Oathen

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  Salvor dismissed Geret’s words with a cynical shake of his head. “Force of habit. Besides, as you see, there are no more dragons to be impressed by my charming good looks. More’s the pity.”

  Ahm chuckled at the snort that ripped from Geret’s nose, but Meena said, “Not true, Salvor.”

  Everyone turned to her. She unstrapped the Tome and stepped away from it, exhaling in relief as distance eased its effects. “This room, these tunnels, were created by the dragons, back in the era when they still lived plentifully among us: back when magic was thick upon the world.”

  Sanych’s eyes played over the hot water pool, the lava pools across the room, and the dusty depression filled with pale, powdered rock. Three enormous tunnels were visible in the hazy distance. One of them glowed brightly with the fervent heat-ripples of molten lava.

  “But there aren’t any more dragons now,” Ahm said. “There’s not enough magic to sustain them.”

  “But there are,” Meena corrected, her eyes reaching up to the high, orange ceiling. “Because there is.”

  “Oh, Wisdom!” Sanych whispered, taking a step back in shock, as the pieces of Meena’s yet-to-be-voiced argument fell into place in her head.

  “Stealing my thunder again, Archivist?” Meena said with a half-smile. “Go ahead. It’s time you relied on each other, instead of me.”

  The others’ eyes turned to Sanych, whose eyes were locked on Meena.

  “Well?” Salvor prompted, crossing his arms.

  Sanych’s mouth opened, and she took a breath before speaking. “Meena’s always said she needed to bring the Dire Tome to the Green Dragon to destroy it. We all thought she meant the mountain itself. But that’s not what you meant, is it, Meena?”

  Meena shook her head.

  “Did you see the carving of dragons swimming in lava, back in the water chamber?” Sanych asked. When they nodded, she continued, “Earth magic is most powerful where volcanoes rise. Surely, here in the volcano’s magic-rich lava, a dragon could remain alive indefinitely. Meena’s not taking the Tome to throw it into the volcano. She’s taking it to the green dragon that lives inside it. Singing a song to save the world means singing to the dragon.”

  Everyone looked at Meena, who nodded once more, then stepped back to pick up the Tome again. “We’d better get going. I’m not sure how to find the main lava chamber unless I’m in the Heart of the Dragon.”

  “Wait,” Sanych said, catching Meena’s wrist. “There’s more, isn’t there.” It wasn’t a question.

  Meena’s eyes searched Sanych’s. “Yes.”

  “What do you mean?” Ahm asked.

  Geret sensed Sanych’s emotions, apparently managing to deduce the truth as she had. “But…why, Meena? After all you’ve done?” he asked.

  “It’s because of everything I’ve already done that I must also do this, Geret,” Meena said. “Halla hablah ‘anna ‘lah.”

  “‘Beyond death, victory,’“ Geret translated. “The original expedition’s motto.”

  “Its other translations are ‘success through death’, and ‘die trying’.”

  Geret’s brows lowered, and he exchanged a glance with Sanych, whose lip trembled.

  “Can we have the whole conversation out loud, please?” Salvor asked.

  “Meena’s going to die with the Tome.” Sanych’s words were flat.

  “No!” Ahm protested, stepping forward and putting his hands on the Shanallar’s shoulders. “We’ve just found you. Please, don’t leave us now.”

  Meena shrugged off his hands. “I’ve spent most of my life working to destroy this book right here,” she said, pointing down. Its wrapping was black and had nearly disintegrated in places. “I have made it my entire purpose. The one thing I constantly strived toward, no matter what else I was doing: whom I killed; whom I saved; which empires I raised or destroyed. I’ve dedicated my life to finding a way to rid the world of its evil forever. Now I have that way.”

  “But what does that have to do with you dying?” Sanych asked, her voice plaintive.

  “The dragon can destroy the Tome. My long life is a product of the Tome. Therefore, it can destroy me. And I want nothing less.”

  “Why?” Ahm asked. “You’ve done so much for the world; so much more awaits you!”

