The final province in attendance was that of Illusion. Their army's greatest strength was primarily their graceful talent for stealth. One never realized the presence of their men until it was too late. They came as swift death. Because of this, one never knew the precise number of their forces. Their province had survived on secrecy. In fact, they fostered the uncertainty regarding their numbers. It made them an underestimated threat which so often served to their advantage.
The Province of Illusion had a personally vested interest in the coming chaos. For you see, throughout the land no one province had known the presence of more druid births than their enigmatic home. Their people had been blessed, but to a ruler who knew the grips of hatred, nothing in this bit of Pyrosian trivia alluded to a blessing. In fact, to Aurea it might have seemed a curse. Their province was facing a fight for survival.
Although they were groups of representative factions, they might have given the outward appearance of a more intimate dinner party. It had been decided that only the highest ranking members of each Province would make the journey to Angels for the reason that surely Aurea had begun to observe anyone she perceived to be a threat. Now as they stood beneath the castle within the haunting darkness of a dimly lit tunnel, they knew that even among their own homes, it was dangerous to speak freely. The members present had been sworn to silence. They had given their word that should they be questioned, they would die before revealing the nature of this conversation or those present when it took place. That reality caused a prominent weight to rest upon their chests.
The house of Illusion did something all-together unlike them. Their representative, King Frost, spoke first. “We face extinction,” he said coolly.
Frost held a torch within a steady hand. Its light washed warmly over his leathery skin. His eyes were dark and green much like the forest which he felt most at home within. The flowing length of his stark white hair showed the patient wisdom with which he tried to lead his people. Its ends touched the base of his spine in a slender braid.
The young woman at his side mirrored his strength, but to its likeness she added her own quiet beauty. She exchanged a meaningful gaze with Echo. “The old ways are being threatened,” she voiced softly. Her voice had been laced by a sorrow which tugged at Echo's heart.
Angelos III stood between two warriors representing each of the factions within his house, the Spartan soldiers of Angels and the divine Guardians of Angels. His sad winter eyes observed Zahara keenly. In the golden light, she was a symbol of what could be lost. He looked away, gazing back to the others.
“We must find a means of protecting the druids,” he said. “This is the reason I have called you to me.”
Echo did not look away from the beauty holding her eyes even as she spoke to the King. “Uncle, what is this madness about treason?” she asked. Her eyes finally tore away to meet those of Angels' King.
The General sighed loudly. “The Empress asked for my daughter's hand and I sought consult,” he began.
“In accordance to custom,” Echo interjected calmly. She and all those present were all too familiar with the ways of the Angels clan.
Angelos III nodded. “Yes, but after consulting both counsels and learning that it was against the stars and therein the Dragon's plan, I did not bless the marriage. I forbid it. Aurea became incensed.
“When arriving to our province, the Empress was ignorant to our ways, but somehow she learned that a druid was consulted. She deemed my actions and the actions of all those involved as treasonous.”
“That makes no sense,” Echo uttered in frustration.
“She makes no sense,” the soft-spoken woman of Illusion said.
Frost looked to his daughter sternly. “Myth, do not forget that we are speaking of our Empress,” he chastised, ever the watchful father.
“And our Empress is dangerous,” Myth retorted evenly. She peered deeply into his eyes. “Father, I have seen it. I know it to be true.”
Zahara had watched all from behind her beautiful mask of silver. She knew Myth well. The young woman was a fierce warrior, but had she chosen not to follow the path of battle, Myth could have easily become a great oracle. She had the gift of sight. “What vision did you have, Enlightened?” she asked, referring to Myth by a title of greatest respect for her abilities.
Myth spoke with all the weight of her people bearing down upon her shoulders. “I have seen the death of the Sacred Dragon.” She heard the frightened gasps which filled the air. She elevated her voice only slightly to speak over its sound as she added, “At the Dragon Child's hand.”
“Can it be done?” Echo demanded of the others. “Can a Dragon Child kill Her? Can anyone actually kill Her?”
“Slayer of the Beast.”
All eyes shifted to Myth as if to lance through her for her words.
“It is what she will be called.”
Frost swayed. He leaned wearily against the tunnel wall, feeling the dank surface against his cheek. It was dismal and gritty. He suddenly felt the powerful grip of despondence claiming his soul. What would a world be without the Dragon in it?
Myth tenderly steadied her father. She held him close as he used her for support.
Zahara did not join the others in lowering their heads. She instead stared transfixed into the torchlight. The fire soothed her spirits. “It is a vision of a possible future and visions can be changed,” she whispered. In the silence, her soft voice was all but deafening.
“I pray you are right,” Myth admitted, “for all our sakes.”
Angelos III woke from his fears, from the flashes of the visions which never failed to truly leave him. They hovered always a worded-trigger away. “We must make a signal to know when to come together. Meetings between us must be carefully planned. We will surely be watched in the coming months.”
“Agreed,” the others voiced in unison.
“Individually, we must begin gathering the druids to the one place they will be safe: Angel Province.”
