Heart Of Destiny_Book One Of The Heart Of The Citadel

by Susan Faw

  It was a suffering that had been predicted, even prophesied, but for all of that impossible to bear. More than two hundred years had passed since the Great Purge, an event designed to eliminate magic in all its forms from the world of Gaia. And it had worked. The results of those bloody battles were so catastrophic to magic and those that could wield it, that few now alive remembered the event. Lightning forked across the sky, but it was benign. The real threat was the lightning blooming in the hands of the dark cloaked and hooded figures roaming the streets, striking anything that moved. The hair on Emily’s head rose with the crackle of a close bolt that shook the house. Dust shimmered in the air with the blast, before falling to the floor, loosened from the mud mortar of the clay brick walls.

  “Shhh. Quiet, Emily.” Her grandfather rubbed her back and carried her back to an overstuffed horsehair chair set in the corner of the underground shelter. He lowered himself into the chair, settling her onto his lap and smoothing back her hair. He then drew a soft blanket over them both.

  “Emily,” he commanded. “Listen to me. Ignore what is happening beyond these walls. What happens there has happened before and will happen again if we do not heed the lessons of the past. Look at me.” When her head rose, her hair tangled and her face streaked with tears, he smiled at her. “I want to tell you stories of the past that you have never heard before. Your mother hid the truth to protect you.” Tears welled again at the mention of her mother, great shimmering crystals clinging to Emily’s lashes. He put a finger to his lips to halt them. “Listen, Emily. There is so much to tell. Put aside your fear and listen to the stories. They will drown out the night and all that moves there. Focus on me.” When she nodded, he wrapped her in the blanket and pulled her against his chest then began to speak.

  “In the beginning, there were ten young women and ten young men boys who were gifted with crystal hearts of power, such as you wear. These hearts set them apart from their friends and sometimes even from their families. Each recipient had a special magical gift that was discerned at birth by the midwives that assisted their delivery into the world. Certain births had a higher probability of producing a child able to wield magic. Early testing of the auras of pregnant mothers allowed them to narrow down the likeliest candidates, and exceptionally skilled midwifes were assigned to these births. These healers, women of renowned skill, were charged with identifying all who carried the gift by their order, for it was a rare thing to find, after the Great Purge. They searched for many years, wandering from shore to citadel and all points in between, to be sure that every child was tested. These healers were trained and educated by L’Ordre du Coeur Sacré. Your mother was such a healer. Beautiful and mature beyond her years, she grew into an amazing woman and an even better healer. Later, she donned the cloak of Simple Prima and became the witch queen of L’Ordre.”

  “My mother is a witch?” asked Emily, sniffing as her tears dried, caught up in the story.

  “The term witch has come to have such a negative connotation in our world. I prefer the term gifted. Witches are those who carry magic. You are gifted also, my little princess.” He tapped her upturned nose, smiling.

  “I am a witch, too?” Her grandfather kissed the top of her head, nodding in confirmation.

  “You were but a baby when your mother answered the call. Your powers were not known at the time. Occasionally the midwife testing does not identify the gift. And it is rare that three children are born into the same family, as you know. As your birth was not sanctioned by the government, you had to be hidden away. This you know and understand, right?”

  Emily nodded. She had indeed spent most of her life in this very room, schooled by her grandfather and sheltered from prying eyes.

  “Not all healers are witches, but the very best are blessed with the gift. They can see on a different plane, understanding every fibre of life and the broken structure of disease. Your mother was one of the first called by her heart, one of the first to be found by the dragons.”

  “She was?” gasped Emily. “Tell me the story! Please, please, please!” Emily bounced on his knee, the screams and cries of the people outside forgotten in the excitement of hearing real stories about her mother.

  Her grandfather smiled down at Emily’s expectant, begging face, her eyes bright and shining.

