Dragon Black, Dragon White

by Macy Babineaux

  The One Tree grew at the center of Xandakar. The flight was long, but it should be the ideal place to wait out the dark storm that had taken hold of the land.

  Myrian beat her wings faster and launched herself into the dark sky, heading north towards the tree.

  5

  ZAK

  He was attacked twice in the next hour as he pushed his father’s flatbed boat north through the swamp. The first time, black gators came at him, knocking the boat from underneath and nearly pitching him into the water. They chomped at the edges mindlessly while their black-coated eyes glimmered and rolled in their sockets.

  Each time Zak had to crouch down to catch his balance. He swung the pole at their heads, every blow landing with a loud thunk. But they seemed unfazed.

  He had lived in these swamps his entire life and never seen a gator attack anyone. They usually just floated like living logs, their eyes just above the water, waiting for something small to eat, like a bird or a fish. They had no good reason to go after a person.

  But these gators didn't need a reason. They'd been driven mad by the demon’s magic. Each time they attacked, Zak thought he was going to die. The boat jolted up and down. He was sure it was going to splinter to pieces, and then the crazed reptiles would shred him apart.

  But just as he thought their next attack would be the last, they suddenly stopped. They stayed under the dark water, which began to churn and bubble. Zak leaned over the side to take a look, but not too far. The sky was still dark, so he couldn’t see much of anything.

  He’d never been this far north before, but the only thing he could imagine were razorfish. His Pa had told him stories, but like a lot of what Pa Mogan said, you couldn’t tell if it was true or a tale.

  Razorfish were supposed to be small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. One couldn’t do much, his Pa had said. But they swam in schools of a hundred or more, and working together, their jaws full of steely little teeth could strip a man’s flesh down to the bone in less than a minute.

  The water had roiled, then gone silent. He had sat there floating in the boat, waiting for something else to happen. Nothing did. The gators were simply gone. If they had been eaten, he expected chunks of meat or scales to float to the surface. They never did.

  Had every living soul in the swamp been driven mad by the blackened sun? It certainly seemed so. If the waters in this part of the swamp were filled with razorfish, crazed with bloodlust like everything else, the thought of falling in the water was terrifying. They hadn’t just stripped the gators down to the bone. They’d picked the gators completely apart, leaving nothing at all.

  Zak picked back up his pole, almost afraid to dip it under the dark surface. But when he did, he felt nothing but the resistance of the murky mud at the bottom as he pushed off once more.

  The second time, there was only a lone gator. But it was longer than the boat and bigger than any gator Zak had ever seen. He saw the V of the ripples in the water as it swam towards him from up ahead, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

  Zak stopped pushing, trying to reverse direction. But the gator was far too fast. When it reached the prow, it splashed up out of the swamp and flopped its giant head into the boat, knocking the front down and the back up like a see-saw.

  Zak was nearly hurled into the air, but he grabbed the sides with both hands in time enough to hold on. As he was tilted up high, he saw the great black orbs of the gator’s eyes. The others had still resembled their kind. This thing was a monster.

  In that second, he thought maybe the reason this one was alone was that it had eaten every other gator in the area, perhaps every other living thing. And while it was bigger than the others, he could also see from the dark intelligence shining in its eyes that it was probably far smarter as well.

  The gator-monster lifted its head and let the boat flop back down. Zak’s end smashed into the water, nearly knocking him overboard once more. But he held on, his knuckles white with fear and strain, his teeth clacking together from the force of the jolt.

  He braced himself for more of the same, thinking the animal’s strategy would just be to rock the boat up and down until he’d dislodged Zak from his seat. The plan would have worked fine, but perhaps the gator simply didn’t want to wait that long. Because it sank back under the water out of sight, large bubbles rising up and popping where it sank.

  Zak scanned the surface frantically, looking for a sign of where it had gone. Part of him wanted to grab up the pole and push his way out of here, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to flee quickly enough, and he was most prone when he was standing. If that thing hit the boat just about anywhere while he was standing up, he’d go flying.

  And that’s when he heard the flutter of wings overhead, followed by a gentle, lonely hoot. He looked up and saw a small white owl with black-tipped wings flying directly above him in the trees. It slowed its flight to hover over his boat.

  That’s when the water exploded to his left, the maw of the monster open wide as it lunged towards him. In that instant, all he could see were the rows of razor-sharp teeth and the deep black hole of the gator’s gullet.

  I’m going to die, Zak thought, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. But the owl, which he’d almost forgotten about, flew between him and the monster.

  The bird stretched out a tiny claw, and Zak saw a blue arc of electricity flare out at the gator’s snout, accompanied by a loud crack. The effect was instantaneous. The gator snapped its jaws shut and slid backwards into the water. As it floated there, Zak saw the possessed look fade from its eyes.

  The monster shook its head, then turned around and swam away. The owl flew to land in the boat, then began to transform. It grew, its feathers disappearing to be replaced by pale flesh. Within seconds, a tiny old woman knelt in the bottom of the boat. The only thing that appeared mostly unchanged were its huge brown eyes. She had white hair down to her shoulders, tiny breasts that sagged, and seemed unashamed of squatting naked before him.

