by N M Zoltack
Murmurings broke out, and Rosalynne allowed them to discuss this for only a few minutes before she continued.
"Under my father and by his hand, I did order and witness several executions. No more. I do not think that a civilized society should have such a terrible punishment. No. Death has touched our lives time and again. No more. Not by my hand. Instead, I wish to implement labor for those found guilty of crimes and—"
"Are you meanin' to say ye won't be killin' the man responsible for killin' ye brother?" a man shouted.
"How will that keep us safe?" A woman held a crying bairn to her chest.
Rosalynne tried to speak more, but the crowd grew more and more restless. People shouted and shoved, pushed and screamed. Someone grabbed one of the statues lining the perimeter of the courtyard and tried to topple it over. A riot was quickly starting, and Rosalynne stood there for only a moment, frozen by disbelief. Then, she snapped into action, instructing her guards to find more for the courtyard. What if someone should die when she was trying to keep them all alive?
Down below, chaos and panic seemed to be overwhelming the people. The guards arrived but too late. Rosalynne saw flashes and glints of silver, and the cries and a few death shrills rang out.
Now, the tears did fall. Rosalynne turned around so no one would see. How could she possibly take control from Sabine and be the queen that she had been born to be if the people would not allow her to rule? She had hoped that having the people come to her with their issues would help them and her but no. Now, when she was terrified that war might occur between Tenoch and Vincana, the people of Tenoch were seemingly against her.
Another worry crept into her mind. Were the people even for Sabine? Had they somehow lost the throne entirely? Perhaps she should be working with Sabine instead of them trying to undermine each other. After all, the people who would be hurt the most were the same persons they should be endeavoring to serve and protect.
Rosalynne forced herself to compose herself and moved to turn around, but Wilfrid shook his head.
"My Queen, you do not wish to see."
While lost in her thoughts, Rosalynne had blocked out the sounds of the riots and the guards stemming back the violent mob. Ignoring her well-intention guard, Rosalynne crossed back over to the railing. The scene below was one stripped from one of the paintings in the castle that depicted war and carnage. At least two had been killed, and Rosalynne stared at her white knuckles and fingers that clenched the railing. The blood of those fallen was on her hands. She was in over her head, and if she were not careful, she would follow her father and brother into early graves.
17
Garsea
The last of the Keepers of the Flames had gathered in one of the vast libraries within the monastery. Garsea had just finished describing to the others his dream and what he thought it meant for them and the future.
Velasco rolled his eyes and huffed, "We have already checked Cilla. There is no reason to go back there."
"Might a smaller bone—" Garsea started.
Ximeno cut him off. "We have searched there."
"Personally?" Garsea demanded. "Or are you relying on the words and accounts of previous Keepers?"
"You doubt our word?" Ximeno sounded affronted.
"I believe that the time of the dragons' return is near at hand," Garsea said desperately. "Our ancestors did all they could to prepare for this. This is everything we have strived for all of our lives. Why would you be unwilling to check again? Why else would I have been given this dream—"
"It might only have been a dream," Ximeno said softly.
"Not a vision. Nothing more than your hopes and dreams come to life before your closed eyelids," Velasco said. He sniffed. "You may be the elder, but you cannot dictate that we follow your lead. We are our own persons."
"You are not," Garsea said in a rare bout of anger. "You are Keepers. You are bound and sworn to serve the dragons all the days of your lives."
"The dragons do not fly," Velasco said.
"They will again one day. You will see."
Velasco slammed a hand against a tome against one of the many shelves built into the wall. Without another word, the Keeper rushed out of the room.
Garsea eyed Ximeno, who lowered his head and shrugged.
"I do not know what to think," Ximeno said. "The bones attached to the claws are so very strong. But say we are able to construct an entire dragon. Then what? If only one returns to life, what of the others? What if their long death has changed the dragons?"
"We all have questions," Garsea said, "and we all need answers. Perhaps Cilla is the key to them all."
"Or perhaps Cilla is nothing more than a waste of time," Ximeno said sadly.
"You will not go then?"
Ximeno would neither confirm nor deny. As the previous Keeper, he maintained his silence and fled the library.
Garsea sighed and wearily rubbed a hand over his bald head. If only he were not the elder, but as such, he was to stay within the monastery at all times. Already, he had left when he should not have, when he had brought the princess in hiding to the monastery.
Perhaps he should not leave again, but that was precisely what Garsea did. No, he could not and would not leave for Cilla. That trek was far too long for him to dare venture especially while alone. But the streets of Olac should suffice to help him clear his head.
The people were mostly within doors at this time of day or rather night. The sun had already started to set, and a haze was covering the land. Most persons were within the taverns, inns, or their homes, the marketplace already all packed and torn down for the rest of the night. The merchants had already pulled their wagons away, only to return in the morn with the hope of selling more wares and making more money.
Garsea did not mind the darkness. Yes, dangers might lurk in the shadows, but he felt no fear. He knew that trouble was brewing in the world. The dragons had been dead for centuries, and yet the world had not completely fallen apart as of yet. The time for war was rapidly befalling them, and then what might occur? The stars did not say, but Garsea could only suspect that many and more would rest for all of eternity. Chaos and Death were nearly at their full height of power, and what might befall the world then?
