely intended to save Jean a painful end. He needed to confer with the Imperial Dragon in private. Many might be involved in this scheme, but the ruler of Dragonspeir never gave him cause for mistrust. Although weary from travel, Cullen intended to pay that visit yet today.
Reaching the edge of the village, he gave Lyra a quick call. It relieved him to learn she was home and busy preparing for her extended stay. He missed her already.
When he turned down the alley behind his bookstore, adrenaline surged. This revelation about her aunt made him more conscious of his responsibility to keep Lyra safe. He needed to decipher this mystery and make his presence known to whomever intended her harm. After he parked in the one-car garage at the back, he sprang into the store, not even bothering to gather his suitcase. Fingering his silver ring, he raced through the service door.
He rubbed the dragon design in the setting. “Pateo porta!” The blue topaz eyes glinted more slowly than expected, but he had spent a week away from Dragonspeir’s magnetics, the source of his power. Slowly, bookcases slid aside, and the portal to Dragonspeir opened before him. When he looked up to walk across the boundary, he caught a glimpse of something odd in the storeroom. He paused and turned.
The work area lay ransacked. A thief? Cullen ran into the showroom. At first glance nothing valuable appeared missing. He scanned shelves for the rare volumes. He pulled one off the shelf and thumbed through to be certain of its authenticity. All in order. He walked back into the storage room, picking a path over the dishevelment toward his desk. The top drawer, always left locked, lay open and empty. He chuckled. Someone badly wanted his copy of the previous Book of Dragonspeir, authored by Brigid. Too bad for them, Lyra took that copy with her when she left for Tampa. After all, it was hers, passed down five generations as a gift from Jean on Lyra’s tenth birthday. Obviously, the intruder knew he’d be gone for an extended time and used magic to unlock the drawer. Another mystery to solve. If Jean had been murdered, was the intruder connected?
He looked around, but nothing else of magical value was stored there to be stolen. The mess would wait.
He sprang through the waiting portal, lifting his arm to grasp his staff as it materialized. Once firmly in his control, it reacted to the adrenaline flowing though his body, and the sapphire orb at its tip pulsated with blue light. The tooled designs of the silver shaft fit comfortably within his grip. He strode with determination, his leather boots striking the hard, frozen dirt path leading to the Gatekeeper of Dragonspeir.
After a few paces he halted, realizing his thoughts were not protected from readers. Usually this posed no real danger, but now he suspected spies hiding in every shadow. Although mostly peaceful, the Qumeli tribe members were skilled at reading. Even a shred of knowledge picked up by a reader might prove disastrous. Perspiration dampened his hairline, despite the cold temperature. With a swift revolution of his staff, he softly pronounced the incantation, “Celo sentential!”
He resumed his rapid pace toward the sentry. Well before he reached the gigantic, gnarled tree, he called out, “Sentry Cranewort!”
Ponderous limbs creaked as they snapped to attention and twisted in the direction of the wizard. The Gatekeeper didn’t have time to erect his usual barricade of roots to block passage of the traveler. “Sire Drake! By your tone and hurried gait, you concern me.” His leathery leaves shook and flapped together. “Whatever is the matter?”
“I must council with the Imperial Dragon. Is he in?”
“Yes, our ruler is in his lair.”
“Good. I’m stopping here to inform you Lyra will return at the Solstice for an extended stay. Since you’re among those expected to give her magical instruction, you need to know we’ll commence after the Solstice Festival, rather than during the summer, as initially intended.”
“Oh! What of her teaching responsibilities in her world? Is anything wrong?”
“She decided to conduct those from my bookstore by computer.” A lie would be detected by the sagacious tree, but the wizard hoped a partial truth might pass unnoticed.
“Computer?”
Cullen shivered with the cool air. He drew his fur-lined winter cloak close and fastened it with his jade brooch. Running his thumb over its smooth surface, his mind traveled to Lyra. She possessed its mate—the lovers’ jadestones. The gems called to each other, and he felt the essence of her soul in his hand. A chill wind prompted him back to the reality before him. “It’s a type of distance communication with her students.”
“Ah. Will be grand to see my little Adalyra again. I’ll start preparing my lessons.” His branches popped as they strained closer toward the wizard. “Sire…you seem agitated, but I can’t discern clearly. Can you share or shall I …”
Cullen stepped away from the twig looming out to touch him. Advanced at clairvoyance, the sentry’s touch would reveal his mind shield.
“You avoid my contact. Hmm. I suspect the Imperial Sorcerer has employed a guarding spell.”
He couldn’t deny the wise tree and made note to use more care displaying his stress to others. “Yes, I am in stealth.”
Cranewort nodded his upper trunk. “I respect duty to the Alliance and will not press. Your actions are telling. Be watchful.”
“Good guidance.” Cullen bowed his head. “I must hurry on.”
“My eyes follow you and shall serve as your aid.”
“I knew I could count on your allegiance, my venerable friend.” He planted his wizard’s staff on the ground and rotated it. A thick blue fog emitted from the sapphire gem. With his free arm, Cullen waved goodbye to the Gatekeeper.
