Reckoning (Book 5)

by Megg Jensen

  Connor sat in a chair by the fire, a pipe between his lips. "What is it?"

  Bastian didn't answer. He ran past his friend and to the door.

  "Bastian!" Connor followed close on his heels.

  Bastian flung the door open and ran out into the night. He was greeted by a light rain. The water dripped down his face and onto his shirt.

  "It's only rain," Connor said, laughing as he stood in the doorway. "Are we so easily spooked by a small storm cloud now?"

  Bastian held out a hand. The water felt strangely thick. He turned back toward the village hall, holding his palm toward the flickering light of the fire. "This is no simple rain. Look."

  Connor grabbed Bastian's hand, examining it more closely. "No. It can't be."

  Bastian looked up at the sky again as the full moon turned to a dark red. "The moon is bleeding."

  "It is the beginning," Connor said, barely above a whisper.

  "A blood moon. Just as the Green’s book of prophecy showed us," Bastian said. "I had thought it would just be red, not literally bleed upon the Dragonlands."

  "You know what this means?" Connor asked.

  Bastian looked his friend in the eyes. "Yes. The enemy is not dead. Soon we will be under siege. The great war is about to fall on the Dragonlands."

  "It was all true," Connor said. "I feared it when I saw the illustrations. I’d already witnessed some of the things depicted."

  "Like Decarian?" Bastian hadn't seen the beast, only heard Connor's descriptions. Decarian had seemed like something out of a fairy tale. Though, lately most everything did. Bastian had fought the kilrothgi. He had seen Jarrett, under some sort of enchantment, transform from a friend to an enemy. Bastian had been magically bound to the healer Elinor until his death. The unfathomable was real, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  Connor nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now. I didn't think it mattered. I thought I had changed prophecy when I destroyed the Red castle. Nothing has stirred there for months. Decarian couldn't have survived without us knowing."

  "Perhaps." Bastian headed back inside. Connor closed the door behind them. Bastian grabbed a towel from a nearby table and wiped his face. He removed his brown cloak, now stained with droplets of blood, hanging it near the fire to dry. "I fear we have underestimated the enemy."

  He threw the towel down on the floor, anger rising in his chest. "Damn it. We should have been preparing this whole time. Instead, we’ve been sitting on our arses, acting like everything was going to be okay."

  "Keep your voice down." Connor glanced up the stairs. "We don't want to wake the children. This is the last thing they need to hear."

  "No one is safe here." Bastian paced in front of the fireplace. He whirled around to face Connor. "We have to take them to the Green. They are the only ones with a plan. They can escape."

  "No," Connor said. "I won’t be separated from my children again. They need me."

  "Then escape with them," Bastian said. He puffed up his chest. "I will stay and fight. If the prophecy is coming true, then the Green will soon be looking for their warlord."

  Connor grabbed Bastian's shoulder, forcing his friend to stop his incessant pacing. "No. You have children, too. Farah and little Adam. They need you, as well."

  "You expect me to run and hide when my home is going to be trampled by an enemy? I can't do it." Bastian clenched his hands in fists.

  "I don't want to either," Connor said. "But you saw those pictures. The death. The destruction. The fire. Do you want your children to be among the dead? Or you? No, Bastian. We can escape this and we will. We've spent the last two years fighting for our lives. Maybe it's time we move on. Let Decarian have the Dragonlands. As long as I have my wife and children, I am home. It doesn't have to be here in Hutton's Bridge, or anywhere in the Dragonlands."

  "I never took you for a coward," Bastian said. Tension quivered between the two friends.

  "If loving my family and putting their lives above all else is cowardice, then I am a coward," Connor said. He looked toward the bedrooms upstairs, all the doors closed, everyone sleeping quietly. "I love them. I just got them back." His voice cracked. "I won't give up that amazing gift."

  "In the morning we all fly out for the Green," Bastian conceded. "I will send a pigeon to them now, in hopes they will send extra dragons to help us carry everyone. We will fly faster that way."

