Heart Of Destiny_Book One Of The Heart Of The Citadel

by Susan Faw

  During their time spent in the sanctuary of L’Ordre, the Djinn discovered that humans were also compatible hosts and that they shared a similar intellect to the Djinn as beings that planned and analyzed, whereas the dragons operated on a more instinctual basis. Gifts of prophesy aside, the dragons carried a true intelligence that at times was difficult to control.

  Thus, the first human-Djinn-Dragonmerger triads were born. Marion the Lost, a nomadic witch of prodigious skill, was credited for the discovery. In an obscure historical ledger housed in the library of the castle, mention was made of a rare visit to her home monastery, Fortress Nuage. The entries recorded an unusually high number of guests during the latter half of year 10 C.D.E. (Current Dragon Era). An especially harsh winter with heavy snowfall made for treacherous roads, forcing a halt to her normal wanderings. She settled into the fortress to wait out the inclement weather.

  The house of learning in the lee of the Frozen Mountain was as isolated as a monastery could be. Located high up in the jagged mountain range shared with Fjord, it was a wild and lonely land, the perfect abode for the more reclusive native wildlife and an ideal hiding place for dragons. The range was dotted with high altitude caves, inaccessible by any but the most skilled human climber. The thin air and perpetually frozen exposures made it an inhospitable place, a place to be avoided.

  Marion, an elderly witch of an undetermined age, was not a common healer. Her specialty ran to issues of the mind and soul. For her entire life, she had studied cases where two disparate entities resided within the same brain. The common folk believed them to be possessed of an evil spirit and, lest the evil spirit get loose and harm those around them, would keep the afflicted confined to stone cottages under lock and key. All who tested positive for being possessed of two minds were treated in this harsh fashion with never a thought to release them unless a healer cured them.

  Via a quick delving of their minds, Marion could quickly determine if the person she examined suffered from an illness of the brain or whether two entities actually existed within the mind. The latter were the far more interesting studies, for there were times where the secondary personality was indeed a parasite that needed to be expelled in order for the person to be healed. When magic was permitted, it had been a simple enough process to cure both kinds of patients. One required a treatment of herbs to restore normal brain function, while the latter involved exorcising the parasite, usually an elemental left to roam after its home was destroyed. The elemental spirits of air, water, fire, and earth, normally bound to the world, would seek out a human host when their natural settings were disturbed. Humans were uniquely qualified for possession as hosts, as they were made of all four elements. While not a perfect paring, there was enough of each element to allow the elemental to bind to the human. The less of the element present within the host, the more jarring the misfit between the two and the more noticeable the illness. When the families of the afflicted reported glowing eyes and mysterious fires, Marion always knew it was a fire elemental pairing. Those were the trickiest to remove without killing the host.

  Marion recalled an early visit to the charming village of Papeete and a young woman who had been returning home from the market when she suddenly burst into flames in the middle of the street. Marion had arrived shortly after the incident. Curious, she had interviewed all the traumatized witnesses while dispensing some calming herbs for hysteria. They had all reported that the woman had never been sick a day in her life. Most recently she had been complaining of headaches, and her husband reported that she had begun babbling in her sleep. Despite feeling feverish, she’d insisted on heading to market and had set out just a few hours earlier, sturdy woven basket in hand. Witnesses said she’d been in the midst of crossing the dirt street when she screamed, dropped her basket of vegetables, and began clawing at her clothing. She’d staggered toward a thatched roof building with a horse trough out front, but before she could reach the water she had burst into flames. Her hand had grasped the post of the porch and as soon as she touched the wood, it burnt, setting the thatching on fire. Three houses had burned that day. They’d recovered her basket and on inspection noticed that the handle was gone, consumed by the heat of her hand while she grasped it. It was the fate of these people, ill from an elemental pairing, that had given magic a bad name.

  The Citadel claimed that it was the evil practices of those who practiced magic, left unchecked and out of control, that caused the tragedies. The fear of magic and those who were able to wield it fed the great revolt, supported by a fanatical wing of priests residing over the Citadel church.

