by James Fuller
Meath quickly shook the thought aside. “I am likely to die in my pursuit of my brother, Astaroth. It would not be right of me to leave someone else with this kind of pain.”
Stefan gave him a queer look. “If you set yourself up for catastrophe before you even begin, you are sure to fail.” Stefan was shaking his head as he eyed Meath intently. “No, it is not failure you are concerned about is it, Meath? There is something else…what is it?” As the words left his mouth, his eyes widened with realization. “You have no intention of coming back, do you?”
Meath gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath towards his friend’s well-placed perception. Meath stood and turned for the door. “I think I should go.”
“I am sorry if I have offended,” Stefan said. “I am merely trying to understand, so I may be able to better help.”
“No, you have not offended, Stefan. I just need time to think awhile,” Meath explained.
“You belong here, Meath.’ Stefan offered. “You were always meant to be here. You could have a good life.”
“I shall see you on the morrow.” He left the druid to his workings without another word.
Stefan watched Meath leave and knew by his slouched shoulders that his past and present were battling one another for his future. “I wish more than anything, Meath, that you could have been born someone else. The path that awaits you is a cruel one,” Stefan sighed and returned to his work.
Meath exited the alcove - the evening was growing late yet he knew without a doubt that he would not be able to find sleep any time soon. Stefan had rekindled many things that he needed to revaluate. Things he had hoped he could just forget.
Dark movement and a rustling of branches caught his attention and he turned to regard the source. He thought he caught sight of something darting between two trees, but it happened so quickly, he could not be sure it was not just his eyes playing tricks on him. He stood there for several moments listening and searching the growth but soon gave up.
Meath continued his walk and gave it no more thought. His mind wandered back to what Stefan had said; maybe if he visited the spot where his friends had been killed, he would find a sense of peace. He wondered if Lady Zada would even allow such a thing. Regardless, he would ask and if she would not allow it, he would simply go when he left in search of Astaroth, he decided.
The thought of Astaroth heated his blood. He would relish the day when they finally met; face to face, once and for all. Meath would inflict all the pain and suffering he felt upon Astaroth, before one of them died. Maybe then, peace would find him or death would release him. The thought was solemn yet reassuring.
“Meath, is that you?” A sharp voice called out and Meath could feel the tingle of power within the air.
Reflexes coursed through him at seeing fire in both Zada and Donner’s hands and he quickly set his stance and could feel his own innate powers flow through him in case they planned to test him here and now. “It is I.” He called back as they neared closer the flames in their hands wavered out. “Is there a problem?” He asked, seeing their grim expressions. He glanced down at Donner’s clothing and seen there was fresh blood. “What happened?”
Zada and Donner exchanged bothered looks. “Meath, there is a dangerous enemy among us,” Zada told him, her eyes scanning the shadows around them.
Meath’s hand fell to the hilt of his dagger instinctively. “Who, and better yet, how? I thought no one could get into Salvas?”
“We do not have time for explanations,” Donner growled, his eyes hard. “Someone very dangerous has escaped our security and needs to be stopped before they can do any more harm!”
“So he was a prisoner?” Meath asked.
“Yes, he was. A very dangerous one at that,” Zada confirmed. “Meath, I am ordering you to return to your room at once. We will let you know when it is safe to come out again.”
“Maybe I can help find him?” He offered.
“No,” Donner said firmly. “This is too dangerous.”
Meath frowned but before he could speak Zada intervened.
“Meath, you do not understand and I do not have time to explain! Return to your room at once!” They pushed passed him.
“Whose blood is that?” Meath asked, seeing no signs of wounds on either of them.
“It is Kara’s. Hector killed her when she tried to stop him.” Donner said flatly. Zada shot him a cold, angry look.
“We will deal with it - now go!” Zada ordered once more and before Meath could say another word they were gone.
