Dragon Child

by Elana A. Mugdan

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “The truth is the truth, regardless of whether you believe it or not.”

  ~ Adair Galestorm, Eighth Age

  Keriya followed the stream uphill, winding around the boulders that peppered its banks. She lashed out at a low-hanging branch, snapping it from its mother limb. She stubbed her toe on a small rock and kicked it into the darkness.

  Onward she climbed, until she burst from the forest onto the stone peak of the basin. She stopped at the edge of a cliff, surveying the countryside stretching beneath her. The night was clear and crisp. The Bloodmoon was rising in the west and the Oldmoon hung overhead, fat and useless.

  Keriya sank to the ground. She had known they were taking a risk. There had never been any guarantee that Uhs could help them.

  She still felt betrayed.

  Something hot and toxic swelled in her heart. This was the werelion’s fault. He should have been upfront about his plans and abilities. Actually, it was Shivnath’s fault—she had abandoned Keriya, leaving her with no magic, no information, no viable way to make the right choices concerning Thorion’s health.

  “What now, Shivnath?” Keriya murmured, slumping sideways to rest her cheek on the cold rock. “What can I possibly do now?”

  At some point she must have drifted off, because she was woken by a voice whispering in her ear. She sat up and found a cloaked figure kneeling beside her. His face was hidden in the shadows of his deep cowl, but two pinpricks of orange light glowed where his eyes should have been.

  “Necrovar?” It didn’t look like the Necrovar she knew—though to be fair, she’d never seen the real Necrovar. For all that this figure looked like a man, he reminded her forcibly of the splotch of darkness she’d dreamt of in Shivnath’s cave.

  “Throughout the ages I’ve been called many things, and I have never been partial to Necrovar.” His voice was melodic, seductive, dangerous. “It simply means ‘darkness’—it doesn’t capture who I am. You could call me the Lord of Shadow Lords, the Great Mage, Prince of Demons—”

  “Or Helkryvt,” she interrupted.

  The fiery pinpricks flickered. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”

  “Why’d you do it, Helkryvt? Why let the physical manifestation of evil into your soul?” She didn’t know why she was goading him—she was easy prey without her sword.

  A low rumble emanated from Necrovar, a growl more tangible than audible. It hummed in Keriya’s chest, dark and sinister. “I wanted to eradicate evil. Helkryvt was a human who wanted the same thing. I had the power to do so, but not the ability to wield; he had the ability to wield, but not the necessary power. When I fused with his soul, we became one and canceled out each others’ weaknesses. Since then, everything we’ve done is to create a better world.”

  Keriya barked a laugh. This monster was delusional.

  “Why would you think of me as a monster?” he asked, responding to her thoughts.

  “Well, there was that time you tried to murder me. Oh, and you’re killing my dragon.”

  He shrugged. “Only and always for the greater good. Dragons and their rheenarae wielded a dangerous magic that once brought Selaras to the brink of destruction. I tried to save the world, but your kind wielded against me at every turn. You started this war, not me.”

  Though Keriya didn’t believe that, her knowledge of the Great War was limited to the scattered fragments of information she’d gathered along the way. All she knew was that Necrovar had tried to conquer the world and kill the dragons, and in the process he had destroyed the delicate magical balance.

  “Dragons caused the imbalance, Keriya, make no mistake about that,” he said. “If you don’t think they are guilty, why do you think they were imprisoned?”

  “Because of you,” she shot back. “Shivnath told me that in order to banish you from Selaras, the gods also had to banish a power equal and opposite to yours. In order to get rid of the darkness, they had to sacrifice creatures of light.”

  “Do you blame the gods for that sacrifice?”

  Keriya frowned. “They had no choice. Otherwise you would’ve taken over the world—or destroyed it.”