  With the rise of the Citadel church in 10 B.D.E (Before Dragon Era) and the subsequent launch of the search for magic, later to be called the Great Purge in 10 C.D.E., the cases of madness had increased exponentially, as the healers were slaughtered or went into hiding. Marion returned to her monastery and there encountered her first dragon-Djinn merger. Fascinated, she settled in to study the pairing. When she saw how the two entities cohabited in a symbiotic relationship that was mutually desired and respected, she grew keen to try it with a human subject. This time, she would pair with the Djinn herself, rather than study and unravel the mystery from without. Armed with pencil and notebook, she approached a Djinn rider and laid out her plan. Chryso had been more than willing to give it a try, as was his dragon, Beryl, for they could also see the benefits of a three-way merger. Beryl would get instant insight and access to the best hunting grounds in the lands of the humans. Chryso would gain the more critical knowledge of the political set up in these new lands and the ability to separate from his dragon and explore. And for Marion, she would gain knowledge of two alien races and be able to expand her knowledge of pairing with someone outside of her world.

  Marion drummed her fingers on moss-flecked stone railing, thinking. It was over two hundred years ago that I discovered the symbiotic relationship between the dragons and their riders. How the merging worked fascinated me then and still fascinates me now. The only way to learn how the magic worked was to attempt it myself. When Chryso told me that he could not be separated from the dragon while in our world, the only choice left was to attempt to merge with them. The risk was all mine as their pairing was already set. Thus, the first human-Djinn-dragon triad was my creation, by my own hand. How wondrous it is to be part of the collective intelligence of the Djinn-dragon-human merger! But it is dangerous should the knowledge of how to bring about the mergers fall into the wrong hands! Her drumming fingers paused. It could be twisted to become a terrible weapon.

  Marion shuddered at the thought. She could feel Chryso’s presence, even across the vast ocean of water that separated them. Distance had no bearing on the bond, any more than her own thoughts could escape her skull. They were one and as whole of thought and purpose as beings with separate wills could be, sharing both memory and emotion, sensation and taste, regardless of the physical distances involved.

  Is it done? Have the children arrived? she thought to Chryso, her thoughts travelling along the blended channels of their merged minds.

  Yes, the last of the chosen children have arrived, said Chryso. The females are secure and undergoing their acceleration as we speak. The trip across the ocean was the beginning of their acceleration, as you know.

  It is none too soon, she replied. Already a year has passed on this side of the oceanic divide. Memories of the children fade, and the provinces are increasingly fractured and divided. More and more they give control to the central Citadel, as they turn their backs on their neighbours. Suspicion runs wild and fear coats every tongue. The leaders of each province point to their nearest neighbour, accusing them of masterminding the conflict. Emperor Madrid has demanded that the male bearers of the crystal hearts be dedicated to the Citadel and Citadel trained for the defense of the realm. He would make the Citadel into a peacekeeping force, or that is the image he is trying to portray. He uses the fear of the provinces to build himself an army of wizards and no one feels the noose tighten. I fear tha
t this is not all he has planned.

  Have you had news about the missing eggs? thought Chryso. My brethren and their dragons mourn the loss of the unhatched as a mother would her unborn infant. Frustration shook the bond, and Marion had the impression that Chryso was pacing. For their young to be snatched from them in this way is the cruelest of cruelties. They can hear the cries of their unborn, and it drives the female dragons crazy with fear. The only thing that will keep them from snapping and destroying everything around them is the triad dragon merge. It is strange, but humans, who are so often cruel and deceptive, have the capacity to bring great peace to those suffering. It may be that only the chosen children can control these desperate, despairing dragons. We must move ahead swiftly.

  Agreed, Marion thought, for our enemy is not resting. There is only one reason to snatch unhatched dragon eggs from their nests and that is to experiment. The secret knowledge of the ability to merge was buried with the Great Purge. All knowledge of it was hidden from humanity. Or so we thought. Someone has discovered our secret. Humanity has no idea that they sit on the cusp of a war that will encompass both of our worlds, a strife greater than their petty squabbles. Someone has betrayed us, and I don’t think it has been from here.