The words hit him like a blow from a blacksmith’s hammer. His breathing became ragged and he had to steady himself with the aid of a nearby tree. How could this be happening? Why Kara? Tears stung at his eyes as he slumped down against the smooth trunk.
A light breeze rustled the leaves above him and his mind reeled back to when he had left Stefan. Realization sunk in. Instantly, his blood boiled and he had not even noticed he was running in the direction that he had observed the movement.
Meath raced down the path, back to the alcove and for a moment, he thought to stop and get Stefan. He quickly dismissed the idea knowing that Stefan was not a fighter by any means and would likely hinder him if they found the killer. He stopped near the alcove, just long enough to locate where he had heard movement. Then he was off again, travelling in the direction of the cliff top cave where Tabitha had taken him several times.
Meath ran as fast as his legs would carry him, not caring that he could hardly see the path beneath him in the dimming light. Branches whipped at his face and arms, biting at his flesh and tearing at his grey linen shirt. The pain only fuelled his steps as flashes of a lifeless Kara assaulted his mind. He relished - with an almost sadistic glee - the thought of finding this man and being the one to bring him to justice.
Meath neared the top of the cliff, sweat dripping from his forehead into his eyes, but he hardly noticed. Sound and movement caught his heightened senses as he scanned every dark shadow and crevice. His body tingled with anticipation as his innate powers surged through him, at the ready.
He knew the pathway ended up ahead at the cave entrance and still, there was no sign of the man he was searching for. Doubt began to cloud his mind - had he truly heard someone and even so, why would they come all the way up here where they would be trapped? It made little sense, yet Meath refused to turn around until he knew for sure.
The soft sound of leather soles scraping against stone sharpened his resolve as he neared the mouth of the dragon’s cave. He slowed his pace and began creeping closer, not wanting to lose the element of surprise.
“Curses, where is it! The years could not have faded it beyond sight.” A bearded man growled searching just within the walls of the cave. His movements were odd and twitchy. “I know it is here somewhere. Curse you, Zada, if you had it removed!” He slurred. A small, wavering flame came to life within his hand as he inspected the crude markings upon the cave wall, his fingers brushing against each as if he were trying to decipher them.
Meath watched the feeble-looking man for a moment. Donner had called him extremely dangerous. At first glance, the man looked nothing more than a street beggar. His hair and beard were wiry and matted with grime; his clothes were tattered and worn through in many places. But Meath knew better than to assume this man would use physical violence. He had an aura of power about him that could easily be seen.
Meath spotted fresh blood upon the man’s boots and his anger got the better of him, knowing whose blood it was. He stepped out from his hiding place, two ice blades already tearing through the air for the man’s back. With speed defying his stature, the man spun to the side, the ice daggers shattered harmlessly upon the rock.
The man turned to face Meath his eyes gleaming with power. “I have no quarrel with you stranger and would like to keep it so,” Hector responded, holding his hands out. His head jerked oddly as if he fought to contain himself. “You look familiar to me, do I know you?”
Meath ignored
his question and stepped forward, “…but I have a quarrel with you, murderer!” The ground shifted beneath the man’s feet causing him to stumble and Meath let loose a sphere of hungry wizard’s fire. His fire was met by wave of air that threw the flaming orb back. He dove into a side roll to avoid being hit by his own fire but was back on his feet in an instant, another ball of fire sizzling towards his enemy.
Hector threw himself back, barely evading the attack. The flames burst wildly upon the cave wall, showering Hector in biting cinders. He threw his smoldering cloak to the earth with a growl of pain. “You have been lied to, lad - I have killed no one this day,” his hand was alive with energy, “and I would like to keep it that way.” The energy within his palm sputtered uncontrollably.
“Liar!” Meath screamed and he rushed forward. The arc of power released from the man’s hand but Meath had expected it. A slab of earth shot up from the ground in front of him absorbing the blast in a spray of rubble. Meath spun around the earthen barrier as another arc of energy exploded into what was left of it. Razor sharp rock chips sliced into Meath’s body as the blast threw him to the rocky ground.
