Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Books by J.A. Culican
About the author
Contact me
J.A. Culican
Copyright © 2018 by J.A. Culican
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. Trademark names appear throughout this book. Rather than trademark name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities or resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Edited by: Cassidy Taylor
Cover Art by: Rebecca Frank
ASIN: B07BQFWWDV
www.dragonrealmpress.com
For Fiona.
Bells struggled to push the big wheelbarrow across the muddy, churned earth. Smoke from the little village, which was still burning, stung her eyes and lungs. Humans had recently started building their homes from plastics which released a horrid, acrid scent. To her friend, Crys, she said, "I still wonder how humans survived for so long after wrecking the planet."
"At the moment," Crys replied, "I'm more concerned about getting our work done without breaking anything or giving the foreman some other excuse to cut our food rations."
Well, humans might now have been reaping what they sowed—it was their ravaging the planet that had led to the Pures coming back into the world, to the humans' misfortune—but the elves’ burning of humanity's plastic cities and villages wasn't doing the damaged Earth any favors. "I think the White King cares more about other things than about the environment. After all, how long ago did the Pures leave humans to their misery the last time? Three thousand years? Six thousand?"
"Watch what you say, Bells. But it was long before my time, anyway," Crys replied and then grunted with the effort of keeping the wagon upright.
Bells glanced at the nearby "punishment pit," a mound of neatly-laid human bodies that had completely overflowed the original 8'x16' hole in the ground. That night, the elves were likely to cremate those remains; they were big on "purifying" through fire, despite the toxic fumes now pouring into the air in cities all over the world.
Oof! While she'd been looking at the horrible mound of the dead, her human-sized wheelbarrow caught its single front wheel in a rut and tipped over. It was far too large for Bells to catch in time. Crys cursed, then she and Bells frantically scrambled to pick up the fallen tools and seed packets. Thankfully, most had remained inside the wheelbarrow.
Once she'd picked up what she could, she furtively looked around. "I don't see the foreman." Hopefully, the elf hadn't seen her, either.
"He's probably passed out on the Other Side, though. Elves are way too fond of the humans' fermented drinks."
Bells shook her head at the thought, wishing she were also on the Other Side, and started pushing again. This time, she swore she'd pay more attention to where she guided the stupid, heavy contraption. "Wheelbarrows were a dumb design."
"They're meant for bigger creatures than we poor little fae who get stuck using them. The elves should have left some humans alive."
Though she was stuck using those tools for now, Bells reminded herself that the elves said they'd soon use the Earth's resources for good building implements their fae servants could use better—
A shadow passed overhead, and she looked up. A big flock of birds was darkening the sky, coming up from the south. The sun was in her eyes, so she raised one hand to shade them and tried to figure out what kind of birds they were.
Standing beside her, Crys said, "It's the wrong time of year for mass bird migrations."
Bells closed her eyes and let her senses carry outward, entwining with the natural energies of the area, the wind, the sky, the plants... "Oh no," she whispered hoarsely, "those aren't birds." No, they were huge, long, and vicious-looking.
"Dragons," Crys sent out an empathic, panicked cry to the other fae, who scrambled almost instantly into any handy hidey-spots. Fae were good at hiding, and their magic was perfect for that—as soon as they were in cover, they seemed almost to fuse with the rocks, the shadows, or whatever they were behind. It was a survival trait, useful since the other Pure races considered fae to be little better than humans.
The elves often talked about the vicious, arrogant dragons who thought they ruled the Pure races. Violent and brutal, the elves said. Three of them separated from the vast, dark cloud of wings. In the blink of an eye, they were streaking like meteors at the ground right toward her.
Bells looked around frantically; Crys was gone, but she couldn't see anywhere to hide.
Just before they hit the ground, the three spread their wings and set down hard enough for Bells to feel the impact through her slippered feet. She staggered backward, her task forgotten, and in a panic, she threw her arm up to protect herself. "Are... Are you going to eat me?"
The dragon in front, the biggest of them, with massively thick, red scales from snout to tail—much thicker than its two companions'—laughed, and that sound was terrifying. Its eyes never left her, looking her up and down and then gazing into her face. Probably deciding how best to prepare a fae meal. The other two were nearly as large as the red one, but with thinner scales. They looked in every direction and ignored her. Probably making sure their meal wouldn't be interrupted.
She scrambled away from them.
The dragon in front spoke in a growling voice that was hard to understand. "No, little fae, not unless you killed the humans who lived here." Even speaking in its dragon form, Bells could hear a hint of humor in its voice.