We need the dragons. Without them, we are nothing more than terrible instruments of madness and self-preservation. We hunt, we kill, we fight, we wound. We care not for others. Even I fall under these same flaws, and I strive to serve a great purpose.
The dragons, if they would return, no. Not if. When they would return, the world will be so much worse than they could have ever experienced before, even when they had suffered the ultimate betrayal by the Lord of Light and Darkness. The world would be unrecognizable to them, and perhaps humans did not deserve the peace the dragons would be able to command once more.
"All the world is chaos, and thine hand is one that wields bedlam and disarray. What will the world behold when the sun is wiped out along with her last singular ray?" Garsea muttered.
He rounded a corner and halted beside a nearby alley. A small, huddled form rocked back and forth, mumbling all the while. Curiosity was a well-known experience to Garsea, one that he fed time and again by reading every tome within the monastery. This matter, however, was something of a different sort entirely. Garsea suspected that he should move on, yet he found he could not move a single muscle.
After a slight hesitation, he bent down to examine the form closer. The small shadow belonged to an even smaller boy wrapped in several blankets. The stench of homelessness claimed him, his tiny face covered in dirt and ashes. His tremors could not be from the cold as the nighttime air had not yet dropped in temperature.
Afraid. The boy was deathly afraid Garsea realized as the boy lifted his face. His pallor was almost as white as a skull. His eyes were sunken in, dark orbs that spoke only of terror and fear.
The mumbling continued, the boy's cracked, bleeding lips parting. Even his tongue was pale as he continued to speak urgently. G
radually, Garsea could catch only a single word.
"Ghost."
What ghost could the child have seen? Ghosts did not exist in this world.
But wraiths did, and a wraith could most certainly cause such a reaction within one as young as he.
If the wraiths had indeed revisited the land to make way for their masters, the triumphant return of the dragons must certainly not be far off in the future.
The Keepers of the Flames had much work to do, much and more.
18
Cateline Locke
The hours were long, the training longer, the sun rising and setting and the females still arching their weapons, stabbing lunging, parrying. They had progressed from merely learning the different stances and styles and were now broken into small groups. Within those groups, two would fight, and the others would critique or help or insult as the fighters deserved it.
Vivian had never sweated so much in her life. She cared nothing for her clothes and had taken to wipe her sweat with her sleeve, something she had once admonished Noll for what seemed a lifetime ago.
Her back ached. Her leg muscles quivered. Her arms burned, and yet she circled the female before her. Her opponent was taller and heavier, her long blond hair tied back by a leather thong that wrapped into her braid. She wasn't the strongest of the warriors, a bit clumsy and unsure of her footing. Vivian's long hours of practicing to dance gave her more balance than most even while holding weapons longer than her arms.
The female lunged forward, jabbing with her spear. Vivian hesitated and then spun to the right, blocking the blow and then trying to counter. The female gripped Vivian's spear, pulling just hard enough that Vivian stumbled after all and fell onto her rump. The female grinned and pressed forward with her spear, but Vivian's hands curled around the sand, and she flung fistfuls into the female's face.
The female sputtered and drew back, and Vivian jumped to her feet.
Before the fight could continue, Horatia Ramagi, the leader of the female defenders of Vincana, approached. Her always-stern expression seemed even more hard-hearted than normal.
The female glowered at Vivian. "Did you see what she did?" she spat out in a rather deep voice.
"I did." Horatia's tone brokered no emotion at all. "What are you waiting for? Commence your fighting."
The female attacked Vivian with every bit of her muster. Her arcs were wild but forceful, and Vivian defended more than she attacked. The princess did her best to remain light on her feet, sliding to one side and then the other, waiting for an opening. When none arose, she allowed the tip of her spear to point toward the ground. The female's eyes lit up, and she stepped forward for a strike, but Vivian was already countering and brought the tip of her spear to press against the female's throat.
Horatia's lips were pursed, and she was shaking her head. "You took too long. Your footwork was shoddy. You have no strength. You lack disciple."
She continued on and on, and Vivian's head swam, uncertain which insults were meant for her or the female.
At least, Horatia moved onto another group. Aurelia Lupus, the warrior who told Vivian each night that she supposed she would train “Cateline” another day, bid them to sleep well for in the morning, she might allow them to train against multiple attackers at once.
Most of the other females seemed excited at the prospect. Vivian was too tired to form an opinion either way, but the female she had just fought huffed a slight groan.
"You aren't ready to take on five foes at the same time?" Vivian muttered between gasps for breath. She had tried not to let Horatia know just how fatigued the fight had left her and so hadn't recovered her breath as of yet.
"I doubt you are," the female snorted, but then she grinned. "Who are you again?"
"Cateline Locke,” Vivian said without hesitating.
Her alias had almost become her true name as she could barely remember when she had been a princess. The memory of the castle and her gowns and jewelry were fading over time. Sometimes, she even had difficulty recalling Noll's face or imagining what Rosalynne's voice sounded like.