“Good day, Sire Drake,” the tree bellowed.
***
After the blue cloud dissipated, Cullen walked past a group of men and women from the Meadow. They shook rugs on the rock landing outside the Imperial Dragon’s lair, set on the plateau high above the Great Steppe of Ora. Many called to him with their welcomes. He thanked them and paused to address Nade, the burly man in charge. “Have you seen my assistant, Kenzo?”
“Not since I left from home this morning, Sire. Should I summon him for you?” A good-hearted, simple fellow, Nade was always eager and proud to use the basic magic skills Cullen had taught him.
“Yes, please. If I’m in council, have him wait for me here in the outer chambers.” With a slight wave of his staff in gesture of appreciation, Cullen strode into the main hall, where more details of workers prepared for the Solstice Festival.
Some swept the vaulted stone walls while others scrubbed the marble floors. A group of Qumeli men, women, and even children polished the forged metal of table candelabras and wall sconces. The tribe gave school lessons for their boys and girls during evenings because daytime hours were spent learning hunting, herding, craft trades, and self-sustenance.
Cullen scanned the group, looking for any manner or spirit that exposed cageyness or deception. For the most part, they appeared to be peaceful, hard workers. Their ways seemed superstitious to him, involving mystical study of the moon and stars, used to predict and manipulate the future.
Some nodded shyly to him. He tipped his staff in response, recognizing many of their people, but only by sight.
Along one side of the grand room, various Meadow-folk assembled a long buffet area, capable of serving various types of residents, both animal and human forms. Bero, the leader of the blue deer, directed a team of his young bucks to pull a wide sledge laden with thick wooden table tops and legs. He tipped his great silver rack toward the wizard. “Sire Drake, glad to see you’re back.” He turned to give his workers guidance. “Hold up there lads. It’s all yours now, Sam.” He nodded to the man beside him.
“Hello, Bero! Preparations seem in order here. Good work.” Cullen took a breath, mustering patience to relax with some normal conversation and hide his concerns.
“For the most part. I’m keeping them in line. Will Lady Lyra join our celebration?”
“She will, indeed.”
A sudden breeze blew across Cullen’s cheek. Noiselessly, a silver-striped tiger owl made a deft landing, talons gripping onto one of the buck’s antlers.
“Good landing, Kenzo. Hardly felt a thing,” Bero commended.
The bird folded his massive four-foot wingspan, and set ice blue eyes on the wizard. “Good day, Master. Something’s different about you. If you ask me, you’ve added some weight to your frame while away. Lyra must’ve fed you well.” He snapped his beak several times—an owl’s laugh.
Bero’s lips curled back as he guffawed.
Cullen squinted at his assistant and chuckled. “I see you’ve done well practicing agility flight while I was gone, like I asked. Too bad it didn’t diminish your cockiness.” He reached up and rubbed underneath the bird’s neck feathers.
Kenzo rotated his head around to expose the part he loved to have scratched. “Did I hear you mention Lyra visiting? For the Festival?”
“Yes.” Cullen pulled his hand back. “I need to speak with our leader now.”
Kenzo moved to better display his neck. “One more minute, please Master.”
“No time now,” he curtly replied, stepping away.
“Hmpf. You’re acting strange. If a visit with her did this,
not sure I want her company.”
From over a century of working together, Cullen knew his assistant detected something was amiss. The wizard leaned toward the pair and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And she’ll be staying to begin her magic study with the Imperial Dragon, rather than waiting until summer.”
Kenzo snapped his head forward, mouth gapping, then wisely clamped his beak shut.
Cullen cast a sideways glance at the owl. “Remain here until I finish. And stay out of trouble.” He bowed his head to Bero and hastened down the wide corridor leading to the private chambers. Upon admittance, he found Oasth, the warlord, speaking with the Imperial Dragon.
The burgundy fire drake bowed his head low. “Hello, Sire Drake.” Cullen didn’t question Oasth’s allegiance, so his presence posed no impediment.
“Welcome home! What brings my Imperial Sorcerer to seek council of the Alliance?” inquired the golden leader.
“I have a matter of strict importance to discuss. Our Scribe will be returning at the time of the Solstice—”
“Wasn’t that the plan?” Oasth interrupted.
“—and accept your offer to train as a sorceress of your Alliance, my lord.”
The warlord’s short, spiky tail curled. “Hmm. Trouble, no doubt. Tell us.”
“She just received a letter from a healer, written soon after her aunt’s death but lost in transit. He believes something isn’t natural about the death and requested to meet with Lyra.”
Oasth’s neck spikes pinned back. However, the ruler remained watchful and pensive, his eyes still blue and calm.
“Lyra asked a healer’s aide, a woman who cared for her aunt, to recount details of the last hours. In the aunt’s room, she located an unusually large butterfly, black with purple markings. Also, the body remained warm to touch for several hours, although clearly dead.”
“You mentioned that type butterfly to me previously, last summer when it chased Adalyra in her world.” The leader looked down, deep in thought.
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