“Just leave now lad and pretend you did not see me,” Hector called to him. “You are fighting for the wrong side and cannot win this.”
Meath pushed himself to his feet, a blade of ice in hand.
“Have it your way then,” Hector muttered.
The rocky earth beneath Meath’s feet softened and he sunk down nearly to his knees. The crushing pain to his legs as it hardened caused him to cry out in agony. His ice dagger crashed harmlessly to the ground as he tried to pull his legs free, before they were broken.
Hector’s hand was crackling with energy once more, his face regretful. A pillar of fire erupted beside him, pulling his attention from Meath for a heartbeat. A flash of white cleared the air and Hector grunted and stumbled back against the cave wall. He looked down and saw the dragon-bone dagger jutting out of his midsection; his eyes went wide as he fought to stay upright.
Meath concentrated through the pain and quickly freed himself of his earthen shackles. “You should not have killed her.”
Hector chuckled weakly. “I already told you lad, I have killed no one today.” He looked up to Meath and his eyes betrayed his shock. “I should have recognized it sooner - even your voice sounds like his.” He coughed and blood tinkled down his lips.
“What are you talking about?”
He cracked a frail smile. “You are the other son… the one everyone believed was killed the night of your birth.” He coughed again. “I knew she would doom us all. You should have died that night, lad.”
Meath’s anger flared. “Wrong thing to say!” He grabbed the dagger and twisted. Hector screamed and a lancing pain shredded through Meath’s hand and all the way through his body. He tried to release the blade but could not – his hand was locked around it. His eyes widened in dismay as Hector’s face twisted in horrifying agony and the howl that left his lips was deafening, piercing through the growing darkness.
Hector thrashed violently against the cave wall and Meath’s arm started to tremble vigorously. The ivory blade began to glow as a brilliant aura bled up into the veins of his arm. His muscles knotted, body going rigid. He tried to scream out but his teeth were clenched too tightly to let sound escape. His vision blurred and he was sure his head would rupture from the building pressure. Blood flowed freely from his nose, down his lips and chin.
Finally he felt his hand free itself of the smooth handle and the rush of air in his ears, as he fell back to the cold stone.
His body convulsed on the ground for what could have been hours, or even days - he could not tell. For a while he tried to fight the violent spasms, but the effort was in vain and soon he gave up, as every fiber in his body prickled with a queer ambience, as if coming to life for the first time. The sensation bordered on the edge of excruciating pain and tranquil pleasure. His mind begged him to succumb to unconsciousness but he refused to give in, afraid he would never wake.
Soon the warmth of the sun was caressing his face and he realized he had been there all night. He groaned, struggling to roll onto his side, the simple movement taking far more effort than it ever should have. His muscles screamed in tender protest as he pushed himself up on all fours. He fought back the waves of nausea and pushed himself to his feet, slowly reclaiming his balance.
Meath forced his eyes open and looked down upon the man he had killed. Hector’s body looked like a dried, empty husk - a sight Meath could remember seeing once before in the ceremonial hut of the Shaman, Kinor. He could feel his face pale further at the thought of what had just happened as he stared down at the twisted corpse. Had he really taken this man’s Gift?
How? His eyes locked on the dragon dagger, still embedded within the man’s midsection. His hand trembled in dread as he reached to retrieve the weapon. His fingertips touch the hilt and he flinched back, almost expecting a repeat of what had just happened. When nothing occurred, he gripped the handle and pulled the blade free; the body slumped further to the ground. The dagger felt strange within his grasp, he wondered if it was because he knew what the blade was capable of now or if the blade had actually changed.
He began working his way back down the pathway as quickly as his stiff, unsteady legs would allow him. He was determined to know the truth and knew he would only get it from one person, one way or another.
The alcove door flew open, slamming against an adjacent pillar with a loud crash. Stefan jumped from his seat at the sudden noise, his face stricken with fright until he noticed who it was.
