The Godling Staff_Book Three

by Shanlynn Walker

  Drakthira collapsed, unmoving, the bubble still stuck tightly over her mouth and nose. At the same moment she fell, the remaining three were distracted by a loud crack that seemed to come from the west. The sound seemed to hang in the air, almost tangible, before being followed moments later by a dense wind full of dust and bits of flying rock.

  Trakon was sure that the roar that followed shook all of Darkenfel. Sylas dissipated, but Trakon and the creature were both thrown to the ground, their hands clasped to their ears. The old wizard could feel the anger and ferocity released in the sound, and the fear he felt reminded him of when he stood in the Whisperwood’s presence, only perhaps even more terrible.

  Finally, the sound ceased, and Trakon realized he could barely see. His eyesight was red and hazy, and when he looked at the creature that was also picking itself up off the ground, he saw its eyes were now ruby colored and filled with blood from burst blood vessels, and quickly understood. He blinked several times to try and clear his vision, but soon forgot about it as a monstrous shape blocked out all light, and darkness fell.

  Chapter Ten

  The death of a beloved is an amputation.

  ~ C.S. Lewis

  Daxon had been flying over the grassy plains searching for a safe place to set up camp for the night, but the plains were wide open and offered little in the way of shelter or concealment. Although the grasses were waist high to him, they would do little to conceal Drakthira’s towering height, so on he flew, ever westward.

  After an hour or more he realized he was coming to the foothills of the Crimson Peak Mountains. He hadn’t realized how close they were once he crossed the white sands. Shrouded in fog, they were hard to see until you were almost upon them. From a distance they merely looked like clouds hanging low in the sky. He picked up his pace as renewed energy surged through him. He would be able to teleport his friends close to their destination and he could finally get some sleep.

  Although the night was cloudy, three of Darkenfel’s six moons were visible in the sky. Two glowed dimly, one a dark red color and one the color of glowing twilight, but the third was large and bright, emitting a silvery light that gently illuminated Dax’s surroundings. He was glad for the light as he searched for a shallow cave or small copse of trees to shelter in for the night. The closer he came to the mountains the more likely it seemed he would be able to find an overhanging rock at least, but the indomitable mountains seemed to hide their secret entrances well.

  Dax picked up on a distant rumbling sound and he worried there might be a storm coming, but this storm didn’t sound like any other he had ever witnessed. There were no sudden claps of thunder or sharp, jagged lights splitting the sky, but more of a deep rumbling that he could feel in his bones, even in his dim form. He slowed to a stop and hovered, cautiously looking around to see if he could pinpoint the source of these odd sounds. Movement off to his left revealed a herd of goat-like creatures charging recklessly down the mountainside, their cloven hooves dislodging loose rocks in their haste to get away.

  Although Dax by no means considered himself a wildlife expert, he knew there were mountain goats on Daegonlot as well, and they never came down from their mountainous home. They were, in fact, one of the hardest creatures to hunt due to their nimble and fearless leaps and bounds at staggering heights. He peered up the mountain to see what had caused these goats to abandon their home, but he could see nothing chasing them.

  A sense of dread ran down Daxon’s spine. The rumbling was becoming louder and it seemed like the very mountain itself was trembling in fear of the unseen entity. What does a mountain fear? Dax thought, his mind racing wildly. Any other time he would consider the thought ridiculous, but at this moment it seemed very reasonable, indeed. The very air he hovered felt like it was waiting for a momentous occurrence to take place, as if the world of Darkenfel were holding its breath in anticipation.

  As abruptly as it had begun, all sound ceased. The seconds drew themselves out, hanging heavy in time, and every detail felt burned into Daxon’s mind. The light from the moons above shimmered over the plains, turning the rich, green grass into a field of silvery, dancing lights as it swayed gently. He blinked, the movement seeming to take three times as long as normal, as if he, too, were caught in some sort of slow motion, trapped in a place where time seemed reluctant to pass.