  Meena bit the inside of her lip. “You think I’m some grand heroine, wandering the world doing good. Well, I’m not. I’m a tool of my own making. I took this curse of immortality and turned it against the Dire Tome. My long life enabled me to plan this day, this very day, and execute it. I’ve used you mercilessly to make today happen—especially you, Sanych—and I make no apology for that. None whatsoever.

  “Don’t you see,” she asked, nearly pleading, “that in a world without the Dire Tome, there is no place for the selfish tool that destroyed it?”

  Sanych’s lip trembled. “But…the Tome’s making you say those things,” she said. “You’ve been carrying it for a while now, and it’s affecting you.”

  “It might be,” Meena agreed, “but that doesn’t make my words less true. Geret, you asked me our first day out of Highnave what it was I quested for. I suppose I owe you an answer, after all we’ve been through: One of my goals is revenge, for Arisson. The other is, and always was, death. I’ve lived too long, done too many terrible things. I want there to be a world in which no one has to fear the evil reach of the Dire Tome. But I also know I have no place in that world. It’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make. And standing around talking isn’t going to get this book destroyed.”

  Sanych threw her arms around Meena and wept.

  “Don’t try to dissuade me, child,” Meena warned.

  “I’m not,” Sanych said between sobs. “I’m just saying my goodbye now. Once you pick up that book, I might never get another chance.” She pulled back, wiping her eyes, and saw Meena pause as if struggling to recall a long-lost detail. Was the Shanallar fading before her very eyes?

  Then Meena smiled and hugged Sanych back. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in many, many years.” She bent and whispered a secret into Sanych’s ear. “And that’s enough chatter,” Meena added, stepping away and slinging the Dire Tome onto her back. She headed for the tunnel that glowed with lava-light. “Four hundred years is long enough.”

  The import of Meena’s choice pressed down on Sanych more strongly anything she’d ever felt; it seemed to weight her very feet. “Then I’ll blink us to the next corner,” she said, “and the next, until we find the lava pit.”

  Safely transported in Sanych’s light, they flashed past stunning scapes, the likes of which mortal eyes had not seen in millennia: gloriously fervent fountains of lava; grand, many-storied hot water pools that poured into one another down gentle stone slopes; more dragon sculptures. Once they saw a sunlit cavern that was open to the blindingly blue sky above. Its brightness made them wince, and Geret quipped that at least the weather outside was clearing up.

  “I’m glad for you,” Meena said; her tone made it clear she never expected to see the sky again.

  Sanych’s eyes welled with tears. Geret squeezed her hand, sending her his support and affection.

  “Not alone,” he murmured.

  Sanych leaned against his arm, wondering at how quickly she’d accepted the Oathbinding. Even now, she wasn’t sure if it was love or hardship that drove her to embrace his presence in her head.

  Many blinks later, Salvor raised his sword to mark the wall again, but paused at Meena’s excited voice.

  “There!” she breathed, pointing up a short tunnel to where a vivid orange glow filled the air. “Come, Sanych; we’re nearly finished!”

  Sanych blinked everyone to the end of the tunnel, where the rush and throb of pure earth magic nearly overwhelmed her. Her pupils dilated, and she squinted at the sight before her.

  The stone floor fell away near her feet, revealing a massive, lava-filled pit that dominated the large chamber. To the right of the tunnel mouth lay a wide, flat area, large e
nough to accommodate a few relaxing dragons. A smooth path of stone ran all the way around the pit in front of them. Several flat areas had been carved out of the sheer walls below: cozy perches with close-up views of the bubbling lava. Only one small island rose above the yellow glops of molten rock. Overhead, the walls rose, rough and blackened, to form the central cone of the volcano. The blue sky above was dimmed by wisps of smoke and ash.

  Meena suddenly staggered, nearly falling. When Ahm tried to steady her, she jerked away. “Get back,” she rasped. “The Tome senses my purpose.”

  A groan escaped her, and as the others watched, horrified, the flesh melted from her arms, then healed back into place. Meena cried out, panting.

  “Meena, what do we do?” Sanych asked.

  “Why I needed you, here at the end,” Meena grated. Her words blurred as her face burned to ash and regrew before their eyes. “Blink me down to the island, Sanych. Only you can help me s-sing the song to save the world.” Her body went into a seizure, and Sanych rushed to her side, bracing herself for the pain she knew the Tome would inflict on her.

