The stealth dragon replied with a demonic cacophony. Strong magical currents sizzled through the air.
More worried about dangers above than from the rangers, Lyra powered her staff until it glowed with aura.
The discord between witch and dragon escalated until Lyra’s ears felt like they were bleeding. She clung to her staff for physical support. At least, the duel kept the beast occupied, and although Draora shook with the exertion, she seemed eager for the challenge.
Those on the ground fared worse. Her cousins covered their ears with their hands, faces contorted into grimaces.
The rangers did the same. The ruckus served to halt their fire, although Ron didn’t remove the pistol from his hand, not what Lyra considered safe gun use. He didn’t seem to notice any of Lyra’s group on the ground, so, maybe, Cullen’s ward still gave some protection. She hoped he had enough power to cover himself too but knew he’d put himself at risk before others.
Noba plastered his wings against his large, drooping ears, while Kenzo seemed unaffected, sailing in a wide circle around the sycamore.
As Lyra watched the owl, movement of an evil aura in the top branches caught her attention. She rotated her staff back and forth, golden light spilling gently around her, ready to strike when the opportunity arose.
A swath of dark gray fabric flowed from one branch to the next.
A laser of blue aura whizzed after the motion—Cullen’s powerball—and a man screamed in pain. A tangle of branches, with spring buds unfolding, blocked Lyra’s view.
A big cat’s roar rumbled in a lower register than the piercing cries of the others. Cullen’s black panther fur gleamed as he clambered up and around while purple shots zipped past.
Lyra planted the Staurolite firmly in her other hand and charged it with aura. She expected to see an arc directing her to the location of the moonstone. Instead, a brilliant white line connected the master stone to the carving at the base of the trunk, then radiated into a circle of myriad dim lasers. Confused by this pattern, she stepped toward the sculpted bark and fueled the master stone with more power. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes she had with Eburscon.
For several minutes, a chase ensued high in the tree, punctuated with pauses filled with curse words, growls, and guttural noises. The pursuit descended to the middle boughs. Symar’s full form dropped into view on a lower branch, his long, dark hair and charcoal cloak flowing behind him. His dark, piercing eyes scanned the ground.
He clung to the branch above. Without taking time to secure a foothold, he hurled a powerball directly at Lyra and called over the din, “Even if invisible, I’d know the Scribe anywhere by that aura.” He darted behind the mighty trunk.
Staff primed, Lyra deflected his strike with a wide strip of her own aura. She wasted no time and fired a swift, clean laser at the Lord of the Tempests. The shot clipped his trailing leg before he could completely take cover.
The leather of his knee-high boot incinerated. Symar let out a loud, tortured scream as he dragged the charred leg to his body.
The panther, crouched on the limb above, pelted Symar with lasers until his limbs trembled uncontrollably.
Kenzo set a course straight for the rangers and flapped around Ron’s head, but the owl was too late. A gunshot whipped past and battered the tree where Cullen hung.
The panther yelped and scampered up the trunk.
“Pat, I got it!” Ron yelled. “Damn! A big, black panther.”
Lyra’s heart thumped against her ribs. She scanned the tree. Both Cullen and Symar were missing.
“You better be hoping you just grazed him.” Pat put his gun away and pulled a cell phone from his belt. “Probably a valuable runaway from a nearby zoo. I’ll see if Sally knows whether any have been lost.” He glanced up after dialing the number. “Whoa! Where did you all come from?” Staring at the members of Lyra’s group, he took a step back, rubbing his forehead with the other hand.
Injured, Cullen could no longer maintain the ward.
As Ron walked toward the group, Vickie and Raylene gathered Cullen’s assistants near them.
Before he reached them, the cimafa suddenly quieted, and all eyes fixed on the enchanted tree. The stealth dragon blasted the sycamore with a torrent of energy, bathing it in darkness.
“What the hell?” Ron froze and craned his neck. “What’s making that shadow? Don’t see any cloud or plane. And that screeching stopped.” He glanced at his partner who shrugged and white-knuckled his gun.