  “If you don’t fault the gods for the collateral damage of their meddling,” he began in silky tones, “you shouldn’t fault me for the deaths that will occur if mortals resist my return. The Etherworld binds my body, but my spirit can touch and observe Selaras, and every day I see the world slip further in its wicked ways. So you tell me, Keriya: should I retreat into the confines of my prison to rot for the rest of eternity? Should I stand aside and let your evil prevail? Or should I fight to fix it?”

  Keriya supposed that answer depended on whose evil was greater: Necrovar’s or the humans’. Though she hated Necrovar, she couldn’t deny the humans had proved they could be as ruthless and cruel as the Shadow.

  “Evil has taken many forms over the years. Its nature is to hide, or better yet, to masquerade as righteousness.” His voice had become a growl that sounded like dead things rotting and living things dying. “You had the answer in the rainforest. You knew who the evil ones were. Do I have blood on my hands? Of course I do. In the war for peace, none are innocent.”

  “What about Thorion? He’s innocent! He’s done nothing to be punished for.”

  “Certainly he has,” said Necrovar. “All the killing and violence, all the discord and imbalance he’s spread throughout Allentria—”

  “None of that was his fault,” she cried. “Those things happened because of me! They were my fault.”

  Keriya hadn’t meant to say that. The words had tumbled from her.

  “Ahh . . . a woman after my own heart,” he breathed. “A human who takes responsibility for her choices and actions is a rare creature indeed; but I assure you, everything Thorion has done has been by his own choice.”

  “No. You don’t know what it’s like to be bonded—”

  “Silence,” he roared, rising to his full height in a blast of shadow that swirled outwards from him. Black wisps sliced through Keriya, chilling her to the bone. “Don’t condescend to me. Don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like—I know everything. You never speak to me like that!”

  Keriya didn’t care how angry she made him. She shoved herself to her feet, squaring off against him. “Thorion isn’t evil!” She wanted to drill that into Necrovar’s thick skull, to make him understand that he was wrong.

  “All dragons are evil.”

  “Maybe you’re evil for thinking like that!”

  “I THINK THAT BECAUSE IT’S TRUE!” Thunder shook the skies and lightning flashed down, searing a blackened scar into the rocks between them. “I know what they are, and to save the world from them, I will destroy them.”

  “Then you’re a hypocrite,” she screamed. “You don’t just punish the wicked, you punish whoever opposes you.”

  “If you don’t support me, then you don’t support peace, “ he snarled. “That is reason enough to punish you.”

  The way he emphasized the word “you” sent fear ricocheting through Keriya.

  “Oh, you’re hardly innocent,” he taunted her. “I could recite the long list of your crimes if you wish. We can start with the most obvious: what you did to your little dragon.”

  His words struck Keriya, leaching all her strength from her.

  He’s right. The thought echoed in her head. It’s my fault. She’d known that from the beginning, but hearing it from Necrovar transformed it from self-loathing into truth.

  She had killed her dragon.

  Her knees gave way. She crumpled to the ground, staring blankly ahead of her and seeing nothing. The winds died and the mountain stilled. The Shadow crouched before her.

  “Now you see.” His voice was soft, almost sorrowful. He began to melt before her eyes, withering into the darkness.

  “Wait,” she cried. Miraculously, he
hesitated. Steeling herself with a shaky breath, she looked him straight in the eye. “I won’t deny I’m evil. But do not punish my dragon for that. Punish me.”

  Necrovar smiled. “I am.”

  Keriya jolted awake. The morning sun spread thin, watery rays across the plains below. Of Necrovar, there was no trace—the cracks in the boulders and the scorch marks of the lightning had vanished.

  “Only a dream,” she whispered. The details of the conversation were already growing murky, but she had a feeling that this nighttime visit to her subconscious wouldn’t be his last.

  Keriya didn’t share the disturbing dream with anyone. She spent the next few days in a trance-like state. Thorion was avoiding everyone, and she gave him his space. She was no good at comforting people, even when she didn’t feel like she was drowning in an ocean of despair. Anything she did would make things worse.