"I am Caelia Buca,” the female said. “You aren’t that bad of a warrior.”
"No?" Vivian’s face felt flushed, and she didn’t know if she were embarrassed or excited or just exhausted from the hours-long training bout.
"As if you don't know. Aurelia Lupus is the second to Horatia. If we continue to impress her, it's possible we're to be in her unit."
"Aurelia's?"
"No, Horatia's." Caelia's light blue eyes sparkled. "Do you know what that means?"
Vivian shook her head.
"We have a chance to become Valkyries!"
The princess blinked several times. "I thought all of the Valkyries had died out long ago."
Caelia nodded. By now, the others had all departed, and Vivian fell into step beside Caelia. They headed toward a small shack of a sandy house. Vivian hadn't seen many of the men at all since she had come here, but from what Vivian had overheard, they were as busy as the woman, only with different tasks.
"The last Valkyrie died defending the last dragon," Caelia said sadly. "Almost all of them have been from Vincana, of course. We do breed the strongest of all warriors."
"Naturally," Vivian said, her head swimming.
First, she had most certainly seen a wraith, an agent of the dragons of which none had been seen since the dragons soared and ruled over the land, sea, and skies.
And now, the Valkyries, the dragons' own warriors, were to rise again?
Vivian shook her head. "I do not have the strength for that," she said.
"If you think like that, you'll never become one," Caelia warned. She sighed and clasped her hands to her chest, the spear attached to her back quivering as she twisted from side to side with giddiness. "Only the strongest and most determined and dedicated can handle it."
"Why are the Valkyries forming once more?" Vivian asked nonchalantly as she followed Caelia into the sandy house. Even the furniture inside was made from sand.
"The dragons will never fly again. We know that, but it's been far too long. Their time has ended, yet the world has not. We need to protect ourselves. We must protect our king."
"Our king," Vivian repeated, doing her best to hide her shock.
"Yes." Caelia laid down her spear and a few other weapons before covering her mouth as she yawned loudly. "Where are you staying?"
"In the forest."
"In a tree?" Caelia frowned.
Vivian shrugged. "Yes. It's not too bad."
"Your back must be all scratched up. No, no. That won't do at all if you're to become a fellow Valkyrie."
"I won't."
"I told you. Your attitude has to change." Caelia rushed about to fetch some blankets and laid them on the floor. "There you go."
Vivian found little point in arguing. After all, she could hardly explain to the female that she was the missing Rivera princess and that she planned on returning to Atlan in Tenoch as soon as she possibly could.
For the moment, though, she could not flee. She had barely a chance to do more than endeavor to fit in so as not to be discovered. She hadn't the chance to venture near the shore. Although she had long ago figured she must be standing close to due south of her castle, she had no means to cross the sea to reach her homeland.
Each night she vowed would be the one when she would forgo sleep, head to the waters, and discover what boat she might be able to commandeer and take back home. Each night, however, she was far too exhausted. Her body was a broken, bruised, and bloody mess. Several times a week, she would even lack the strength to climb into a tree and would have to settle for sleeping on a tree root.
Caelia was starting a fire and stirring stew in a decent-sized pot. Vivian forced herself to stay awake and ate some. She enjoyed the woman's company and was shocked to realize she considered Caelia a friend. When the female asked Vivian at the very least to assist Caelia in her training to become a Valkyrie, Vivian agreed without hesitation.
Her friend's goal might well prove to be the easier one than for Vivian to return home.
Another week passed, and the two warriors became close friends. Although they weren't supposed to work together while fighting group opponents, Vivian found herself covering her friend's back at times. She couldn't help herself. Doing so had earned her a few more cuts and bruises, but all of them would be covered by the long sleeves of her gowns.
As if I will ever wear a gown again.
At this point, Vivian was beginning to wonder if she would do anything more than stab, thrust, parry, slide, slip, attack, defend. Over and over, again and again, fighting was all she knew.
One morning, however, there was much fanfare and revelry, and Vivian wiped sweat from the sun from her brow. They hadn't begun training yet this morn.
"What is going on?" she asked, confused. The women were normally more stoic than this.
"Our prince is coming," Caelia whispered.
"Prince," Vivian muttered darkly, but the warrior didn't notice her tone.
Vivian and the other women all vied for positioning to see the man, albeit for different reasons. The so-called, self-proclaimed prince lifted his nose into the air, his features sharp, chiseled. There was a darkness to him, a bitter sadness that Vivian resembled very much, but she felt no sympathy for the man who wished to steal the throne from her sister. Why else would the Vincanans have a king and a prince? Unless they wished to be a sovereign kingdom again…
"Antonio Gallus is the king not only Vincana needs but all of the world, all of Dragoona," Caelia said, her eyes sparkly. "He and his son Marcellus are to be the two dragons the world needs. Tenoch Proper will fall, and Vincana Proper will rise from its ashes. The females will stay here to defend our homeland, but the Valkyries will be the ones to guard our king and prince, never leaving their side. They will be the leaders the dragons should have been."