  Bastian turned his back on his friend and made his way across the room to the large wicker cage where a flock of pigeons perched. He grabbed a piece of parchment and dipped the tip of a feather pen into the inkwell. He scratched out a quick plea for help, then rolled it up and tied it to the bird's leg. Bastian took the bird to the window, moved the animal hide covering it, and sent it flying into the bloody rain. “Fly swiftly.”

  When he turned around, Connor was gone. All Bastian heard was the quiet thud of a door closing.

  He climbed the stairs and shuffled down the hall to his door. He opened it without a sound. Pia and Adam still slept soundly in the bed, Pia’s arm around the baby. Farah slept on a small trundle bed, her mouth puckered around her thumb. Bastian frowned. He hadn't even known she sucked her thumb. Had she done it her whole life? There was so much he didn't know, so much he'd missed.

  His eyes traveled back to his son, the tuft of red hair sticking up off the top of his head. He didn't want to miss those moments with Adam, but if he stayed in the Dragonlands to fight, he might never see the boy again.

  For a moment, he understood Connor's desire to flee. Bastian's heart tugged him in multiple directions: toward his little family, no matter how fractured it may be; toward the homeland he loved and wanted to defend; and toward the dark-haired woman south of him who he couldn't stop loving.

  Chapter Six

  Tressa charged back into the Ruins of Ebon through the waste tunnels, not caring how filthy she got. She needed to speak to her great-grandmother and Mestifito. Along the way, two men in messengers’ garb bumped her shoulders as they ran past without giving her a second look. Tressa supposed she seemed nothing more than a commoner considering her clothes and disheveled appearance.

  She increased her stride, following only paces behind them. The men came to a stop just outside the royal chambers.

  "Away from here, girl," one said, as the other knocked on the door. "Now is not the time for..." He looked her up and down, his nose wrinkling at the smell. "... whatever it is you came for."

  Tressa threw back her shoulders, her dark hair trailing down her back. "I am the great-granddaughter of Sophia, Mestifito's mate. I think they'll be willing to see me, especially when I need to report the blood falling from the sky."

  The messengers gaped as the door swung open.

  "What is it?" Granna said, as she opened the door. Her gaze traveled between the two men and Tressa. "My goodness, child, have you been in the waste tunnel? You certainly smell like it." She pulled Tressa into her chambers.

  "And what do you two need?" Granna asked the messengers.

  "She can explain," the first man said. He stood up straight, his chin held high. The two messengers turned on their heels and left.

  "Perhaps you should bathe and change before we talk,” Granna said.

  "No." Tressa moved farther into the room, not touching anything. "There isn't time. I was outside."

  "I can see that," Granna said, her nose wrinkling.

  "It's raining blood."

  Granna's hand flew to her chest. “It’s what?”

  Tressa held out her arms. "I know it's hard to see because my clothes are so dirty, but trust me. The sentries must have seen it too, which is why they sent the messengers. Something's wrong."

  "It can't be." Granna paced the room. "Mestifito said..."

  "What did he say?" Tressa demanded, annoyed her great-grandmother trailed off. "Now isn't the time for secrets, Granna. Tell me what Mestifito said."

  "He told me a story once, of two young boys who'd been brought to this land many, many years ago. When they
arrived, blood fell from the sky. It was the beginning. Prophecies foretold falling blood again, but this time it would mean the end."

  "The beginning and end of what?" Tressa asked.

  Granna looked up, her eyes wide. "The dragons."

  "Does the blood harm the dragons?" Tressa asked.

  "I don't know," Granna said. "He never told me what it meant. It was part of a longer conversation we had once. I never thought I would see the day. To him, it seemed so far away. Ancient past and unpredictable future. We must ask him."

  Tressa reached out for Granna's trembling hands. "There is more you're not telling me."

  "It is not mine to tell," Granna said. "It is only for Mestifito."

  "You speak for him," Tressa said. "Give words to his thoughts now."

  Granna squeezed Tressa's hands. "If he tells me it's okay, I will share the whole story with you. Come, let us go to him."

  Tressa followed her great-grandmother to the back of her chambers. Tressa had been to Granna's bedroom before, but she had never seen Mestifito's dwelling. He was much too large to fit into these chambers, so his whereabouts were always a mystery.