“There are many tunnels which traverse our land,” Zahara said. She offered each member present a parchment which detailed the labyrinthine havens beneath the province. “If you can manage to bring the druids to the entrances, they can follow the paths to our land's protection.”
The members of the other provinces nodded their understanding as their eyes studied the maps.
Angelos III looked between each soul near to him. In the haunting light of the torches, there had been a fleeting attempt to banish the darkness, but it seemed to loom so near as if to swallow them up at any moment. “Do we understand the journey we are about to embark upon?”
There was silence. Then finally, a female voice spoke softly into the stillness.
“Yes,” Myth answered for all those in attendance. “We defy the Empress.”
With those words, their torches fell to the moistened earth. Their fires were immediately snuffed out. It was then that the famished darkness was allowed to feed, consuming those present with ravenous delight.
Chapter Seven
Let curl the words to leave your lips. Leave them to dwell upon the horizon like smoke. They linger there, burning at the very air after their heated release. Now contemplate this simple truth. Did your fires bring light or did they destroy those closest to you?
----The Book of Wrath
********
The beautiful Queen of Whispering Winds gazed heavily through her windows. She stared out to the world beyond. At first glance it appeared to mirror the world which it had been only weeks before. And yet in that same instant, she knew that it embodied something wholly different.
Her fingertip traced along a shimmering ray rising up over the horizon.
Maven sighed. In a flash of remembrance, her thoughts traveled to the instant that everything had changed.
********
Maven stopped all movement. Her foot was nestled against the coach step while her hand was held supportively inside the coachman's hand. She arched her brow in a look of surprise
and disdain for having been yelled at.
“What is it?” she asked in annoyance.
The messenger had raced into the courtyard. He had rushed toward her so violently that he was left panting for air. He doubled over, gripping his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. “Forgive me, Ladyship,” he croaked. “I have news from the palace. You are to return to the capital at once.”
Maven's expression changed with all the temperament of a storm. “What? Why?” She had yet to complete her tour of the kingdom in Aurea’s stead. Why would she be summoned to the palace so soon?
Straightening his stance, he shook his head. “Her Majesty wills it,” he answered simply.
Swallowing her willfulness, Maven blanched. Instead, she surrendered to the ominous feeling that filled her.
********
Maven remembered that feeling all too well. It plagued her even now.
She brought her arms around her body. Their softness did not banish the wariness for her situation. What was happening in Pyros?
When she had first returned to the palace, she had wished for nothing more than to take Aurea aside and ask her why she had been called back to the palace. Her trip home had found her mourning the loss of her duties as emissary, but soon after her return, the announcement of Aurea transcending previous status to become Empress made all things clear. She suddenly understood that with such sweeping change Aurea would need all of her trusted allies with her. And yet if Aurea truly needed her allies with her as Maven had suspected then why did the Empress insist upon isolating herself the way she did?
It had been days since the ball when Aurea had named herself High Empress. In that time Aurea had toiled without end over a seemingly endless scroll, but why?
Past time with the young ruler had left Maven with a certain knowledge of her subject. However, Aurea's behavior now baffled her. It went against everything that Maven knew about the young woman.
Aurea self-admittedly was no scholar. She had confessed to Maven that she had hated the studies forced upon her as a child, but she had been destined for the throne and so being knowledgeable was a necessity. Aurea knew all about the history of their people and the various regions of her land, but as for knowing her subjects on a personable level, well she saw no use in it. If she had, perhaps the social catastrophe in Angels could have been avoided. All that had mattered to Aurea was to know what was needed in order to be an effective ruler. Beyond that, there had been no need to further her education or so Aurea had thought.
What had changed? Why had Aurea suddenly changed her stance on studies? Could it have something to do with the solitary scroll that she anguished over?
Why, Maven lamented. Why?
Unable to withstand the might of not knowing, Maven crossed the distance of the palace. She courteously nodded to the staff as she passed, but her emerald eyes remained focused on the horizon. She was consumed by her need to seek out Aurea. When she reached the study, her body shivered. She felt something behind the sealed doors. As she opened their secrets with a resounding click, she felt her heart race.
The Empress lifted her head to observe the breathtaking blond entering the room. Maven's deep green eyes were studying her closely. Aurea's right hand ceased all movement.
In the light, the silver Dragon Quill glistened brightly. It encompassed the length of her middle finger in Gothic refinement. From the protective covering over her knuckle, a silver chain ran down to her delicate wrist. The small links glowed, possessing a quick-running current of cardinal. The chain throbbed with life. It connected the silver of her ring to the bejeweled bracelet about her wrist. At the inner-side of her wrist, her pulse beat steadily around the piercing point which had thrust into her vein once the bracelet had been locked. This was what it meant to use the seal. From the blood of a ruler came the laws of their people. The imperial ink had flowed upward through the chain to run from the claw-like end at her ring-clad fingertip.
To Maven, Aurea resembled an animal with blood-stained claws. She moved to the front of the desk, taking her seat upon its edge. Her green eyes fell over the scroll, attempting to read what had been written.
