Heart Of Destiny_Book One Of The Heart Of The Citadel

by Susan Faw

  “The same as you are. Avoiding the ceremony until the last second.”

  “So they chose you, too?”

  “Who?”

  “The grandmothers. Your necklace.” Shreya gestured at the crystal heart before bending over and picking up her discarded knife, slamming the traditional knife back into its sheath. She wandered over to the brush where she could see the handle of her spear poking out of the shrubbery.

  “I am not chosen! I am going to the Citadel to be trained.”

  “No, you’re not! You will stay here and be chief. That is what it means.”

  “No, it doesn’t! I don’t want to be chief. Besides, my father is still alive. He is already the chief.” Jael crossed his arms stubbornly, his dark brows drawn so fiercely they were nearly a flat line across his brow.

  Shreya shrugged and turned toward the acropolis where the ceremony would take place. It was still several hours away, but she was drawn to the rock and its strange formations and carvings, a gift of the gods of her people. Sometimes they moved weirdly if she stared long and hard enough.

  “I am going to climb to the summit before heading back to the village. Do you want to come?” Shreya didn’t wait for a response. She lengthened her stride, eager to reach the bald outcropping.

  “Nah, I have to get back. My pa said…” His voice trailed off as he watched her walk away. “Hey, you have a tear in your…” Jael stopped speaking. What am I doing? She will clean my house if I tell her that I can see her bottom through the tear.

  Without a further word, he walked off in the opposite direction, counting his good fortune that his words had not carried to her ears.

  ***

  The switchback hugged the stone face, the faint trail tracing the eyelid of the half-buried statue that formed the acropolis. Not only was it said to have been blessed by the gods, but a toppled statue dedicated to the gods formed the base of the acropolis. Shreya had climbed to the summit many times during her childhood. No one came to it anymore, the gods long forgotten and the temples abandoned and falling into ruin.

  But there was something about the place that spoke to Shreya’s heart. She loved the mysterious carvings and faces that decorated the pillars of the temple. They told stories of times long distant. Although she could not read the old script, she could see the pictures and made up her own stories, a blend of legends told by the elders and visions of her own imagination.

  Her favourite place to go was to the patio that opened on the back end of the ruin. A drunken stone staircase was propped up against the wall where it had collapsed, but it provided strong hand and footholds to climb to the level. She slid her spear into its holder on her back then began to climb with the agility one familiar with the passage. With a final flip and roll onto the flat, she flopped onto her belly just as the sun set in the west.

  The golden disc melted into the horizon, setting the low clouds aflame over the mountains of Tyr and Shadra, although Shreya did not know the lands by those names. To her people, the mountains were named after the gods of their ancestors, those who were spoken of in traditional tales. It was said they had traveled to the mountains to die, in order to stop a plague that was threatening to destroy their people. They had gathered up the disease and born it in two large sacks of deerskin to be buried at the summit of the Ancestral Mountain to the west. That one was easy to pick out. It was the one that wore a cap of white all year around, as had the elders who had carried the burden to the mountain peak. The white spires were set aflame by the setting sun and burned cool as the light dimmed.

  With a great sigh, Shreya rolled over onto her back to stare up at the real reason she came to the acropolis. Twin stone statues of dragons stared down at her from their stone perches atop the crumbling gutters of the temple. When the sun struck them just right, their eyes would flame with life. Shreya knew they were not really alive yet she loved to pretend.

  The sun sank lower. Right on schedule, the eyes brightened and glowed. But this time the statue on the left moved. A soft crooning filled the air, sad and lonely, echoing through the temple. It was a sound that had not been heard in the temple in so many years that it had fallen into legend. The crooner’s song was picked up by the temple and amplified, filling the space with longing and hope in the same breath. Shreya, frozen by shock, slowly thawed and came to her feet, drawn to the crooning.

  With a gentle flap of wings, the statue detached itself and flew to land in front of Shreya.