  Chryso grimaced across the bond, the sensation one of squeezing lips that caused Marion’s lips to twitch. I will ignore that last thought for I know the intent behind it. But if you should speak such a thought aloud among my brethren, there would be war. Here, the Djinn council suspect human interference.

  It was Marion’s turn to snort. Foolishness. The Djinn are the stuff of legends here, horrifying legend. There is no way that is true or even possible. You would not be pleased to know how the stories go. The Djinn are used by parents to scare their children into behaving. The worst thing that can happen is to be beguiled by a Djinn. Humans teach their children that to speak with a Djinn is to be bewitched. And those bewitched are burned at the stake to this day. They wouldn’t dare.

  Is it secure? asked Chryso. Is the forbidden heart secure?

  He did not have to say which heart. Marion knew only too well because she had created it.

  The heart is secure…but Chryso, should something happen to me, I have left clues to discover its location. It is secured where none can find it, save those called to it. I have spelled it so. If I should die, the secret dies with me, but those who are true of heart will feel an irresistible urge to return to their homelands. It cannot be found by the power of one. All must work in harmony to find it. I need not tell you that it would be a dangerous weapon to fall into the hands of Emperor Madrid. Protect those young women with your lives.

  It will be so, Marion, thought Chryso.

  Silence echoed along the bond. The quiet was all the more dramatic because of the distance involved, yet it was a silence that screamed.

  Chapter 15

  Gaitain’s Betrayal

  THE CITADEL WAS AN IMPOSING STRUCTURE, a tall and impossibly narrow spire that erupted out of the earth to soar skyward until it stabbed the heavens. During thunderstorms, it was not unusual for the spire to be struck by lighting and lightning rods ringed the upper walkway. They reminded Madrid of a multiple pointed crown, only this crown collected great amounts of energy that he diverted to his own uses.

  The air was thin this high up in the Citadel, and the city below shimmered in the heat of the midday sun.

  Pathetic. They scurry about like ants thinking their lives matter, Madrid mused. But they exist to serve me. They are my army, the army I need to build in order to reclaim my birthright. I will have their obedience and their allegiance.

  Madrid pulled a pair of heavy black leather gloves onto his hands, tugging till they rested just below his elbows. He buttoned up his long, black coat until he was encased from head to knees in protective leather and then began his inspection of the lightning rods. Silver tipped, they were covered in a sticky insulating sheath embedded with stone chips. He placed his hand on the shaft of the closest rod and felt the familiar hum of power coursing through it. He pulled it out of its bracket and took it over to a pool of water set against the wall of the staircase and touched the tip to its surface. Electricity raced through the pool, sparking and crackling. Satisfied, Madrid returned it to its bracket then double checked the rest of the rods.

  The rods glowed after the touch of water, throbbing with stored energy. They were not made from simple silver, common in the realm, but were made from spelled silver. Spelled silver was very rare in this age, due to the decline of the magical population during the Great Purge. The largest concentration was located in the Citadel. He had Gaia’s largest collection of spelled silver, worth an emperor’s ransom, under his feet. It was kept safe from theft by its very location as a lightning rod on the top of the tallest spire. The lightning rods connected to the core of spelled silver that formed the heart of the Citadel. The Silver Heart was the focus of the magic that coursed through its length. It powered the magical shield that formed the barrier between the provinces and also the bridges that connected the Citadel to each province.

  Spelled silver could only be made from spelled silver. In other words, a small quantity of spelled silver was required to act as a catalyst to the change and vast quantities of energy were required to jumpstart the conversion. The lightning rods supplied an excellent but infrequent source of energy. In times of old, a dragon would have been used to spell the silver. The heat of the dragon’s breath was said to cast the purest spelled silver and was favoured in the forging of weapons.