  She rose early the day before the full moon. Sighing and stretching her sore muscles, she looked around. Seba was curled in her bedroll near the fire pit. Max was leaned against the side of the sandy copse, his breathing slow and easy. Thorion lay nearby in the long grass. He looked a little too tense for Keriya to believe he was asleep, but she let him pretend.

  So as not to wake her friends, she quietly made her way to the stream and washed her face. She sat on the bank as the sun rose. No one came looking for her, which suited her fine.

  At midday she returned to the cave. Seba was up, tending a fire.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “Thorion’s been alone all morning.”

  Keriya didn’t appreciate Seba’s suggestion that she was a neglectful guardian, but the princess had a point.

  “Thorion? Are you around?” she called, heading toward the forest. She could have pinpointed him by reaching out telepathically, but she wanted to keep her consciousness in the confines of her own head. She was harboring too many dark thoughts she didn’t want him to see.

  There was a soft rustle to her left. Keriya jumped and squinted into the trees. “Hello?” she said, reaching foolishly for a sword that hadn’t been at her side for months. A large shape was moving through the underbrush. With a glint of yellow eyes, Uhs emerged from the shadows.

  “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

  Uhs looked like a lion now—not that Keriya knew what a proper lion looked like. The closest thing they’d had in Aeria were wolfcats, which were smaller and much less intimidating than the tawny-furred beast the healer had become.

  “Hello, little dragon-child.” Uhs sniffed at her. “No, you don’t seem to have gotten any better. Nor have you gotten any worse.”

  “What a relief,” Keriya grumbled as he trotted to a shrub with pale green buds sprouting from its branches. “Are you ready for the healing?”

  “Yes. We will perform the ritual tomorrow night, when the Oldmoon has risen to its zenith,” said Uhs. He nibbled on one of the buds and dug a marker in the soft earth by the bush. With a swish of his tail, he turned south.

  “What do you know about the Great War?” The words were out of her mouth before she had decided whether she really wanted to talk to Uhs.

  “I know little about the first war with the Shadow. I was not alive back then.”

  “But you know about Valerion.” She followed the werelion, hurrying to match his loping gait. “You quoted that poem. I know it, too.”

  When Keriya had crossed Shivnath’s Mountains, she’d spent a day in the dragon god’s cave. She had gone snooping and found an ancient book that had contained the poem on its final page.

  “I do know Valerion,” said Uhs. “He wrote the poem you speak of.”

  “You called it a prophecy. I remember the rest of it goes, ‘Eternity binds only those who are dead, but thence from this spell shall I rise once again.’ What’s that referring to? Did the gods bring Valerion back to life?”

  “That which happens through mortal acts cannot be undone,” Uhs informed her. “That is the eighth binding law. It is why the gods can’t bring anyone back from the Land of the Dead.”

  “Shivnath brought me back,” she countered. Uhs turned his head—which was the size of Keriya’s torso—to give her an unimpressed look. “I drowned in the waters off the coast of Aeria. I woke up alone in a place of darkness, not knowing who I was. I was this empty thing . . . no memories, no identity, no purpose . . .” She shivered as she recalled the endless void.

  “Hm. It sounds like you were in the Limbus, the space that exists between universes. I went there when I died once,” he said conversationally. “You didn’t cross the River of Time, your soul was merely in transition. Still, not sure why she was able to tamper with you in such a drastic way. Might be any number of reasons. Might explain what’s wrong with you if we knew.”

  “There is nothing wrong with me,” she grated, though the voice in her head screamed, Liar. “Anyway, that’s not the point. I want to know if the gods brought Valerion back to life after they performed the exorcism.”

  Uhs laughed. The sound was garbled by his lion form, sounding like something between a purr and a hiss. “You misunderstand what an exorcism is.”

  “Then explain it to me,” she challenged. “I studied with Erasmus for years. I know a lot about magical theory. I’m not stupid, I just have the bad luck of always talking to people or dragons or werelions who refuse to give me a straight answer.”