She felt a glimmer of hope, but also confusion. Why would dragons, masters of the Earth and sky, care about the lives of a few clever animals? So, she decided to ask. She might as well satisfy her curiosity before she died. "But why? Humans don't have souls. They're nothing to you. The elves say humans are little more than clever monkeys but much more violent and destructive."
She watched his reaction intently, studying the magnificent creature. It stretched at least fifty feet from snout to tail. Its heavy head was nearly as wide as its body, boasting sky-blue, reptilian eyes. Ridges rose from a point almost between its eyes, spreading out as they went back across the top of its he
ad and behind its ears. Spikes grew from the ridges, getting longer and thicker the farther back along the crests they went.
The mighty dragon shook its head, snapping her out of her examination, and said, "The humans have souls. They are Pures, like us. They've just lost their way and abandoned their connection to the Great Creation. Sad, miserable, lonely things, even when they are wealthy and powerful, even when surrounded by friends. They grow old and die in a blink of the eye, and when they die, their souls—with all that accumulated wisdom and experience—are lost rather than rejoining the great cycle. They have no Spirit Pool."
Her jaw dropped. Humans once had a gift from the Great Creation, the source of all things? They had souls, like Pures, but no way of continuing the eternal cycle of rebirth? That made no sense. Surely the dragon could see how humans had treated the Earth while the Pures were gone.
"Well, we didn't kill them," she replied. "We fae just try not to get ourselves killed. Obey and work, that's what keeps us alive. Most of the time, at least. Sometimes, an elf or were gets bored and hunts us for sport or works us to death for entertainment, yet we fae survive."
"How do you manage?" the dragon asked, sounding... sad? Genuinely interested, at least.
"Any way we can," she replied. The dragon's seeming innocence was startling.
It bared its teeth at her, wickedly sharp in front with the broader teeth in the back, but it seemed amused more than angry. "I like you, little fae. What is your name? I am Jaekob, son of Mikah."
Bells pushed herself off the ground and got to her feet. She was terrified of this Pure, who looked like he could bite her in half and devour her in two gulps, but where could she run? Nowhere. All she could do was stand tall, so that's what she did. Chin up, gaze steady, heart pounding in her ears like a jackhammer, she said, "My name is Bells." Maybe it would be smarter to flatter it. She added, "Dragons are heroes in all the old legends. Are you here to help us?"
Jaekob's mouth turned down at the corners and looked away for a moment. Was he ashamed? Could a dragon feel disappointment? Maybe, because when he replied, he was practically mumbling. "No, we're not here to help. Not you, at least. I grew curious about you and this place as I flew over the village, that's all."
She felt her hope die. The dragons weren't here to save them. But at least they weren't coming up to eat her kind, either. She was no worse off than before. She struggled to force a smile onto her face.
The dragon smiled back, baring his fangs. His eyes roamed over her and she felt her cheeks flush. "Bells... A pretty name," he said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "and I'll remember your scent. If we meet again, you may not be able to tell the difference between one dragon or another, but I'll know you."
Well, she probably did smell. She'd been out in the fields working hard since yesterday without rest. She hoped that wasn't a threat when he said he'd know her and she wouldn't recognize him.
She decided to assume he meant it in a polite way, since it wouldn't do to upset such a huge, monster-sized Pure. The elves all said dragons ate Pures and humans alike, devouring whomever they wanted. She prayed her voice wouldn't crack and said, "You'll remember my smell? Sorry, I haven't bathed today. Too much work to do."
Jaekob let out his growling laughter again. Perhaps she'd get out of the encounter alive, after all. In fact, the dragon didn't seem at all like how the elves described them. It was confusing.
When Jaekob caught his breath, he said, "May we meet again, in this life or the next, little fae Bells."
Imagine that! A mighty dragon, remembering little ol' Bells. It was hardly believable. She smiled back, waving until the three lifted off the ground, beating their scary-big wings hard and creating a strong wind. She could only imagine the power it must have taken to lift their huge bulk off the ground.
Maybe they weren't back in the world to help the fae, but she suspected they might have something to say about the other Pures trying to take over the place. She smiled as she thought about angry dragons stacking elves in a pit, just as the elves had made her and the fae stack the ugly, helpless humans.
She only hoped she lived long enough to see that. If the foreman found out she'd talked to a dragon, he'd probably throw her on that stack himself. Time to work harder than ever to catch up, so the foreman had no reason to ask questions.
Ten years later…
The early morning light streaming through the window shutters woke Bells gently. For a moment, the new daylight's warmth and glow brought a smile to her face, and she stretched. The smile was short-lived, however. The list of all her daily chores came flooding to mind. The elf's inspection was coming, and any family that didn't pass... Well, she didn't want to think about that.