  Caught in this surreal moment, he looked skyward and watched as newly fallen raindrops slowly fell towards his upturned face. The perfectly formed droplets looked to have captured bits of the moon’s brilliance and were struggling to bring it to the ground below. Distantly, Dax realized he had never fully appreciated the beauty of rain, and he reached out to touch one of the drops now slowly falling directly in front of him. The tip of his finger made contact with it. The small drop broke and spilled forth its minuscule bounty of water and moonlight.

  The tiny catastrophe broke whatever spell had come over Dax, whether real or imagined, and sound came rushing back in. A sharp clap of thunder assaulted his ears, followed by a horrendously loud groaning that came from the mountain itself. He heard the rumbling again, but it no longer sounded distant. Seemed, in fact, to be gaining volume and momentum. For a brief second, the rumbling suddenly stopped, and shortly thereafter a terrifying roar took its place.

  Dax watched in horrified fascination as the mountain began to sway. In the dim light of the moons he could barely make out the crimson peaks for which the mountains were named, and they seemed to be moving, somehow becoming longer and undulating all along the mountain peaks as far as he could see. The mountain itself shuddered, as if it were struggling to contain whatever was trapped within it.

  Without warning, the mountain exploded out in a rush of wind, rocks, and dust. The force of the blast knocked Dax backwards through the air, but over the roar of the wind he heard a last, triumphant shriek before a dark, inky form blotted out all light from the sky. Keeping his arm up to shield his eyes, Dax just barely made out glowing red eyes before the beast was gone, moving at tremendous speed.

  Unsure of what he had just witnessed, Dax reached out to Drakthira through their bond to warn her of the possible threat coming their way. He could feel her presence on the other end, but it was weak, and quickly fading away. Fear greater than anything he had ever felt clutched his heart as reality sank in.

  Drakthira was dying.

  Rapidly blinking his eyes, Trakon managed to clear them enough to see clearly, albeit with a pinkish tint. In the muted silvery light of the moons above he was able to see the monstrous form before him, but it wasn’t until the great beast lowered its head to the shark-tailed creature from the sands did he truly understand what he was seeing. With a gasp he realized it was a dragon, a true giant of its kind, with flaming ruby eyes and teeth longer than his entire body.

  The great dragon seized the now terrified creature in its maw, crunching down and cutting off its last attempts at escaping under the sand. With a toss of its massive head, the dragon threw the lifeless body into the air, catching it and swallowing it whole, and putting an end to its pitiful existence.

  Unsure if this new dragon was a friend or foe, Trakon moved with slow, cautious steps towards Drakthira. The bubble covering her snout had disappeared with the death of the former nymph, but her ability to breathe had not been restored. He had gone but a few steps when the massive head swung towards him, and the ruby eyes bore into his own. He froze in terror, his mind at war with itself. He wanted to turn and check on his fallen friend, but he was terrified to turn his back to the newcomer.

  Sylas appeared directly in front of him, a low growl deep in his chest issuing forth from his snarling muzzle. A second later Trakon heard an anguished cry; “Drakthira!” He turned to see Dax kneeling over ‘Thira’s prone body, her head cradled gently in his lap. “No, ‘Thira, please, come back! Wake up!”

  Move aside, thundered through Dax and Trakon’s mind as the huge dragon stretched out his (from the voice, there was no doubt left in their minds it was a male dragon)
neck until his mouth hovered right above Drakthira’s still form. After a few long seconds had passed, a small, yellow-orange filament of light issued forth from the beast’s giant jaws and entered ‘Thira’s mouth and nostrils. Time stood still for Dax, yet as the seconds passed her entire body seemed to be bathed in the muted glow, then it disappeared and she took her first, gasping breath.

  “Thank you,” Dax said. He rubbed ‘Thira’s eye ridges, then threw his arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. The young dragon accepted the hug, even nuzzling the top of his head and purring contentedly. It is good to see you again, too, she said so only he could hear.

  “I hate to break this up,” Trakon began, “but we should probably get off of this sand before those bugs decide to come back.”

  The human is right, but we have much to discuss. The young dragon needs to rest. Climb upon my back. We will be safe in my lair.