  She smiled at him, following his eyes to her chest. She chuckled. “I’m much too old for modesty,” she said. There was recognition in her eyes, though Zak was sure he’d never seen her in his life. “It’s good to see you again," she said. "Especially after all this time.”

  She certainly thought she had met him before. Perhaps she was mad. But unlike his father and brother, and every other living thing in the swamp, she didn’t seem to be trying to murder him. In fact, she had just saved his life.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Hephta,” she said. “Advisor to Sorian Nightshadow. Though he is—”

  “—dead,” Zak said. “Yes, I saw it happen.”

  A look of sadness crossed her face. Or was it pity? “It’s a shame you had to see that,” she said.

  “You say we’ve met before,” he said. “But I don’t know you.”

  “We have,” Hephta said. “But you were far too young to remember. And I would tell you everything, but time is short and we are both in grave danger.”

  That seemed like an understatement. But he wanted her to answer his question, not tell him things of which he already knew. He opened his mouth to repeat his question, but she spoke first.

  “Meet me at The One Tree,” she said. “I am headed there now. It is the only safe haven in all of Xandakar. I would carry you there, but I am old and small. If you knew the truth, you could fly there yourself. But there isn’t time to teach you.”

  Fly? What was she talking about? Perhaps she is mad after all.

  “In the meantime,” she said, “this is the best that I can do.” She moved to the back of the boat, closing her eyes and murmuring an incantation while she waved her hands in the air. When she stopped, she opened her eyes and lowered her hand to the surface of the boat. That blue arc of electricity leapt between her outstretched fingers and the wood, sending up a puff of smoke.

  She turned to smile at him. “Just like old times,” she said. But he knew neither what that meant nor
what she had done. And before he could ask, the old woman began to shift, shrinking where she stood as white feathers sprouted across her body.

  “Meet me at The One Tree,” she said as she changed. “I will tell you everything.” And with that, she fluttered up into the dark air and flew away.

  He was glad that she had intervened, of course. But everything she said was incomprehensible. The only thing that made sense was where she had told him to go. The One Tree. The home of the owl-mages. Now at least he had a clear direction in mind.

  Zak bent down to pick up the pole when the boat jolted into motion. He nearly fell over, grabbing the side of the boat to catch himself. Had the gator returned after all? Had it rammed the side of the boat, or rocked it from underneath?

  But when he looked up, he saw no sign in the water. What he did see was that the boat was now moving steadily through the swamp, propelled by some unseen force.

  He put the pole down and sat on the slat near the back, holding on to either side. The boat was traveling roughly in the direction he had already been going. But now he was traveling much, much faster.

  So that’s what the old owl did to the boat, he thought. She enchanted it.

  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. His arms were shaking, and he hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was, not just from pushing the boat most of the day, but from the fighting and the fear.

  For the first time since the madness began, he was able to relax a little, letting the boat carry him along.

  Hephta, he thought. He knew the name as well as he knew her face, which was not at all. But how did she know him? He found it strange that the advisor to the black king would have visited the Mossknot home when he was younger, too young to remember. Why would she do such a thing?

  He would have to content himself with the old owl’s promise to tell him when he got there. And now he felt as if he had a much better chance of making it.

  The air blew across his face as the boat glided up through the swamp. But before he traveled too far from the spot where the giant gator had very nearly killed him, he thought he heard a sound, like the snort of a small animal. He almost thought he recognized that sound, but as he looked around he saw nothing. Of course, with the day he'd had so far, everything seemed like a threat. He tried to relax and put it out of his mind.

  He was on an adventure now, traveling to new places. The thought was exciting, even though it was under the shroud of death and mayhem. He wasn’t going to let a little paranoia spoil his newfound relief.

  But as the boat glided away and began to build speed, he also felt the hair on his arms stand up, a tingling sensation spreading across the back of his neck.

  He felt as if he were being watched.

  6

  MYRIAN

  She saw the tree looming up on the horizon long before she got anywhere near it. The One Tree was supposed to be the largest living thing in all of Xandakar, as well as the oldest.

  The sun was still completely black, and she wasn’t sure what time of day it was, but the giant tree was clearly visible from far away. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of warm yellow lights filled its branches. From a distance, it seemed a beacon, a peaceful sanctuary in the midst of all this chaos.

  But she wondered. The tree was filled with lanterns and lights, and from this far it seemed to be unaffected by the dark spell. But so had Moonglow Castle, until she had flown too close.

  Perhaps the owls had gone mad as well, and instead of arrows they would bring her down with magic. She decided the safer way was the better one. She would land well away from the tree and approach cautiously on foot. At the first sign of danger, she could always take dragonform again to escape.

  The One Tree towered in the sky, reaching up so high that the top of it was obscured by the clouds. As she grew closer, the massive structure nearly filled her entire view. The place was amazing, but she reminded herself she was not here for sightseeing. She needed help. Her family, if any of them were left alive, needed help as well.