  “All right, I think it is time.” He paused, collecting his thoughts then said “It was on a night such as this, the air thick with swelling conflict, that the dragons swooped in and bore away the young women bearing the crystal hearts. They were not in time to gather the young men whose abilities were every bit as strong as the women. These young wizards became lost to us when their crystal hearts shadowed and darkened. Their light faded until the guiding beacon was gone. We searched for the young men for we were anxious to protect them too, but instead, they were collected by the emperor in response to the dragon’s arrival. They were not heard from again.”

  Emily thought about this for a minute then said, “Why are the men outside casting spells of lightning? Are they wizards?”

  “Yes, they have the gift. Some may be the very young men we were just speaking of. What the emperor did with the bearers of the hearts inside the Citadel no one knows. But we can be sure of this. These Citadel-trained wizards are powerful. They seek out all magic, sending the lightning out to illuminate magic where it rests. They are tasked with destroying all magic that is not controlled by the Citadel.” He pointed at the window that she had been peeking out of. “The blackout curtains are a dampening field that extends through the walls, floor, and ceiling of this chamber blocking your magic from prying spells. They are blind to you as long as we stay within the shelter.”

  Emily’s lip began to tremble again, as it dawned on her that they were searching for magic and that the screams outside might be her fault. “Are they looking for me?” she said, her eyes as wide as saucers. Another bolt of lightning struck the wall of the house above with a hum that set her teeth rattling against each other and then she heard glass shatter. The house shuddered, and more dust fell.

  “Yes, my sweet.” He hugged her close, pressing her head against his shirt. “I will not allow any harm to come to you. Now, listen to my story. I will start with your sister. It was about ten years ago, before you were born. You see, it was the first day of school in Melina…”

  Chapter 2

  The First Day: Bastion Province

  THE CITADEL OF MELINA was blessed with the most important structure in all of Bastion. High above the milling crowds, the grey stone walls reflected the last rays of the setting sun, burnished to a golden glitter before fading to black.

  Today was the holiest day in their celestial calendar. A steady crowd of people had joined the annual pilgrimage, flowing to the Citadel to deliver the most precious gift they could give. Those without a gift came to honour those who had a gift to give, for it was an extremely rare thing to be gifted with children in Melina.

  The Citadel was the sole place in all of Melina where a school could be found. All roads eventually emptied onto this cliff-hugging sea to Sky Avenue. The single path twisted and curved to the peak of the extinct volcano, the highest spot in all of Melina. So precious was the cargo delivered to the summit on this day that the roads were guarded two and three deep by the fiercest weapons in all of Bastion, the Citadel-trained sons of Bastion. Those without children tossed flower leis made of calla lilies, plumeria, and fuchsia in eye-watering colours harvested from the nearby jungle, at the feet of the horses. The crush of the flowers filled the air with their heady perfume. But it wasn’t until night fell that the real celebrations began.

  Eight-year-old Shikara stared out the darkened window of her carriage, her eyes wide with fear, her blue-eyed straw-stuffed doll clutched to her chest. She resisted the urge to stick her thumb in her mouth but just barely. Her brother, Jasper, reclined against the overstuffed cushions at her side, ignoring the audience that flashed by the naked opening and accepting it as his due. Jasper had traveled this rout
e for two seasons, being two years older than his sister, and was familiar with the parade.

  The wheels clattered over the cobblestone paving as the horse team pulled the carriage in the only direction they could go, plodding along behind the gilded carriage in front of them. Their parents guided the team of horses, sitting side by side on the driver’s seat and conversing in low tones. Overhead, fireworks burst across the sky celebrating the day to come, for the first day of school was a national holiday in Bastion and the festivities were not to be missed. Street performers juggled fireballs. Couples holding hands stared hungrily at the occupants of the carriages, longing for the day when it would be their turn to have children. A fierce-looking guard frowned at a banner that had been hung across an alleyway that said “Rescind the two children ban! Procreation rights for all!”

  Jasper yawned and then straightened with excitement, pointing out his window at the object that had caught his eye. “Look, Kara! There on the roof. Archers!” He leaned forward to keep the archer in view as the wagon curved around a bakery selling sweet buns, a swirling scent of cinnamon drowning the floral bouquet for a moment.