  “Great one! How is it you are here?” The dragon cocked its head in response to her words, as Shreya edged closer. She moved slowly, afraid of scaring the dragon away. The crooning called to her and soothed her fears, wrapping itself around her heart which throbbed in unison with its song.

  “We have come for you, Shreya.” A youth leaned around the neck of the dragon. He had floppy brown hair that fell into his eyes. “Are you ready to fulfill your destiny?”

  “I knew you would come. The visions never lie. My ancestors spoke to me and they told me you would eventually find me.”

  “Then it is time. Come.”

  The dragon rider leaned forward and offered Shreya his arm and hand. She grasped it and he hoisted Shreya up, then the dragon launched itself into the setting sun.

  ***

  The herding clans of Cassimir were reluctant to allow anyone to cross their lands and fiercely defended their borders at the best of times. Not one of them raised children without the life skills to survive off the land. Both children in a family could slay and field dress a woolly goat or a great horned deer by the age of six. Their children grew into husky young men and strong young women and were the pride of the Cassimir.

  But when Shreya disappeared, it was a disaster beyond measure. She’d been sent out on her normal herding chores on the day before the choosing ceremonies to check on the newborn lambs of the eastern fold but did not return. When the hour grew late and darkness pressed on the eye of the sky, her frantic parents rode out to the fold to search for their child. Born to the wild, they were able to track anything, but there was nothing to track. The field was trampled, the grasses laid flat by broad feet that ended in toes with curling claws. Footprints were everywhere, but they did not run away from the field. Instead, it appeared that she had flown away. They searched until it was too dark to see. Rather than give up, they camped in the fold for the night. The next morning with the first blush of daylight, they rose to search once again. But all trace of the creature was gone, the crushed grasses upright and undamaged. Distressed they returned to their tents then sent three of their fastest riders to the central Citadel to inform the councillors of the theft and to beg for aid.

  Shreya was just another one taken by the thieves. But she was the most important to Cassimir. The province mourned the loss of their First Daughter, calling for a day of fasting and prayer. All the tribes joined in, tossing woven grass dolls into the flames to bless the journey of the soul to the peaceful beyond.

  Chapter 5

  The Fourth Day: Hindra Province

  THE HINDRANESE WERE A NOMADIC PEOPLE. The vast expanse of shifting sands moved across the land like the waves of an incredibly slow-moving lake. The dunes swelled, crested, collapsed, and were swallowed by the plateau over weeks and even months. It was possible to get lost in the ever-changing landscape and even die.

  The Hindranese studied the stars and the movements of the brightest ones across the heavens, creating crude hand-held sextants to plot the location and thus conquered the harsh land, taming it.

  But to outsiders, the blistering landscape was a death trap. More than one invading army had been swallowed by the fierce sandstorms that came out of nowhere. They simply vanished without a trace. Decades later, one of the ancient battlefields or the remains of an army would suddenly surface, as the dunes moved once again, exposing the dried and shrunken corpses or the hollowed-out armour where scavengers had picked the bones clean.

  Seraphina dug around the shining metal, scooping away the sand with a shovel. T
he fine grains slid back into the metal cavity as quickly as she could scoop it out, drawing a muttered curse from her lips. She shifted position and knelt over the object, using her legs to hold back the sand while she dug. With a grunt, she flung the shovel aside, grabbed it with both hands and pulled. Reluctantly, the desert gave up its prize. With a shout of glee, she pulled the helmet from its sandy grave. Perfectly preserved, it gleamed with hammered images of horses and chariots and drivers wearing chest plates and helmets just like this one. She turned it over in her hands, shaking the last bit of sand out of it and then slid it onto her head. It fit perfectly over her headdress and was surprisingly cool as it shaded her eyes.