  She looked down and saw that the yellow grass of her homeland was slowly transitioning into lush green grass. The ground was becoming less flat as well, rising up into sloping green hills. Myrian peered through the darkness, searching for a good place to land.

  A small river wound its way up from the southwest, forming a lake among the hills where it stopped. That looked like a fine place to land, near the edge of the lake. If the water was clean, she could drink, then set off through the hills for the base of the tree.

  Myrian descended, coasting in a low, wide circle to make sure there were no marauding bands of possessed madmen or herds of deranged creatures. Seeing none, she spiraled down to the edge of the lake, landing in the soft black earth by the shore.

  Her claws sank into the gritty dirt, and she folded her wings behind her, putting her full weight on the ground. She turned to the water, stepping closer to the edge and lowering her head for a drink. It was cool and clean, feeling wonderful as it coursed down her dry throat.

  Myrian took a mouthful and raised her head, feeling the soothing liquid run through her long neck. Then she bent down for a second drink, closing her eyes.

  I could almost fall asleep like this, she thought. She was far more exhausted than she realized. Between being attacked by Gisella, then nearly killed by archers from her home, then flying all the way out here, she felt as if she could lie down and sleep for days. That is, if there were going to be such a thing as days anymore. Who knew how long the sun would stay blotted out? She had no idea what might have even caused such a thing. But the owls would know. Wouldn’t they?

  She took another deep gulp and opened her eyes.

  She flinched, taking a step back. There, on the surface of the lake and coming towards her was a boat. It rode low and flat in the water, a single passenger standing with one foot propped upon the prow. He held a long staff in his hands. It did not look like a weapon, but a means to push the boat along.

  But he didn’t seem to need it. The boat was being propelled as if being pushed or pulled by some unseen force, cutting through the water at an uncanny speed.

  She took another step backwards, flexing her wings in case she needed to take to the air. The boat drew closer and she got a good look at the man standing in it.

  He was young and slender, with dark hair and sharp features. His nose was narrow, his cheekbones high. But his eyes were what she was most interested in. They were dark, but not completely. Thankfully she could clearly see the whites. Whoever he was, he had not been stricken with the disease of darkness.

  He tensed as well, gripping the pole tightly as the boat pulled all the way up to the shore. In his rough-spun brown tunic and ragged pants and boots, he looked to be neither a mage nor a warrior. In fact, he seemed to be nothing more than a simple peasant, which made her relax. She was still a dragon, after all, with little need to be frightened of him.

  He didn’t seem to be dressed in the manner of the simple folk of her homeland, though. And the river that wound its way here and come from the direction of the Nightshadow lands. So she surmised he was a swamp dweller, perhaps a fisherman or trapper.

  Though his eyes were clear, he looked far more frightened than her. That was not surprising, since she towered above him, all scales, claws and fangs.

  She saw no need to maintain this form, so she shifted, shrinking down into human form, her scales becoming her white-scaled body suit.

  “Greetings,” she said, once she was fully human again. She thought it might get easier the more she did it, and again she chided herself for not shifting more often.

  The young man was studying her warily, especially her eyes. At first she thought he might be infatuated with her. She had her fair share of admirers back at Moonglow Castle, even though a very few of them interested her. They were typically either mindless brutes or slimy nobles. Their attention and occasional gifts had pleased her, but she had rebuffed them all. After all, she was spoken for. Even after the death of Karth Wildfire, she w
ould likely be engaged again. What was the point?

  But then she almost laughed as she realized the young man before her was not admiring her, but checking to make sure the blackness had not seeped across her eyes as well. And that meant that whatever was happening had affected those where he had come from. Perhaps the entire world had been under this hideous spell, though it had spared a few, including her and this peasant boy.

  “Greetings,” he finally said cautiously. “Who are you?”

  He almost seemed to demand the answer, though she figured he was attempting to mask his fear with the appearance of bravado.

  “I would ask you the same,” she said.

  He still stood in the boat, fingers wrapped tightly around the pole, squinting at her. Eventually he seemed to realize that a stick was not much good against a dragon, and so he changed tack, taking a deep breath and seeming to relax.

  “I am Zakarai Mossknot,” he said. “Everyone calls me Zak.”

  Mossknot? She had never heard the name, but it definitely fit a swamp dweller.

  She cleared her throat, standing up straight. “And I am Princess Myrian Moonglow,” she said. She paused, waiting for him to react. A proper response might have been to finally step out of the boat, bow before her, and kneel. At the very least, she expected a look of surprise and reverence on his face.

  Instead, he did step out of the boat, his dirty boots sinking slightly into the soft silt. But he did not bow or kneel.

  “You come from the Still Plains?” he asked.

  Perhaps he is simple, she thought. Of course she came from the Still Plains. She had just told him she was Moonglow royalty. Even the smallest of children throughout Xandakar knew that the Moonglows lived and ruled the Still Plains. But she said none of this, instead deciding to treat him with grace. He might be useful. She would not mind a servant to accompany her the rest of the way to the tree.

  “Yes, I am,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child. “Where are you from?”