“Meath, you scared me half to death, my friend.” Stefan rested his hand upon the stone table and exhaled a big sigh of relief. “What is with the dramatic entrance?” He looked closer as Meath neared. “What has happened to you? You look a haggard mess.”
Meath ignored Stefan and marched up to him. “What do you know about this dagger?” Meath pulled the blade out and again Stefan flinched back.
Stefan took a nervous step back. “Just that is was once your father’s...” He stuttered out.
Meath grabbed Stefan’s robe and pulled him close, the dagger a mere finger’s width from the druid’s face. “If you are truly my friend, you will stop lying to me! Now, what do you know about this dagger?” His eyes bore angrily into the druid’s.
Stefan licked his lips nervously and his eyes did all they could not to be caught into Meath’s dominating glare. “Well I... I canno... you see…it...” Stefan slumped in Meath’s grasp, his eyes finally resting upon his friends. “I am your friend, Meath, I swear it, but I was sworn to secrecy.”
Meath released him. “By whom?”
“Lady Zada,” he confessed.
“Why would she give me such a weapon and not tell me what it was capable of?”
“I am not sure...” Stefan’s eyes widened and his face went ashen as Meath’s words sunk in. “You used it then?” Meath nodded. “Sweet mercy, on who?”
Meath’s face hardened. “On the escaped prisoner who killed Kara last night.”
Stefan’s features twisted in melancholy. “Kara... she is... dead?” The last word nearly stuck in his throat and he sat down in his chair. “What prisoner do you speak of?”
“Hector.”
Horror streaked across Stefan’s face. “Hector?”
“That is the name Zada mentioned last night,” Meath confirmed. “Why, who was he?”
Stefan gulped passed the growing lump in his throat. “Hector was an original. He was over a thousand years old and among one of the first to drink of dragon’s blood. His powers were great and you…defeated him?” Stefan eyed Meath with a newfound awe.
“He did not appear as if he was in his right state of mind,” Meath divulged.
“To my knowledge, they kept him sedated to keep him controllable, but a feat nonetheless, Meath.” Stefan stood again. “I am surprised the taking of his Gift did not destroy your mind or kill you.”
“It felt like it a
lmost did,” Meath admitted. “I need you to tell me all you know about this dagger, Stefan, and I need to know now.”
Stefan settled himself back into his seat and pushed his books aside. “The dagger was your father’s. It was - apart from Salvas - his most powerful creation and most prized possession. It was a symbol of his power and leadership, before he was able to create Salvas. It came at a time when it was needed most. Before the veil of Salvas was conceived, as you know, both ungifted and Gifted fought against Thane and his ‘followers’ in the hopes of stealing the dragon’s blood for themselves or destroy it. Thane needed something to strike fear into his enemies, to buy them time until they could find a safe place to live in peace. No one knows for sure how he created the dagger…not even Lady Zada knew of it. Thane worked on it in secret, not wanting any knowledge of its creation available to anyone, for at the time he did not know whom he could truly trust. No one even knew of its existence until the fateful day he had used it the first time.” Stefan paused and looked up at Meath his eyes were mournful. “It happened one cold morning; Belta was raided by a neighboring village. Several within the attacking group were gifted, others were not, but with the promise of such powers and the larger numbers they were easily convinced into attacking. It was a bloody morning and many good people died horribly and needlessly. It was not until Thane struck the dragon blade into their leader’s chest - a man he had once called friend - that we knew of the power Thane was now in possession of. He used the dagger to steal the essences of countless people, getting stronger with every one.” Stefan’s eyes drifted from Meath’s to the dagger still held tightly in his hand. “It is a terrible weapon and should never have been created.”
Meath eyed his friend - he could see no hint of deception and his expression softened. “You talk as if you were there?”
Stefan was shaking his head. “No, that was a time long before my first breaths in this world. Though reading through the histories, I try to place myself within that time…it … it helps me better understand them.”