  Finishing his inspection, Madrid re-entered the stone tower and descended ten twisting levels to where the broad chiseled steps leveled out onto a landing of smooth flagstone that ended at a door. The arched door was painted a garish red and heavily carved with vines and flowers, painted in vivid hues of green and yellow. The door made his eyes water, but at least he could always make out the right flower to push on to trigger the door to open. He reached out and pushed on a blush pink hibiscus with a yellow center that sank under his touch, into the wooden frame. He heard a click and the door swung open.

  The far wall of the room was made of curving glass panes set between melted lead joinery, which curved over to form half of the ceiling structure. The other half was made of snowy stone buttresses that that arched back to the floor like the great bones of the sea creatures that occasionally washed ashore from the ocean. The ceiling was easily ten stories in height. On the floor between each white rib, a nest sat and in each nest a coloured egg was nestled, glowing softly in the light streaming through the windows. Beside each nest, a young woman sat, murmuring softly and stroking the egg.

  At his entrance, ten pairs of eyes swung his direction. Ancient and knowing, they followed him as he walked over to an alcove off to one side and slid behind a curtain. There, lying on a filthy pallet lay a man, bound and gagged. A lurid bruise was swelling on his cheek, and his puffy upper lip was crusted with dried blood. His nose was broken and one eye swollen shut. The other eye glared at Madrid in open hatred.

  Madrid took his time unbuttoning his leather coat, sliding it off and placing in on a peg affixed to the wall.

  “Well, Gaitain, are you in a cooperative mood today?” He rolled up his sleeves with precise, economical motions. “As much as I enjoy our sessions, I can only spend so much time here. It would be much simpler if you just told me what I want to know.” His eyes fastened on Gaitain’s mangled face and he smiled, flashing straight white teeth. “Where is your wife, Gaitain?”

  Gaitain spat red-tinged spittle at the emperor’s polished boots. It connected with a wet squish and then slid down the side leaving a smeary trail. Madrid lifted his foot and kicked Gaitain in the face. His head snapped back and blood gushed anew from the partly closed wounds. With a snarl, Madrid pulled a short knife from its sheath at his waist and grabbed Gaitain by the hair with the other.

  “I would have let you live, you know. I only wanted the witch. You could have returned to Bastion and lived the rest of your days
with the concubine of your choice from my personal collection. Why did you have to go and fall in love with her?”

  Gaitain’s good eye was now swelling shut.

  “Go to hell,” whispered Gaitain. Forgive me, Cherise. I go to the grave with your secret in my heart. He knew the thought would not reach her, but he prayed anyway. The ways of magic were beyond his understanding.

  Trembling with rage, Madrid bent over the body of his former friend. “If you will not tell me, I will begin carving away pieces of your body and cast them over the side of the Citadel for the ravens to eat. You will beg for death before we are finished. But you will tell me where she is.” With that he grabbed Gaitain’s left hand and began sawing at his wrist. Gaitain screamed and screamed until he blacked out from the pain.

  On the other side of the curtain, the chanting voices of the young women rose in pitch, then changed to a crooning song that drowned out the screams. The dragon embryos trembled and their shells rocked with fear. As the crooning overtook the sounds of torture, the eggs settled back down in their nests.

  Silence fell within the hatchery. The curtain swept back, and Madrid stalked from the alcove, wiping his hands on a bloodied towel. His black eyes, pitched with anger, swept the room as he walked over to a window in the glass wall. Unlocking the window, he pushed the casement open then flung the severed hand out the window. Before it had dropped ten feet, the ravens descended, screeching and flapping to battle over the fresh meat. With a last glance at the birds, Madrid dropped the towel at his feet and left the hatchery through the secret door.

  Chapter 16

  Choosing a Mate

  MADRID, STIFF-BACKED WITH ANGER, stalked down the corridor that led to his private chambers. Servants bowed and scurried out of his way, sensing his displeasure and fearful that it would fall on them. Tapestry after brightly coloured tapestry flashed by on the walls. In hollow niches, rare blown glass work encrusted with gemstones from the mines of Wydra sparkled, backlit by candled orbs. Madrid walked the familiar route, blind to the glittering tributes from the provinces, gifted to the emperor to show their loyalty. His mind was stuck in the present and the recent altercation with his former friend.