The intensity of beast’s enticement prickled Lyra’s skin, and she was no longer able to worry about the rangers. She well knew the familiar temptation to look up at the sweet evil that called to the soul the beast sought. She clamped the Staurolite to her breast and planted her wizard’s staff, powering both to send her aura in a wide circle that would protect herself and any others on the ground. While she worried about Draora and Cullen, both in the tree, she couldn’t chance glimpsing upward. She believed that her aura was the one that the cimafa wanted to harvest. Stealth dragons always tried to claim her unique scribal energy for themselves or for their riders. In this case, after she’d harmed the beast’s master, it also harbored a reason for vengeance upon her.
The sickening sensation of the cimafa’s aura crept along her skin, oozing through her pores, trying to take hold.
Lyra wondered whether she should expend a large quantity of her power to cast an effective shot at the cimafa, or be more conservative and take the defensive by holding tightly onto her aura. Unanswered questions about her power outside of Dragonspeir flashed through her mind. If she took an aggressive move, would she end up too weak to find and claim the moonstone? Was she able to recharge her power from the fire stars here? Could she even locate them without their familiar colored markings in the Dragonspeir sky? A lot depended on her ability to complete this entire task, not fail half way through.
She took a deep breath. Aside from the power already contained in the staff and Staurolite, Lyra forced her aura deep within her, into the recesses of her mind and heart. Additionally, she wrapped that mass in a covering of blank aura, lacking the imprint of the Scribes’ fire stars. That technique she’d discovered and used successfully when Tarom probed her mind with his skills of fascination.
The pull from the cimafa intensified, willing her to look up. Lyra remembered the one time she succumbed. The dragon’s red-rimmed nostrils had inhaled so sharply, it held her suspended off a cliff. It sucked her soul to a tenuous connection on the outside of her mortal body. She’d managed to beat that cimafa.
Lyra gritted her teeth. She was stronger now and would win again. Her aura held fast inside her, but her feet lifted from the ground. She unsuccessfully willed her body downward. Worried that the beast might consume her entirely, body and soul, she channeled a strike force into her staff and Staurolite.
She stopped ascending—a surprising affect since she was still learning how to use the master stone. It tethered her securely to the symbol at the sycamore’s base. Heartened, she prepared to strike.
The dragon cast a red glow and concentrated more power into its death cone.
If she could only work her staff at the same time as the Staurolite. Divided between two tasks, Lyra struggled with her concentration. She focused her gaze on the sapphire apex. The grip of her sweaty palm slipped along the metal shaft. She needed a better connection to be sure of such a large shot. Perspiration beaded underneath her hair, chilling her skin as the dampness evaporated quickly in the cool air. Shivering, she willed even more aura into her staff.
From behind, a hand grabbed hard onto her shoulder.
Lyra jerked and twisted around to see Draora leaning from a branch.
Stronger than Lyra expected for a ghost, the witch’s hand held her with an iron grip and pulled her to the branch. “I’ll hold you,” the witch whispered and blew warm, dry breath across the fingers of Lyra’s hand on the staff.
With Draora’s arm tight around her waist, Lyra felt stable. H
er hold now secure, she stocked her staff with aura. Still, she didn’t dare look up to take aim. Calculating from the direction of the cimafa’s shadowy cone, she and the witch were dead center. Lyra aimed, began her strike, then glanced up to make a final, slight adjustment. Her wide laser cut swiftly through the evil shadow, straight for the cimafa’s heart.
A purple shot fired from high in the tree and deflected her strike to impact the dragon’s flank. The dragon’s entire side lay charred to expose white ribs. The cimafa hovered unbalanced in a daze at the tree top, the red rings around its nostrils fading.
Volleys of Cullen’s lasers peppered Symar as he hopped one-legged from a high limb onto the back of his waiting ride. Flames licked up his cloak, and he hurled it to the ground. “Kessa will pay for this day!” he cried and steered the stealth dragon through the portal.
The panther slowly crawled down the trunk, favoring a front paw.
The rangers lifted their pistols again.
Kenzo swooped from a nearby branch and forced Ron’s gun arm down.