  This time, Kara did stick her thumb in her mouth and quickly changed it to nibbling on the rough edge of her fingernail as her eyes widened farther. Her eyes darted to the side to see if Jasper had noticed but he continued to stare at the roof tops, craning his neck out the window to keep the archers in sight. Kara shrank back against the cushions and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the archers or the merrymakers. She wavered between hugging her doll closer and shutting out the noise. She settled for clapping her doll over her left ear, muffling the singing and the shouted well wishes of a thousand strangers. Kara just wanted to go home to their square little house with the standard three bedrooms and their square table with four chairs. It was exactly like every other house on their quiet street, but she had felt safe there, secure. Loved. She did not want to go to school. Her lower lip trembled.

  “Aww, stop being a baby!” Jasper leaned over and pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop. She didn’t remember putting it in. “Don’t embarrass me when we get to the school! I will lie and tell everyone you are not my sister if you do.”

  Kara said nothing.

  The carriage rumbled around a couple more curves, and the buildings lining the streets vanished along with the crowd of well-wishers. Now, only the fireworks followed them, as the road was swallowed by obsidian walls of shining glass that reflected burning torches set in brackets on either side of the wagon, to light the way. The walls rose up two stories. The only reason Kara knew the fireworks were still being sent skyward was the occasional wash of colour that lit up the carriages ahead of them.

  Several minutes of travel later, the carriages emptied out of the rift and onto the plateau of the summit, halting in front of a pair of massive wrought-iron gates. The gates were affixed to shining black pillars and each pillar was topped by a carved glass dragon with wings spread and the snout dipping toward the wagons so that the eyes caught the flickering torch light. Kara shivered, for the glass crooner appeared to be alive, staring right at her. She stared back at the crooners as the gates opened, and the carriage lurched into motion once again. The emerald eyes followed her, and she swore that the head swiveled as well as she was swept up to the building ablaze with light at the far end of the lane. She tore her eyes away from the glass dragon. Trees lined the approach, clinging to the coarse sand, the fronds silhouetted by the crescent moon rising in the sky.

  Kara’s gaze was drawn to the building where the halted carriages were disgorging their precious cargo.

  “It’s so big,” she whispered.

  Jasper dismissed the building with a wave of his hand. “Yeah but it’s not that big. You will get lost at first but not for long because the teachers keep a really close eye on the first years. If I were you, I’d be worried about the dragons.” Jasper waggled his brows as he leaned forward, trying to gauge her reaction. The carriage hit a rock, and a clear heart pendant swung out from the front of his shirt, flashing in the light spilling in the carriage door from the school. He tucked it back inside his shirt by habit.

  “Dragons! Dragons aren’t real! Stop lying, Jasper. You are trying to scare me.” Kara sat on her hand with the thumb.

  Jasper laughed at her. “Yeah, and it worked, too!”

  The carriage lurched to a halt. Jasper flung open the door and launched himself out of the carriage, tossing a hasty “Bye, Mom and Dad!” over his shoulder. He raced for the open doors where he had spied a school friend and was soon swallowed by the students filing into the school.

  Kara stared at the open door but did not move.

  The door on her side slid aside, and her father’s head appeared.

  “We are here, Shikara.” He held out his arms to her. Shikara scrambled into them without a thought, hugging him around the neck as he carried her and her school bag. She clung to him, refusing to let go.

  Her father gently rubbed Kara’s back as she stared over his shoulder at the gated entrance to the compound. The dragon was still there, staring at her. And then it winked at her. Shikara stuck her thumb in her mouth. Her mother glanced over her shoulder at the statue and smiled, then catching the object of her daughter’s gaze, winked at Kara.

  ***

  It was toward midnight that Kara heard it.