  Granna swept past her canopied bed. She lifted a tapestry, revealing a door. Reaching into her pocket, Granna withdrew a skeleton key. It clinked into the lock and emitted a metallic screech as the tumblers fell into place. The door creaked open. Cold, moist air wafted in Tressa's face.

  "A secret passage?" Tressa asked. "Is there a portal, too?"

  "How did you know?" Granna asked. "I'm not aware of any other portals in the Dragonlands."

  "It's how we went from the Dragonlands to Desolation," Tressa said. "Donovan knew of one in the Red castle." She thought of Fi, her friend's body crushed under the weight of the falling castle. Tressa had done everything she could to save her, but, in the end, her efforts had mattered little. Fi was dead.

  "Interesting," Granna said as she stepped into the tunnel. "I wasn't aware there were more. So you know how to use it?"

  Tressa nodded. "Can we hold hands anyway? It's a bit jarring to travel like that."

  Granna wrapped her bony fingers around Tressa's hand, tugging her forward. "It's only a few steps away."

  "Where are we traveling to?" Tressa asked, suddenly nervous. She'd landed in Desolation, knowing nothing of that world. She'd barely made it back alive.

  "Just to Mestifito's cave. It is still within the Charred Barrens, not far from here. He prefers his privacy. It's painful for him to be around humans too long. He misses his human form, even now." Granna paused. "I've never taken anyone else to him, but I think he will understand if I bring you."

  "I promise never to tell another soul how to find Mestifito's chambers," Tressa said. "I can keep your secret."

  "I know, dear." Granna patted Tressa's hand. "Are you ready?"

  Tressa nodded. The two women stepped into the circle marked on the floor. Tressa closed her eyes as her body seemed to spin out of control. Only a moment later, she stood on solid ground again. "That wasn't so bad," she told Granna.

  "It gets easier each time. Your body becomes used to it. Now, come. He is just down this passageway."

  Tressa followed behind her great-grandmother. She wouldn't step in until Mestifito confirmed it was okay.

  "Help me." A weak voice came from ahead.

  Granna took off in a run, Tressa on her heels. "Mestifito? Oh, my sweet dear, what's happened?" Granna knelt on the floor, cradling a naked man in her arms. He had dark hair, skin as black as hers was light, full lips, and a strong jaw. He was, quite simply, stunning.

  Tressa's hand flew over her mouth, stifling a gasp. According to Granna, Mestifito wasn’t able to change out of his dragon form anymore. Yet here he lay, human.

  "Tressa, help me," Granna said as she tried to lift him.

  Slipping an arm under his armpit, Tressa helped Granna pull him to standing. He stood, wobbly, on two legs. Tressa averted her eyes, not wanting to see him so vulnerable.

  "I don't know what's happened. I was fine one moment, then the next I was... this." Mestifito looked down at Granna, his eyes sad. He smiled weakly. "But I'm so young."

  Granna laughed, her silver hair bouncing on her shoulders. "And I am old."

  He looked at Tressa. "I hope I'm not frightening you, Tressa."

  "No," she said. "I've been a dragon before, too. I know how it works."

  "I was an exception. I haven't been human since the night I asked Sophia to remain with me forever." Mestifito turned back to his mate. "Do you remember? In the cave?"

  "I do." A blush spread across Granna's cheeks. "Very well."

  "That night I found my love and lost my humanity. A very humbling experience," Mestifito said.

  The three hobbled down the tunnel toward the portal. Tressa took great care to prop up Mestifito. He was trying to support himself, but she could tell he was still very weak.

  "Why did you come?" Mestifito asked them. "It is very late, is it not?"

  "The sky is raining blood," Sophia said.

  Mestifito stopped walking.

  "The moon has turned, too," Tressa said. "I was outside. I saw it all."

  Mestifito hung his head. “Then it is beginning. He's come back."

  "Who?" Tressa asked, confused.

  "My brother," Mestifito said. "Donovan."

  “Donovan is your brother?” Tressa looked to Granna, but the old woman seemed as confused as she was.