  “Valerion offered his magic to the gods, providing them with a source of energy to wield against Necrovar,” said Uhs. “That was not an exorcism—that was a sacrifice. And mortals sang Valerion’s praises for the next ten ages because they believed he’d sacrificed himself for them.”

  “Well, didn’t he?”

  “No. He had another plan, you see, a secret plan. He feared death, so he took steps to ensure his resurrection.”

  “You told me the gods can’t bring anyone back.”

  “The gods can’t.” Uhs stopped walking and fixed her with a beady eye. “Can you think of no one else who has the power to raise beasts from the dead?”

  Keriya stopped, too. A tingling realization seeped through her. “Valerion can’t have given his soul to Necrovar,” she said, waving her hand to swat away the idea like she would a pesky fly.

  Uhs rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

  “That would mean he returned as a shadowbeast,” she breathed. “That’s impossible.”

  “Valerion tried to cheat death and the Shadow. But you cannot cheat the Shadow,” Uhs told her solemnly. “He wanted life and freedom . . . and in his quest for both, he ended up with neither.”

  Keriya scowled. “Then he died? The exorcism didn’t work?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You haven’t said anything,” she griped, though that wasn’t true. Uhs was being cryptic, but she was getting more information from him than she’d ever gotten from Shivnath in a single sitting.

  “I just want to save Thorion,” she continued, fighting to keep her voice calm. “The unicorn said our only hope was to do as Valerion had done, and you said Valerion exorcised half his soul.”

  “He did,” said Uhs. “But he only did it so he could barter the other half of his soul to the Shadow. Necrovar kept him alive, not the exorcism.”

  She folded her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to take my word for it. Ask your dragon.”

  All dragons were connected in a unified consciousness—and though Thorion no longer had access to the hive-mind of his kin, this did seem like the kind of thing every self-respecting dragon would know. But surely he would have told Keriya if he had known something as important as this.

  Wouldn’t he?

  She didn’t like the idea that Thorion might be keeping secrets from her, so she said aloud, “Thorion wouldn’t keep secrets from me.”

  “All the dragons have ever done is keep secrets.”
/>
  “Not Thorion,” she insisted. “Not from me.”

  “You are beyond naïve if you think he would share the secrets of his kin with you,” Uhs scoffed. “Never trust a dragon.”

  “Now you sound like Necrovar. Sure you aren’t working for him?”

  “It’s common sense, really, not trusting dragons,” Uhs went on, as if he hadn’t heard Keriya’s remark. “Especially when you consider everything Valerion did.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “That isn’t a very nice thing to say. Though in your defense, you probably don’t know. I suspect most mortals don’t know, come to that.”

  Keriya closed her eyes. She knew Uhs was baiting her, knew he was just desperate for attention, but her curiosity overpowered her desire to leave. Without looking at him, she asked, “Don’t know what?”

  “That Valerion was a dragon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “A brave soul is pieced together by small acts of courage.”

  ~ Aurelion Moonclaw, in the Age before Ages

  Effrax’s innkeeper friend turned out to be Grov.

  Fletcher found this to be a pleasant surprise. Grov had given them free room and board during their first visit to Noryk. He’d also made them wash dishes, but Fletcher hadn’t minded that as much as Keriya and Roxanne had.

  Roxanne was less happy to see Grov—perhaps remembering those sweltering dish-washing days—and said it was no surprise that Effrax had brought them here.

  “Lucky though, isn’t it?” said Fletcher. “Of all the places we could have ended up, we come to one where we know the owner.”

  “There’s a reason we’re here, and it isn’t luck,” snapped Roxanne. “This proves Effrax is as much a criminal as Cezon was.”

  Grov wasn’t too thrilled to see them, either. He told Effrax he’d seen their faces plastered all over the city, that they were wanted by the government, and that if they didn’t leave straightaway he would bring them in himself and claim the bounty on them.

  “They been sayin’ you’re a war criminal,” Grov grunted, pointing at Effrax with a meaty finger. “What’ve you done that’s landed you in such hot water?”