“Don’t shoot!” Vickie yelled and ran, waving her arms. Raylene, Kenzo, and Noba joined her, blocking the rangers’ efforts.
“Ma’am, that’s a wild beast.” Pat flailed his arms at the pseudodragon’s wings flapping around his head. “We don’t intend to shoot, but it might attack.”
Noba boxed the ranger’s ears with his thick, short wings. “Leave Master alone!”
“Call this thing off!” Pat cried.
Draora’s voice lifted into a ghastly single note. The saplings around the group on the ground bent their branches behind the rangers.
Pat’s phone rang, and he twisted to answer.
Kenzo flew aside and let the trees take over.
The phone slipped from the man’s hand as he took off in a run with his partner, tree limbs chasing them down the trail.
Raylene picked up the dropped phone. Her stack of bracelets clanked against the mouthpiece as she covered it with her palm. She closed her eyes and moved her lips, reciting a silent phrase. A moment later, she pressed the button to end the call. “We ain’t gonna have any troubles now with Sally confirming them boys’ story.” She looked up and winked to her grandmother, who whisked herself and Lyra to the ground.
“I wish I knew your phone magic skills,” Cullen said, walking up to the pair.
Kenzo and Noba flew to join their master. Vickie and Raylene hopped on rocks after them.
Lyra tucked the Staurolite and staff into pockets and carefully lifted Cullen’s injured hand. A long burn blistered the side, but otherwise he only appeared disheveled and exhausted. She pushed up his jacket and shirt sleeves to expose a serious burn over much of the back of his hand and extending five inches onto his forearm. She passed her hand above the wound and eased the worst of the lesions. “I’ll treat this again later. My power is a bit weak after firing at that cimafa. I wish I had some antibiotic cream or salve.”
“I’d expect so! That was some shot.” Vickie replied and called to their younger cousin who was rooting in the brush under some trees. “Ray, can your magic help treat Cullen’s wound?”
Raylene trotted back to the group carrying a handful of mottled, green-brown leaves and long-stemmed tiny white flowers. “These here adder’s tongues will treat his skin ulcers.” She eyed the wizard’s wound while she bruised the dappled leaves and dipped them in the stream. “Gimme your hand.”
He gave Lyra a questioning glance, then extended his arm.
Raylene passed the white flowers to Vickie. “Strip off the leaves and flowers. I only want stems.”
Vickie’s brows raised, but she followed instructions.
The young witch gently laid the four-inch long, flat leaves diagonally across his wound and, as her cousin finished, wrapped the long, bare stems around like twine. Looking toward the sky, she said, “Mother Moon, heal his burn.”
Draora floated overhead and lowered her round spectacles to inspect her granddaughter’s work.
“What is that odor?” Cullen asked, wrinkling his noise.
“You smell like garlic,” Lyra replied. “Garlic mustard?”
Raylene nodded with a smile, pulling his sleeves in place. “No matter the stink. Safe and long was what I needed to hold the adder’s tongues in place.”
“This is very cooling against the burn,” Cullen said.
“How long with those leaves work?” Lyra asked.
“Once they’ve taken in the burn’s full heat, maybe by the end of the day, we’ll put the adder’s tongue leaves in some mud. Then, he’ll be cured.”
The elder witch cackled. “She’s a better witch than that—an hour at most.”
“Thank you, both.” Cullen bowed to both witches. “Remarkable magic.”
The pseudodragon stared up from his position in the middle of the group. “Master’s making Noba hungry.”
Everyone chuckled, and Cullen wrapped his good arm around Lyra’s shoulder. He kissed her temple. How do you feel? How is your energy? Better or worse than times before?
I’m okay. Lyra held him around his waist. Very tired, but not as drained as usual thanks to the Staurolite. Draora’s power helped ground me. You heard Symar. I’m very concerned about Kessa. I’ll message Cranewort. How’s your energy holding up?
I’m maintaining but hope not to encounter another battle before we return. One positive thought to keep in mind about Kessa—until all of the stolen keystones are found, they need her alive.