  She had been asleep in her bed in the room assigned to her for a couple of hours at most. Her father had delivered her to the headmistress and then said a tearful goodbye before he was hustled out of the room. Kara had clung to his pant leg, desperate to hang on to him. Her mother gently pulled her away from her father and then knelt down in front of her and slipped a necklace with a heart-shaped pendant around Kara’s neck, tucking it under her shirt.

  She bent low and whispered in her ear, “Remember what I told you, Shikara. You are chosen for a reason. It is your destiny. I will see you soon,” and then kissed her on the head just before the headmistress had pulled her away. Kara had collapsed on the floor, hugging her doll tight to her chest and rocking herself for comfort.

  Parents were never allowed to stay, for the school was firmly of the opinion that the quicker and sharper the break, the easier the transition. First-year students were housed four to a pod, each with a member of staff assigned to ease the transition. The term pod was assigned as a joking reference to the monstrous young of serpents at sea. The first-year students were usually around eight years of age, their ages carefully documented by a census once a year. The government kept track of the births as part of the lottery system, and their attendance at the school of Melina required. The census was conducted regardless of the reported age of a child to prevent cheating of the system. School attendance was mandatory and failure to send your child to school was punishable by imprisonment.

  After a quick meal was served, the elderly matron assigned to Kara’s pod ensured that teeth were brushed before they were shown to their assigned beds. The lights were out before the last of the fireworks cleared the sky.

  But Kara couldn’t sleep and instead had stared at the moon visible through the oval glass window in her room. She watched its passage from her bed until it passed beyond the edge of the frame, homesick and longing to run away from the school to go back home with her parents. She’d heard snuffling from one of the other beds and knew she was not alone in missing her family. Jasper didn’t count. She wouldn’t see him as he was in the boy’s school. Eventually, she had drifted off to sleep.

  Kara sat up, the covers sliding into her lap, listening hard.

  Someone was crying, but the cry was low and soft, more of a whimper. It sounded so sad that Kara’s lower lip trembled in response to the tug on her emotions. She struggled to fight the urge to cry along with the boy or girl who was so lonely, so lost. Maybe she could comfort him or her. She slid out of bed and put her slippers on. The stone floor was very cold. The moonlight provided some small illumination as she crept to the door of the bedroom containing her four roo
mmates. After assuring herself that they were asleep, she opened the door a crack. A lone lamp, trimmed low, glowed on a peg fastened to the wall in the hall. Kara opened the door, crawled up onto the chair resting against the wall and lifted the lamp off the peg. With a quick glance around, she scrambled back down and followed the sound of the crying.

  It was coming from outside. Kara squeezed the latch on a door that went out onto the schoolyard and eased her way through, her eyes searching the quiet grounds. The sound was over by the wall. She hurried over, her eyes checking everywhere for the child who was crying, or worse yet, a school guardian. Yet she saw no one. She crossed what must have been a play yard, for squares were drawn on the surface in chalk. She bent her head to study the pattern then started humming her favourite hopping game, the one she used to play with her neighbour, the girl who used to live next door.

  One Stick. Two Stick. Three Stick. Four.

  Stab ’em in the heart, and there won’t be more.

  Five Stick. Six Stick. Seven Stick. Eight.

  Rap them on the head, and use them for bait.

  Nine Stick. Ten Stick. Eleven Stick. Twelve.

  Encircle your demons with spells to delve.

  She started skipping across the playground, working her feet to the rhyming game, forgetting the crying child for a moment as she worked through the footwork. On the last step, she looked up and directly into a pair of glowing amber eyes.

  A crooner with great wings spread wide stared at her and cried. The sound was so sad, so mournful, that Kara’s eyes welled up anew with the pain of its song. Long fangs curved from the jaw of the dragon and from the snout curled smoke, but to Kara’s eyes, the dragon was smiling. Kara smiled back. She didn’t know what to do. She looked around but the playground was empty.

  “Why are you crying, dragon?” she whispered. The dragon tilted its head, considering her words and that was when Kara saw the child on its back. “Oh! Are you the one crying?” She stepped closer to the dragon and the child on its back.