  “Yes. I thought…” Mestifito looked away, ashamed. “I didn’t know he’d risen.”

  The word risen sent a chill up Tressa’s spine. She thought of Bastian, brought back to life as a dragon. Was that what Mestifito meant? But if that was all, why did he seem so upset?

  Tressa waited until they had passed through the portal to Granna’s bedchamber. The two women dragged Mestifito to the bed, laying him down carefully. Granna draped a blanket over his naked body. “Explain,” Tressa commanded.

  Mestifito shook his head. “I believed Donovan was dead. I assumed his death had left me permanently a dragon.” He looked at Granna, his eyes soft. “When you came to live with me, I lost my human form. It was terrible timing. Why you kept your promise to me, I’ll never know.”

  “It’s because I love you.” Granna sat on the bed next to Mestifito, running her fingers through his hair. “Dragon or human, you are still the same man inside.”

  “I hate to interrupt this beautiful moment,” Tressa said, “but we’ve discovered you were wrong. Donovan is still alive. Your dragon is gone. What does that mean?”

  Mestifito looked up at Tressa, his dark brown eyes weary. “Donovan is a great sorcerer. If I have lost my dragon, it is because Donovan has stolen it. There is reason to fear him. He is a vindictive man. Twisted. I would have killed him long ago, but he was… he is… my brother.”

  Conflicting emotions raced through her. She’d trusted Donovan, followed him into Desolation, even let him take her dragon. Sometimes she’d suspected something wasn’t right, but she hadn’t had any proof… and yet she’d known deep inside that something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t she put more faith in her intuition?

  “I can’t believe I trusted him.” Tressa slammed her fist into a pillow. “I left Fi with him! Damn it!”

  “Tressa.” Granna placed a hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. None of us could.”

  Tressa turned accusing eyes to Mestifito. “You knew. You could have warned us.”

  Mestifito’s eyelids fluttered shut as he slumped back in the bed. His voice was weak. “I had hoped he was long dead. I thought perhaps when my human side left, it meant Donovan had died, taking it with him. I was wrong. So wrong.”

  Tressa wanted to scream. She wanted to rail against Mestifito for keeping this from them for so long. Instead she turned toward her great-grandmother. “Why didn’t you ever mention Donovan to him?”

  Granna shrugged helplessly. “To me, he was just a man. A ranger. A guide.” Granna paced Mestifito’s bedside. “If, for one moment, I had
considered his name important…”

  Tressa wanted someone to blame, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The only bright spot was knowing that Donovan was alive. Because if he was, it meant there was a chance Fi had survived, too. “Call a meeting of the council. We need to take action immediately, to stop Donovan and save Fi.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tressa stormed out of the war room, slamming the door shut behind her. Chest heaving, she forced herself to take deep breaths. She leaned against the wall, frustration coursing through her veins. The door opened again, and someone took hesitant steps toward her. Tressa didn't have to look to know her great-grandmother had followed her out.

  The council had argued again and again in the war room. Mestifito's sudden transition from all-powerful dragon to ordinary human had set everyone on edge. He told them everything he knew about his brother, Donovan, including the ghastly way he stole skin from the dead, stitching it together to form a new identity for himself. The council agreed it was best to stay underground until they knew better what was happening in the Dragonlands. Without their leader to guide them, the Black had lost their nerve.

  All except for Tressa.

  She’d spent the last few months wallowing in her grief. But she felt different now. Perhaps the blood rain had baptized her, reawakening the warrior inside. The last thing she wanted to do was give up. When the others voted to remain underground, she exploded from the room, unable to face the craven people a moment longer.

  "Tressa," Granna said hesitantly. "It's for the best. Without Mestifito, we don't know how we can fight this enemy. Donovan has a great deal of power. If he has managed to steal Mestifito's dragon, then what hope do we have of fighting him?"

  Tressa fumed. "Yesterday, you believed Donovan to be dead. You even thought he was good, like us. One bad thing happens to Mestifito and suddenly the entire Black army wants to hide? What happened to the brave dragons of the Black? What about the battle against the Red? The Black never shrank back in fear."