  She pushed herself to her feet and turned in a slow circle, looking for any other telltale signs of buried treasure. A dune away, her brother’s fat bottom could be seen sticking up in the air as he dug deep into the ground, looking like one of the pack dogs that shadowed their camp hunting for scraps or bones tossed aside by the caravan. Sand flew in all directions. With a cry, he pulled out a long object from the pit.

  Dusting herself off, Seraphina grabbed up her pile of loot and headed over to his side, her baggy off-white breeches billowing in a sudden gust of hot wind. The sides were open, allowing heat to escape and any errant breeze to wick away sweat.

  “What is that?” she said as she reached his side.

  Sargon worked his way out of the hole, which was a trick seeing as he was headfirst deep into it. He wriggled across the sand pulling the object of his excitement with him as he backed away on his belly. For all that he was well padded, he moved surprisingly fast, especially when excited. With a last tug, he pulled the object free from the hole, and he sat back. A long pole of bronze rose from the pit about six feet in length, and on its crown was a standard. It was the standard of the Mithrates, the army whose corpses were responsible for the treasure trove uncovered by the shifting sands.

  Seraphina gasped and touched the bronzed surface, brushing off the last of the embedded sand. About two feet across, the standard was carved in relief with figures similar to what was on her helmet, but below bronze loops dangled where she knew the pennants of the houses who had sworn troops to the campaign would have hung. The fabric was long gone, and she sighed wistfully. It would have been awesome to find something like that.

  “That is amazing,” she said.

  “This is the best! Wait till I show Father,” he crowed. As he went to stand, a crystal necklace swung out from under his robes then disappeared back into the folds. Regaining his feet, he stood up straight, holding the standard beside him. “How do I look?” He puffed out his chest, which did little to change his appearance. “Maybe with this, Father will let me go to battle next time.”

  “I doubt it,” Seraphina grinned, imagining her ten-year-old brother on the back of one of the war camels. He didn’t have to worry about falling out of the saddle; his girth would surely wedge him between the dual humps.

  “Well, I am going to go show him anyways.” His eyes shone with excitement, and he scooped up the rest of his prizes, stuffing them into a sack. “Are you coming back now? It must be noon, and I’m hungry.” His stomach growled audibly.

  “I will be along shortly. I saw one more mound I want to check out. I will be right behind you.”

  “Okay.” Sargon hauled the heavy sack onto his shoulder. Using his prized standard as a walking stick, he staggered off in the direction of lunch.

  Seraphina headed toward a mound of sand through which an outcropping of rock could be seen. It glinted in the sun and the unusual sparkle was what drew her eye. Curiosity pulled her toward the spot that was set apart from the others. As she approached the rock, the sun shifted behind a cloud and the sparkle drained away dulling the rock.

  Wait, there are no clouds in Hindra. She looked up to see what the possible cause of the shadow could be and cried out as a wild spotted camel came between her and the sun. The massive beasts were ten feet tall, and razor-sharp fangs curled past fleshy lips. They fluttered as a low rumble issued from camel’s throat, its lips curled back in a snarl and poison dripping from the fangs. It bellowed, and Seraphina flung herself over the rock, rolling down a steep embankment on the other side. The unexpected sand cliff dropped twenty feet of near vertical descent, and she tumbled head over heels down the stiffened sand, sliding to a halt against a second outcropping of rock.

  The camel bellowed again from the ridge then snorted and trotted off, its mission accomplished.

  Seraphina winced and rolled onto her back then tried to push herself up with her hands, but one wrist dangled uselessly from the end of her arm. Her lucky charm, the necklace she had worn around her neck since she was a baby, was hanging over one ear. A crystal heart dangled from a bale on the thick silver chain. The shock of the moment suspended, the pain flooded in with a roar that made her head spin.

  “Ahh!” she cried, cradling her broken wrist in the crook of her arm, rocking with pain, shaking the necklace off her ear as she rocked.

  Tears sprung in her eyes and dripped, tracking through dust-covered cheeks. She moaned aloud.