  “Who are you?” Dax asked, uncertainty clear in his voice. This behemoth may have saved his bond-mate, and for that he was eternally grateful, but he still didn’t know if they should trust the newcomer.

  It’s alright, Dax. Let’s go with him. He means us no harm.

  The elf looked into his bond-mate’s eyes and, after a moment, nodded his agreement. He trusted her and knew she would never lead him into danger. He motioned for Trakon to mount, then Drakthira, and he brought up the rear. Sylas, too, appeared on the broad back and took a position near Trakon.

  As soon as they were all situated between the blood red spines along his back, the giant black dragon leapt into the air, snapping his wings open at the last moment. With powerful thrusts he sped through the air back towards the mountains. Watching the ground pass by in a blur, Dax was amazed at how quickly they arrived at their destination. It had taken him most of a day to get to where they were now in just over half an hour.

  The mountain’s destruction was clearly visible as they approached. It was now evident to Daxon that the peaks for which the mountains were named had actually been the spine spikes of the dragon upon which they were now riding. When he had burst from his stony tomb, the entire top half of the mountains had been destroyed. Looking down, the party could see the mountains were mostly hollow, almost as if they had formed around the great beast they had once contained.

  The great, black dragon landed within the hollow opening and the party quickly dismounted. As soon as they were off his back, the dragon yawned hugely and stretched, his scales clattering loudly as they settled into place.

  Forgive me, he said, it has been many centuries since I was last awake. He squinted a large, ruby eye at the party. Do you know who I am, young one? he finally asked.

  Drakthira hesitated, then said, I do not know who you are, but I feel like I should. I can feel your presence within my very blood, as if it’s singing to me.

  The dragon lowered his great head in acknowledgement. That’s because you are my granddaughter, little one.

  “Your granddaughter?!,” Dax asked, incredulous. “How can that be possible? You are by far the largest dragon I’ve ever seen, even larger than ‘Thira’s mother, and up to now she was the largest dragon I’d ever seen! You have got to be… ancient! You… you were a mountain. Like… an actual mountain!”

  The dragon cocked his head to the side and asked, A mountain? What do you mean? I have always been a dragon…

  “I don’t mean you turned into a mountain,” Dax explained. “I mean these mountains,” he began, gesturing with his hands to encompass their surroundings, “were named after you. The Crimson Peaks. They weren’t peaks at all, they were your spine spikes! If I had to hazard a guess, I would bet you were asleep so long the earth actually grew around you, forming these mountains. It’s incredible!” he finished, his face clearly showing his awe.

  It’s hard to believe I slept that long… the dragon said, his eyes showing a profound sadness.

  “Why did you sleep that long?” Trakon asked.

  The dragon lowered his head until he was as close to eye level with the old man as possible. Because of your kind, human. He growled menacingly, the sound vibrating through the very ground. Immediately Sylas appeared between the old man and the dragon, his lips pulled back in a snarl as he, too, emitted a somewhat less impressive growl.

  Trakon is a good man, and a true friend to dragons, Drakthira said. As is Sylas.

  “Let’s all calm down and take a step back,” Dax said. He gestured at the black dragon. “Please, tell us your story from the beginning, starting with your name.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.

  ~ Euripides

  My name, the black dragon murmured, looking off to a distant point above their heads. In my time dragons did not have names.

  “What do you mean you don’t have a name? Even the wild dragons have names or else ‘Thira’s mother would not have told me what to call her,” Dax interjected.

  Our master did not bestow upon us names, young hybrid. A purpose, yes, but not a name. We were created to be the protectors of Darkenfel, and we did not need names to fulfill that purpose.

  “Your master? You are a tame dragon?” Trakon asked, confused.

  A terrifying roar shrieked from the beast’s great mouth as he thrashed his head angrily from side to side.

  Tame dragon? There is no such thing as a ‘tame’ dragon, human! Only dragons who have been somehow brainwashed into believing they need masters, and no, I was never that, nor will I ever be!

  Dax put up his hands in an attempt to placate the angered dragon. “I think what Trakon meant to ask is who your master is.”