Realizing what Maven was doing, Aurea blew over the words to dry the ink. After the ink had dried, she rolled up the scroll and resting her hand against it. “I am not ready for others to read it,” she explained.
Maven nodded in understanding though understanding was anything but what she felt. “Can you at least tell me what it is, Empress?” she asked gently.
The Dragon Child contemplated what it might be like to have a comrade, someone who truly knew what she was planning. It both frightened her and gave her hope. She sighed loudly then motioned for Maven to close the doors.
With her curiosity rising, Maven stood from the desk. She crossed the distance of the room to seal the doors. Now that they were closed, she again felt that increasingly familiar feeling of something foreboding filling the room.
When she returned to sit at the desk's edge, she was sure to take her seat directly beside the Empress, who sat silently within her chair. Her expression possessed a hungered desire for information. She waited for Aurea to speak without a word. When at last the Empress did speak, her voice was a much needed comfort to the ambitious blond.
“My Knights have learned that some believe I am mad,” she whispered. There was no anger in her voice. It was soft and gentle in a way Aurea seldom was. “What do you think, Maven?”
Maven's eyes widened in shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that no words came.
Aurea gazed down at the blank space across her desk where the scroll had been. “There is a fine line between madness and genius. I am walking that line.” She stared heavily into nothingness, seeing a future of her own making which revealed itself only to her. She lifted eyes. They were rounded by vulnerability and glistening with pleading. “Do not believe them, Maven.”
Aurea’s eyes tugged at Maven’s soul. Maven ached to take the Empress into her arms, but did not dare. She had heard the beginnings of rumors. It was hard not to believe them when Aurea demonstrated such chaotic behavior.
“I am not mad,” Aurea promised. The flames of her eyes were tempered by a restraint which surprised both Maven and herself. “I can make a difference in a way that no one before me ever could.” She frowned. “I will show them. All of them.” Her fist clenched. “It is foolish to underestimate me, but suicide to go against me.” She fondly smoothed the scroll beneath her touch. “This scroll holds the key. It will prove that what I do is for the betterment of others.” She reached up her hand clutching at her head.
That was true, wasn't it, she wondered. Her blue eyes darkened in turmoil. She caught violent flashes of Autumn's face, of her smile only to have those images plucked from her eyes by glimpses of Autumn covered in blood, of her falling toward her death or lying motionless within her bed perhaps never to rise.
Yes, Autumn was the reason she was doing all this. Aurea was going to take Logos for her, for love. There was no better reason than love, no purer motivation. Even as she thought this, a voice whispered sweetly into her ear, beckoning her toward the higher power she had coveted her entire life.
Was that the real reason, she wondered. She pushed that thought away. Of course it must be for love and nothing else, Aurea thought. She was more pure than one who could be tempted by greed. After all, did she not possess a virtuous heart? Was she not a child of Light?
As if to convince herself more than Maven, Aurea shared with her what she had shared with no one.
“In this scroll,” she began, “is a religion to rival that of our people's greatest traditions. It is one of Light. It is from Light, Itself, which strength is derived and not from the actual Source of the Light as it has been passed down throughout our existence.”
Maven frowned in concentration. Her thoughts reviewed every text she had ever read upon the subject of various religions among their people both past and present. “There is no such religion, my Empress,” she
whispered after some time.
“Not yet,” Aurea said. Her eyes met Maven's gaze. “But there will be.”
Enlightenment swept slowly across Maven's face. “You intend to create it.”
Aurea nodded.
“But how?”
There was a certainty and confidence within Aurea's eyes which did not waver. “A vision granted by the Dragon will make it so.”
Maven gasped. “The Dragon Mother,” she whispered in reverence. She clutched her hand to her chest with thoughts of Her. “You have seen Her?”
“No,” Aurea answered, “but then again, who truly has?” She remembered gazing up at the sky through splayed fingers to a light which would not die as a shadow disappeared into the light's heart. She had seen something that day. A shadow of Her was more than most had ever witnessed.
“But She has blessed you with the sight?”
“No.” Aurea hesitated. “Well, She has given me dreams. So in a manner of speaking, one could say that She has bestowed me with a kind of sight.”
Maven's brows knit together in confusion. “So how----” She stared at the quill anointed with sovereign blood. The pieces began to come together. Whether the religion was true or false, whether the mythology of how it came to be was rooted in truth or the propaganda of a power-hungry ruler did not matter. The people would trust what their Empress said. They would further trust something written in royal blood and signed by the royal seal. The simple method alone would make the religion law according to their custom.
Aurea smiled slowly. “Ah so you begin to understand.”
“Yes.” Maven's voice was scarcely above a whisper.
“It will solidify my reign for all time,” Aurea said. “I will be the Bringer of Light to our people. There will be no need of the druids because I will be the Emissary to our God not them.”
“So what will become of the druids?”
Aurea's eyes grew flat, almost emotionless. Her hair fell forward, masking her face in shadow. From that darkness, her voice came as she spoke lowly. “Vengeance.”
Maven shrank into herself.
The Flame of Wrath Page 13