  The sky darkened once more. Alarmed, she looked up, expecting a return of the enraged camel, but instead a creature dropped from the sky, broad wings flapping to slow its descent. Purple scales flashed in the sun, and Seraphina’s eyes widened with awe, the pain momentarily forgotten. The crooning dragon walked over to her, smoke puffing from its nostrils, but its eyes were kind and gentle. It lowered its head to Seraphina’s broken hand and breathed onto the limb. It tingled in her lap and warmed as though it rested in the spring sun and then the warmth faded. Amazed, Seraphina lifted her hand and moved it around. The dragon had healed the break.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and the dragon chuckled in the midst of its song of peace.

  “You’re welcome,” said a voice from the back of the dragon. A figure leaned around the side of the dragon, grinning at her. “Come, it is time.” He reached out his hand in invitation.

  Seraphina stood up then wandered over to the side of the dragon, her helmet clutched in her right hand and running her left hand across the soft scales. “Who are you?”

  “Your destiny. Your future. You.”

  Seraphina nodded and donned her helmet, then placed her left hand in his. He pulled her up behind him on the back of the dragon, and they launched skyward, swinging out over the sea.

  Chapter 6

  Grandpa’s Tale Continues

  EMILY STIRRED ON HER GRANDFATHER’S LAP, engrossed in the storytelling. The sounds of battle outside the window faded away, and the lightning stilled as the wizards moved on. She pushed back to stare into his eyes, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow as she thought.

  “So, all those girls got to ride on a real dragon? Weren’t they scared? Where did they go? Where did Mama go? Did she go to help them? Is Shikara okay? When can I see her?”

  He held up his hands to halt the flood of questions, his pale blue eyes crinkling with humour. “I think we should save your questions for the end. There is much more to tell, but what have you learned so far? What is the commonality amongst these children? Can you learn anything from their stories?”

  Emily curled her lips into her thinking pose and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I think they all have crystal hearts,” she began, pausing to see if she was on the right track. At his smile, she continued, “And I think the hearts are important to the dragons. I think the dragons are drawn to the hearts.” She cocked her head to study his expression. He nodded encouragingly. “Who are the boys? Why is it always a boy who comes with the dragons? Where are the girls?”

  “Great questions, Emily.”

  “What about their parents? Aren’t they scared? Sad? Did they go see the emperor? Is he going to help them? Are the girls in trouble? Do they need rescuing?” She frowned at that thought, her mind circling back around to her sister. “Is Shikara okay? I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I haven’t even met her yet!” The last came out in a small
wail and her lip trembled again.

  “Hey, you will see her one day. I promise, Emily. She left on her dragon just before you were born, but she will seem much older to you when you meet her. She will be an adult. It is part of the magic that has been triggered.” He hugged her close. When she had quieted, he said, “Let me continue the story. Are you ready?” At her nod, he spoke once more.

  “Elissa leaned out the window of her second story bedroom.” Emily snuggled into his chest and listened carefully.

  Chapter 7

  The Eighth Day: Tyr Province

  THE CASTLE OF IONIA split the morning sky as a needle-pierced canvas, black-tipped spires stabbing into the flat-bottomed clouds, rosy-hued with the first rays of the morning sun. It leaked between the horizon and the storm crowding against the mountain range.

  Ancient grey stone curved into walls topped with multiple turrets. Guardians of every kind guarded the castle from the skies and land, as though the castle was fearful of attack. Rock trolls and flame dragons, mountain gnomes, and slick fae folk graced the winged projections protruding from the ribbed roofing tiles. It was rumoured that magic imbued the castle, that it lived within its very walls. Age and superstition separated it from the other capitals of the world and gave it a status all its own. There was no castle like it in the entire world. As a center for learning the castle was unparalleled and people from every corner of the world travelled to Castle Ionia to explore the massive libraries and partake of the ongoing lecture series, sending the best of their students or entire classes to learn at the feet of the masters.