  Franklin is my master, my creator, and the one who tasked me with keeping Darkenfel safe. Myself and the others. But in the end, we all failed. The dragon slumped forward, hanging his head in sorrow and shame.

  Darkenfel is still here, ancient one, so you have not failed yet. Please, tell us your story. Maybe we were brought together so we could help. It is our quest to rejoin Daegonlot with Darkenfel, and in so doing save us all, Drakthira gently prodded.

  “Did you say Franklin?” Dax asked, incredulous. “As in Franklin and Alexius, the original creators of all life on Darkenfel? You are one of the original dragons?”

  Yes, I was one of the first four dragons. Franklin created us to protect Alexius’s creations, and Darkenfel itself. For many years it was very easy to do so. So easy, in fact, we all became bored and stopped patrolling the borders, preferring to frolic and play with each other instead. Draogothra, Drakthira’s mother, was one of the first generation of dragons native to Darkenfel. She was the daughter of myself and the amethyst dragon, hatched from the very first clutch of dragon eggs to ever touch Darkenfel’s soil.

  “How are you even still alive?” Dax asked. Then, realizing what he had said, he stammered, “I mean, no disrespect, but I’ve never known a dragon to live so long. Drakthira’s mother had to be the oldest dragon I’ve ever known of, but even she was nowhere near as large as you.”

  Draogothra’s clutch was hatched many, many years after our creation. To my knowledge, she was the last of her nest-mates still surviving. Time in Darkenfel is quite fluid, so it is hard to pinpoint exactly how old she was. As for how I’m still alive, to understand that you would have to understand dragons. We were created to be protectors. Our reproduction is quite slow compared to other creatures that inhabit this world. As it should be. If we were to overrun Darkenfel, there would not be enough food to sustain a large population. While we are serving our purpose we have a fierce desire to live and can live for as long as we want. But, once we feel we have fulfilled our purpose or no longer have one, we will waste away and die.

  “So you don’t actually have a set number of years to live. How interesting,” Trakon said, mumbling to himself over this new piece of information.

  What has been your purpose for all these years, Old One?

  The giant black dragon lowered his muzzle and gently brushed it against Drakthira’s side, a steady rumbl
ing coming from deep within his belly.

  Part of my purpose has been to watch over my progeny. But, that alone would not have sustained me. However, many years ago, so many I do not remember, a young human woman entered my lair. With her, she had a red, glowing orb. I could tell immediately there was very powerful magic within the orb, but imagine my surprise when, upon closer inspection, I found there were dragons captured within that foul ball of light.

  “Jessa!” Trakon exclaimed. “You saw her? Do you know if she still lives?”

  The ancient dragon regarded Trakon coldly. The old man stumbled back a step under the weight of the black dragon’s regard.

  Please, Grandfather. Trakon is not our enemy. If you don’t trust him, then please, trust me when I tell you this. He has been through many perils with us and has proven himself a trustworthy ally.

  The old dragon’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Trakon before switching to Drakthira.

  As you say, young one. Yes, I have seen the woman you call Jessa, and yes, she is still alive.

  When she came into my lair with her ball of light, I saw her well before she ever found me. I saw what she had done, although I did not know the purpose for trapping the dragons within the orb. Not then, anyway.

  I watched her as she stumbled around in the dark looking for me. The orb she had concerned me, not only because of the trapped dragons within, but because I could see the power emanating from it, a mixture of dragon magic and something more, something even more powerful. I have since discovered this to be the Blood of the Mountain.

  “What is that? This Blood of the Mountain?” Dax asked.

  I had the same question, young-Dax. Little did the creators know when they introduced life to Darkenfel. This world itself is alive, and not in the way others are. It’s alive… and… aware for lack of a better term. Not aware as you and I, but aware in a much slower, heavier way I guess. When the creators made the Fae, this world became even more aware, as if the existence of other beings awakened it. As the centuries passed, Darkenfel began collecting small portions of its dying inhabitants. A drop of blood here. A scrap of magic there. Perhaps a bit of bone. I don’t know the details, but I do know it compiled these small, stolen pieces and over time, it formed into a pool of ruby red liquid hidden within a mountain.