Lyra nodded. I know what Symar said before he left, but is there any doubt he might have taken the moonstone? When you were in the top of the sycamore, was there any chance—
Cullen shook his head.
They leaned into one another and smiled, tired but happy. Lyra motioned the others toward the carving at the base of the sycamore’s trunk. “We’ve still got to find the moonstone, and fast, since those rangers might send others back to check out the area.”
Chapter Ten: The Mission Settlement
Lyra pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “I copied this verse from Scribe Nareene’s magical book she wrote nearly six hundred years ago. This is a poem by Queen Maryell of Aria when she enchanted the moonstone keystone and presented it to Nareene.
Soft light of this moonstone,
Pure of heart and noble of deed,
To no wrongdoing must it atone,
Giving so many the chance to be freed.
Tho generations hence new crops will be sown,
And young ones no longer have need,
This moonstone shall shine its light until they be grown,
Keeping watch in the mature sycamore’s seed.”
Lyra scanned their faces for signs of understanding.
Vickie placed her hands on her pear-shaped hips.
The youngest cousin kicked a clump of weeds with the toe of her scuffed combat boot.
Draora floated upside down and squinted at the tree’s symbol, not seeming to mind that her skirt and petticoat dropped past her polka-dotted bloomers.
Cullen bent low and studied the carved symbol in the sycamore’s trunk. “Did the moonstone originate in Aria?”
“I’m not sure,” Lyra replied. “After it was stolen from the collection of four keystones on the balance pans of the Elementum Arcesso, it showed up more than a century later in Silva Caliga. The Lady of the Forest of that land gave it to the king and queen of Aria in trade for some of their warriors—when Nareene was the Scribe.”
Cullen nodded. “Yes. Times were hard then. It was said that the Dark Realm invaded most of Dragonspeir, including the neutral forest of Silva Caliga. Why do you and the Tortoise expect the moonstone to be here?”
“Nareene needed to escape the Dark Realm. She’d be safest in this world. This was the only direct portal from Aria to here. Others would have taken her through occupied areas of Dragonspeir.”
Raylene sat cross-legged at the base of the sycamore, closed her eyes, and traced the carving.
Vickie plucked the
poem from Lyra. “I write poetry for fun. Let me play with this verse.” Her eyes raced back and forth across the paper. “The moonstone, given to Nareene, was pure, noble, not to be blamed for any bad act. It represented Nareene’s energy.” She glanced at Lyra. “Did Nareene die? Did she return as a ghost?”
“She died, but I don’t know when.” Lyra glanced at Cullen. “In my studies, I didn’t read anything about magicals returning as ghosts or spirits. Aren’t all souls collected by Cranewort’s cranes?”
He nodded. “In Dragonspeir, souls of the dead are collected and given to new bodies being born. Very rarely the darkest souls escape the cranes, only to survive a hollow existence without form for eternity. They inhabit the extreme territories—icy northern Versula and parched desert lands of Cerid’s Crux.”
Lyra faced Kenzo. “Those must have been what we felt hiding among the tors on the way to Tarom’s Versula castle.”
The owl shivered. “Let’s not make a return trip to find out.”
“If Nareene didn’t live on, then something about her was placed into or around the stone.” Vickie paced past the carving. “That way, it would help future generations by shining through this portal.”
“Exactly. The queen enchanted the stone so it would endure,” Lyra added.
“Keeping watch in the mature sycamore’s seed,” Raylene repeated, lids still closed, cheek pressed against the trunk.
Kenzo poked at the ground with his beak and tossed an empty, round pod remaining from last autumn to Lyra. “Wouldn’t the keystone be too big to fit inside one of these tiny holes?”
She turned the dried seed case around. “Could it be in the center of a pod? Or is the meaning not literal? A mature sycamore’s seed—could be an offspring of this enchanted tree.” She looked at surrounding younger trees.
Cullen walked from trunk to trunk, holding his palm next to each. “If only I had my full power, I’d be able to detect even the slightest Alliance magic.”
Lyra followed him, attempting the same. “This is useless.” She sighed. “I’m no better after spending so much energy in that fight.”
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