A quick glance told her that her sister, with whom she shared a bed, had already risen. Bells didn't hear anyone in the hut, so her sister was probably already out getting started on the day's work. She sat up and slid her feet off the bed to the packed earth floor and looked around, bleary-eyed.
The hut was a mere fifteen feet around, and the earthen walls were smooth and unadorned. Fae magic had raised it up quickly, but their overseers hadn't allowed any time for the usual decorations beloved by fae. It was a depressing, simple mud hut. The bed above hers belonged to her two brothers, and at the hut's far end was a larger bed for Mother and Father.
In the center, there was a fire pit rimmed with bricks, and a metal bar strung across the pit's length, standing on two metal uprights. From that hung every cast-iron pot and cooking utensil they owned. The remaining wall space was dedicated to storage for all the things they needed just to survive.
The bathroom was an outhouse, of course. No one in the village had been given enough time to create an inside bathroom.
She really wished the elves hadn't destroyed the human homes, as they’d had indoor plumbing and electric appliances. Her village's overseer, however, had said that low-born fae didn't deserve even a human house, and the buildings had all been burned, just like the bodies of all the people who had once lived there. Poor humans.
It occurred to her that she should save her pity for her own people, though. Why her family had let her sleep until dawn, she didn't know, but it was nice, even though it meant she had more work to do in less time.
She quickly got out of bed and donned her daily-wear dress. It was basically a woven-cloth sack with holes for her arms and head, and a belt around her waist to keep it in place, hold her pouches, and carry a couple of tools. She grabbed the last bit of flatbread in the frying pan over the pit and stuffed it in her mouth as she headed out the door.
Like every morning, her first chore was to fetch water for the family. From behind the house, she grabbed the yoke, a wooden beam with four 5-gallon buckets attached to it that was meant to rest on her shoulders. She threw it across her back and came around to the front.
Old Mr. Drumm was stooped over the little garden in front of his house, and he waved. She waved and favored him with a smile—he had been nice to her through the entire ten years the fae had been farming this land. His assigned garden was small, only a quarter-acre, but it was all his old bones could handle. It was sad that he no longer had a son to care for more land. The boy had been devoured by a werewolf two years ago, and not even for meat, but just for sport, as punishment. Fae were disposable. His household had the same burden to supply the elves as every other, but at least he only had to feed himself and his wife, and they were old and didn't eat much anymore.
Bells passed between several mounded dirt rows built over piles of chopped wood. Between the nutrients that provided and the little boost from fae magic, her family's farm was massively overloaded with food. They couldn't touch any of it since that food belonged to the elves, but it had kept her family safe from the sort of treatment Mr. Drumm and his family got. Twice during the first year, fae families had eaten some of the food the elves claimed. Mr. Drumm's son was one of them. The "thieves" had been torn apart in the middle of the night, and their screams still haunted her som
etimes in her dreams.
When she reached the nearby stream, she hooked her yoke up to the rope they had stretched across the water and wheeled her buckets out toward the center. She played out some rope, and the buckets dipped into the water, filling. Then, she hauled them back to the stream banks and settled her yoke back onto her shoulders. She gave a friendly nod to the other fae waiting for her to finish before fetching their own water.
Once she got back to the house, she poured her buckets into a large barrel. It had been empty, but after pouring in the fresh water, the lines told her that she had just over 17 gallons for her family to last the day. She scooped out a little bit of that water into a much smaller bucket, then headed toward the rows and rows of crops her family tended.
Father was already in the fields, sweating from the effort of brushing all the ashes off the crops. He saw her coming and smiled. "Plants can't get no sunlight if they're covered with ashes, you know."
Bells nodded. The mounds and all their plants had to be brushed off—with a little help from their magic—at least twice a day, or they would start to wilt. It sometimes seemed the whole world had a thin layer of ashes.
She filled the little scooper in the bucket with water and handed it to her father, who drank it down eagerly.
"So, what's on your agenda for the day?" Father asked as his hands moved deftly over the foliage, dislodging the ash. The aisles between the rows were all gray with a thicker layer of ash built up over the years they'd been there. Eventually, the ash and the chopped wood under the mounds would combine to make the soil fertile again, but much of their soil was still almost barren thanks to the disgusting chemical fertilizers humans had seemed to love so much. Didn't they know it killed all the useful bacteria and fungi in the soil? Father had once told her humans had known and just didn't care, so long as they made their "money."
She found that hard to believe—no society could outlive its soil.
Bells shook her head to clear her thoughts and smiled at Father. "I need to harvest a bunch of the herbs on the floating rafts on our fish ponds. Now that the fish aren't dying off so fast, the herbs we grow there are practically better than what we grow for the elves."
Sword of Fire (Through the Ashes Book 1) Page 1