  Geret held his arms out to keep his friends from getting too close to the vicious book, grimacing as he felt Sanych’s pain.

  Sanych and Meena blinked.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Sanych’s light stream drilled through the molten lava, evaporating it at a touch as she searched for the slumbering dragon Meena believed lived there. The island rose a sheer distance above the lava’s surface and was slightly concave on top, as if worn down by untold generations of dragons. Above on the ledge, she sensed Geret’s worry and wariness. Even with the Oath protecting her, she felt herself growing faint under the strain of the heat and the Tome’s efforts to kill her.

  Then, long after Sanych’s skin had begun to pour sweat, her magic found the dragon’s slumberous form, dark and featureless in the small circle of light in the lava below.

  “Meena!”

  The Shanallar raised her hands to her mouth. Strange, writhing words flowed out, lilting an otherworldly tune, echoing down the tunnel Sanych was burning open. Sanych had never heard their like; they had no relation to Shanallese, or any other language she had ever encountered.

  Long moments passed.

  A pair of curved, gleaming horns rose from the lava—silver-tipped, darkening to a light copper—followed by an olive-green forehead the size of a wagon, and a pair of bright silvery eyes that were each larger than Sanych’s head. A great snout appeared next; the molten rock drained away from the beast’s skin like water from oiled leather. The creature’s mouth, filled with pointed white teeth, parted below a pair of sealable nostrils. The dragon inhaled the superheated, smoky air, and its great silvery eyes closed as if smelling freshness after a rainstorm

  Sanych cut off the light tunnel in awe.

  The dragon’s head tilted to eye them on the small rocky island.

  Mortals, he greeted them, his massive mental voice echoing with surprise in their minds. Sanych staggered, nearly losing her footing as she craned her neck up to look at the dragon’s massive head.

  Yet, he corrected himself, one of you is not mortal.

  ~~~

  Above, the three men looked down into the lava pit. The pain of the intense heat added to the strain on Sanych, and Geret twitched and staggered, taking part of her pain through their bond. Salvor caught and steadied him.

  “Hold fast, Geret. They’ve found that dragon after all. She’ll be back soon.”

  “With the Oath protecting her, she’s going to stay with Meena ‘til the end,” Geret said, grimacing.

  “That end is closer than you think,” said a voice behind them. Geret whirled, seeing Oolat step from a camouflaged doorway into the broad resting area beside the tunnel. The Hand of Power crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Kill them!” he called.

  Dozens of Enforcers ran past either side of him, racing toward their prey at the edge of the volcanic pit. Salvor whipped his sword up, and Geret raised his as well.

  Ahm, however, slapped a hand on both of their shoulders and shouted, “Follow me!”

  Geret spun to see a silvery bridge that arched all the way across the broad lava pit. He and Salvor pivoted and bolted onto it, following on Ahm’s heels. The heat and wind was intense, swirling around Geret and tousling his hair.

  Many of the Enforcers raced across after them, while others began the long journey around the edge of the lava pit. Oolat shouted something from far behind, though his words were lost in the rumbling of the lava.

  Geret risked a glance below just as Sanych looked up, sensing him.

  As they reached the far side, Ahm panted, “Keep close, lads.” He leaped to the stone path and skittered on the its smooth surface, nearly slamming into the wall.

  Geret and Salvor leaped to either side of him. As soon as their feet were in the air, Ahm let his enchantment go. The metal bridge vanished. The nearest cultist was close enough to make the leap to the path also, but more than twenty men fell screaming into the lava pit.

  Salvor didn’t wait for the Enforcer behind them to regain his balance; he struck as the man was landing, his fiery blade pressing the man back toward the edge. The Enforcer swung his serrated sword, trying to ward off the fiery blue blade that leaped toward his chest, but all he accomplished was cutting his blade in two. When he paused to stare in dismay at his shortened weapon, Salvor drove his sword through the man’s chest. Then he dropped and whirled, his leg catching the man behind the ankles. With an agonized scream, the Enforcer fell into the pit, following his companions.

  “Not too shabby, for an arrogant fop,” Geret said.

  Salvor stood again, dusting himself off. “I learned from the best trickster in Vint.”

  Geret nodded and gave Salvor a quick salute with his sword.

  An enormous rocky hand, crackling with the sounds of cooling stone, glowing red between its knuckles, clasped the edge of the stone shelf they stood upon. Geret took an instinctive step back from its heat.

  Another hand joined the first, and the creature hauled itself up over the crater rim. Its eyes and mouth glowed with the deep orange of magmatic fire, and its body, ashy grey with deep cracks that glowed red, blocked the entire ledge.

  “And me without my roasting sausages,” Geret complained.

