The Prince of Earthen Fire

by B C Penling

  Peace swept through Lana’s heart. “This is what it was like before the Warisai.”

  The sphere lifted off the ground and slowly traversed over the top of the wheat and stopped at the base of the hill. Oddly, it was the only thing that was still barren and black as stone. Lana wracked her brain, trying to think of an explanation or meaning to it all.

  Unexpectedly, a large orange eye appeared among the black and stared at Lana. A massive head on a thick, long neck turned to look at her. Two, burning eyes stared at her. Its tail uncurled to reveal four strong legs. It stood up and spread its wings.

  “Don’t be afraid,” it said in the deepest rumbling voice she had ever heard. “I won’t harm you.”

  Lana could not find the words to reply.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  Lana shook her head.

  “I am the dragon, Magnen,” he said.

  “But, you were slain.”

  “Try as they might, they could not slay me completely. My spirit lives on,” he said.

  He stood at full height, twice that of Zen, and looked around. “As you can see, this is the world of the old Genetricis. It was pristine and beautiful.”

  “The way it should be,” Lana said.

  “Yes,” Magnen nodded. “It looked like this during my reign and began to change as the Warisai poisoned the land with their sinful presence. They may have come forth from Drakymen, but dragons they are not fully. The sins of man from the otherworld came with them after brooding in their hearts for centuries. I tried to sway them from their paths but Donohue Dansrivan had other ideas. He slayed me, as I knew he would, and I fell at this very spot.”

  “Your body is the hill, isn’t it?” Lana asked, suddenly intrigued at the thought. "Dragons return to the earth."

  “It is,” he confirmed. “When Dansrivan drew his weapon on me, he made the ultimate disruption of peace. That peace must now be restored or risk killing the rest of Dagan. Lana, you must help reinstate the old ways and guide the pathways thereafter. My heart chose you, Lana.”

  Magnen smiled kindly, much like Zen did. Lana felt a wave of love sweep over her and fill her heart.

  “You mustn’t allow Donovan to win. He will consume everything upon Dagan if he is to combine the pieces of my heart. You have the most important piece, the piece that allows rejoining. On the anniversary of my death he’ll try to unite my heart." He lowered his head to her level. "Make him fail.”

  Lana nodded. “I don’t plan on seeing him again,” she said. “I’ll run forever if I have to.”

  “Donovan has already found too many pieces,” Magnen said frankly. “He must not find the last one and he must not get you back. Through you, he can join the heart and through you can desolate the world. Donovan isn’t capable of rejoining it on his own. His heart is too evil and corrupt.”

  Magnen looked around. “Death is a lonely journey, Lana. Don’t travel that road.”

  He turned his gaze back to Lana. “To the north is a large city, led by men. They have strong loyalties and are against the Warisai. It is a long journey, harrowing at some places but it is the only safe place on Genetricis. They will welcome you.”

  “Running to them doesn’t get rid of the threat,” Lana said.

  “No, it doesn’t.” An understanding smile crossed his face. “It would take an army for that. You, Lana, daughter of Arloen, have the heart to raise one.”

  He pointed at Lana and the Septum glowed and pulsed twice.

  She stared deep into his eyes, reminiscent of Zen’s eyes.

  “Return the balance and restore the lives of many,” he said. “My kin shouldn’t have to hide in mountain caves or carry burdens as slaves. They should fly free over the land I created, riding the sultry air currents made from my breath. It is how it should be.”

  “I will try my hardest to return your dragons to the sky.”

  “Our dragons, Lana. We cannot forget your dragon, Zenith. He’s coming for you. He never abandoned his will to find you. Now, travel well and travel swift. Be mindful of what stalks you from the skies.”

  She found herself speechless again so she bowed her head. He returned the gesture and the sphere lifted her from the wheat and moved her across the field and over to the foot of the mountain range. Her feet touched the rocky soil and the spinning wind slowed around her. The green trees, shrubs and grasses began to diminish. The last image Lana saw, before the beauty of Genetricis faded to wastelands, was of Magnen standing proudly atop the hill where he died; a hill aptly named, Magnen’s Folly.