  ~~~

  The dragon braced his massive forelegs on the island and the far wall, then heaved himself further out of the lava, revealing slender, green-scaled shoulders and a pair of dark green wings folded flat against his back. The claws that tipped his massive forefeet were the same copper-to-silver as his horns.

  Oolat paused in his golem-summoning and stared with singular focus at the mythical creature in the lava pool. A look of fervent desperation made his face gaunt in the orange light. If he could destroy the dragon, the Dire Tome would survive even within the lava, and could eventually be retrieved. He raised his hands and flung an enormous bolt of disintegration energy at the beast.

  The dragon cocked a slender, rounded ear in his direction, then turned his head so quickly that he seemed a blur. Oolat’s magic evaporated into nothingness, vanishing before his eyes. With the same unimaginable speed, the dragon raised a talon, held one nostril shut, and blew a forceful snort at him. Oolat felt a hot force strike his body, slamming him into the side of the cavern. He blinked, shaking off the tingling sensation in his limbs, and found himself plastered to the wall with an enormous glob of yellow dragon snot.

  The resilient gooeyness of the massive booger held him fast. He swiped at the gluey material with his silvery claw, expecting it to reduce the snot to shreds. Instead, it had no effect whatsoever. His silver hand couldn’t make the tiniest impression in the mucus, but his normal hand could. He tried directing spells at the substance, but found to his horror that he could not.

  Organic barrier-magic? I must get free!

  The Great Tome and his glorious future were slipping from his grasp. Frantic, he began to rip at his gooey prison with his fleshly hand.r />
  ~~~

  Impertinent, the dragon’s voice rumbled in Sanych’s and Meena’s minds. Pray, continue, immortal mortal.

  “Great dragon, friend of mortals,” Meena began, “I beg your aid. Whilst you slept, mankind created an evil book that has wrought much destruction upon the world. Now there is no magic left to mortals that can match it, and the sentient book threatens to unleash its chaos upon us all. Shanal will be but the first victim of this wicked book, unless it can be destroyed. Will you save us from the Dire Tome?” Meena pointed to the book behind her.

  The dragon’s eyes narrowed to silver slits. It whipped its head down to the Tome faster than Sanych could follow. A moment later, the great beast snorted, and a blast of hot wind blew Sanych’s hair straight back from her head, making it crackle with electricity.

  Humans, the dragon began, its mental voice thick with surprise, this book is not the craft of your kind. The Great and Dire Tome of Ages is the ancient craft of dragons.

  “What?” Sanych blurted, pausing in the act of smoothing her hair down.

  Our gift to mortals, the dragon’s thoughts rumbled. Our bestowment of power, that they might not envy us. For millennia, it was used by your kind to craft wondrous things. Cities rose by the words on its pages, and the seas and their denizens were tamed so that exploration might be safer in your tiny tree-craft. Realms and empires expanded and firmed against the push of the unknown. Our gift was used well, and it pleased us. Though it was used by many masters, it began to spend more and more time hidden away; the era of humans was at hand, and they did not require the book’s assistance to create further wonders.

  Meena and Sanych both stood in silent shock.

  Then, slowly, the world waned. The color leached out of all we saw. Magic left the seas, the skies, the mortals themselves. Gradually, we dragons left our overland homes behind and moved deeper within the throbbing heart of the earth: the only place that yet held any color for us. He waggled his claws. You see my faded hues, existing so close to the surface as I do. I was once emerald and platinum. I gleamed like a child’s daydream. What little magic I now retain is barely enough to hold me together. I am shreds of a memory, nothing more.