Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2)

by Ripley Harper

  “Define ‘the first part’.”

  I give him a side-eyed look, then decide it’s best to get it over with. “Well, I definitely remember the part where you fell on your knees and called me your queen.”

  “Yeah okay, that was pretty awkward.” He laughs, a bit sheepishly.

  “You think?”

  “If you never mention it again, I won’t mention the time you farted in Art class.”

  “Daniel!”

  “Just saying. We all have moments we’re not exactly proud of.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his mother. “He looks pretty cured to me.”

  “And then some.”

  “When did you get better?” I ask him.

  “You mean you can’t remember?”

  “Not really.”

  They share a look.

  “What do you remember?” Sofia asks.

  I close my eyes. “I remember how dark the night was, and how beautiful the stars. I remember that there were many voices in my head. I remember that I had to save Daniel, and that I didn’t know how. The voices did though, and in the end they couldn’t stop me from learning what they knew.”

  “You actually heard voices?”

  I think about her question. “No. Not really. It was more subtle than that. More like… the presence of others. A realization that I’m not alone. That the magic in my veins has been shared by others, and that I’m just a temporary custodian of the power in my blood.”

  “Unbelievable.” Sofia leans forward, clearly fascinated. “What else can you remember?”

  I close my eyes, concentrating, and then have to grab my head against the searing pain. “No.” I open my eyes again. “That’s all I got. If I try to think back beyond that point, it becomes too painful.”

  Sofia frowns. “It’s the Pendragon Enthrallment. You must’ve had some insight that your brain refuses to process because it will break the spell they placed on you.” She scrunches up her face as she thinks. “Let’s see if we can get around it. Try not to focus on specific memories. Let your thoughts flow through you; simply accept what comes and don’t delve too deeply.”

  I try to relax, to do what she said. But it’s like trying to recall a very vivid dream the next morning. There are flashes of feelings and colors and faces, but nothing specific. Nothing that makes any real sense in the light of day.

  “I had to do something very intricate and difficult,” I say slowly, trying to find a path through the fog in my brain. “I had to separate something from something else, and it was really hard, like trying to pluck individual flames from a fire.” I close my eyes again but this time I don’t concentrate. Instead I try to relax, to lose myself in my feelings rather than specific thoughts. “I remember being absolutely terrified that I wouldn’t get it right. That I would make it all worse instead of better. I did my best, but I got so incredibly tired, so soon, and it all seemed so hopeless.”

  After about a minute I open my eyes. “That’s it. The rest is gone.”

  “That’s what you remember?” Daniel gives me a disbelieving look.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Oh my God. That’s tragic.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because you were incredible.” He sits up again, his face shining with boyish excitement. “I don’t know why you remember being hopeless and terrified and depressed and finding it all so difficult, because that wasn’t what it was like at all. It was more like…” He waves his hands around, looking for the right words. “Like you were a superstar televangelist straight from the deep South, faith-healing the flag on the fourth of July!”

  I give a little snort of laughter. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means you walked around all those kneeling people, shining like a motherfu-…” he glances at Sofia, “like a torch, and whacking each of them right on the forehead—Boom! —before telling them in this really deep, beautiful voice that you’re setting them free and that you forgive them their debt. Or something like that. And every time you touched their foreheads there was this blast of fireworks in all the colors of the fu—… of the rainbow, until it looked as if you’d set the night itself on fire. And then, after you got fireworks to explode from their heads, everyone still wanted to kneel before you—I mean, obviously—but you pulled each of them up, one by one, and you told them to go back to their lives and to live it well. And everyone was crying and laughing and it was totally awesome.”

  I look at Sofia. “This really happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not exaggerating?”

  “If anything, he’s not doing you any justice.” She gives Daniel a very motherly look. “My son’s vocabulary has never been his strongest point.”

  “So I did okay?”

  “Dude. Have you been listening to a word I’m saying?”

  “I guess I’m not used to things turning out well.”

  “Yeah.” A flicker of unease in his eyes. “I guess things did turn out pretty well, under the circumstances.”

  Before I can ask what he means, there’s a brief knock on the door.

  Ingrid enters. “I thought you might be hungry,” she says as she hands me a plate of what looks like lasagna. The delicious smell wafting from the food immediately makes my mouth water.

  “Thanks.” I take the plate from her. “This looks great.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I say around my first big mouthful. (Wow. Yes. Lasagna.) “Great, actually. Where’s Gunn?”

  She lifts a disapproving eyebrow. “He’s keeping an eye on your new fans outside. Just in case one of them gets a little over-excited about your awakening.”

  “What new fans?” A shiver of dread pulses through me. “Did more of them arrive?”

  “No.” Sofia shoots Ingrid an irritated look. “It’s the same people. What Ingrid is trying to say is that none of them have left yet. They were waiting for you to wake up.”

  “I thought you said they were cured?”

  “They are. Completely cured.”

  “So what are they still doing here?”

  There’s a short, tense silence. Ingrid glares at Sofia. Sofia glares at Daniel. Daniel shrugs. “They’re grateful for what you did,” he says. “They feel they owe you, and they want to help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “The Skykeepers know where we are. There have been two attacks while you were in your resting state.”

  “Oh God.” I put my plate down, suddenly sick.

  He gives my shoulder an awkward little squeeze. “In many ways, it turned out okay. We’re in a good spot here: we could see them coming from miles away. And although they were better armed, they didn’t expect you to have your own personal guard, so that really helped.”

  “What personal guard?” I ask, my mind reeling.

  “There are eighteen keepers out there, all ready and eager to help you in any way they can. Twenty, if you count Ingrid and Gunn.”

  “Did anyone get hurt?”

  Another brief silence.

  “Four Skykeepers were killed,” Sofia says quietly. “One of them was ours.”

  I put my hands over my mouth.

  Daniel gives my shoulder another squeeze. “It’s bad, I know. But it could’ve been worse. Two Bloodkeepers and a Seakeeper were seriously injured in the first attack. We thought we were going to lose them, but one of the Earthkeepers here turned out to be a very competent healer. All three of them are on the mend now. And the three Skykeepers prisoners are going to be fine.”

  “I think I’m going to need some water.”

  Daniel hands me a glass and I drain it in one long gulp. The water helps a little, centering me to my body, to my life, to this moment. But my mind is still spinning, wildly jumping from one thought to the next, trying to make sense of everything he told me. “What do you mean: one of the Skykeepers who died was ours?”

  It’s Sofia who answers. “Five of the keepers you set free last week were White. Skykeepers
seem to be no more immune to your shine than any of the other clans.” She shares a quick, complicated look with Daniel. “There are now four Skykeepers waiting for you outside. Jean-Marc, the Frenchman, died in the first attack.”

  I clench the glass between my hands. “I can’t stand the idea of people dying for me.”

  “He didn’t die for you,” Sofia says. “By that time, he was a free man with his own mind. His own will. He chose to stay because he knew you needed protection while you were in your resting state. It was his own decision, freely made.”

  Her words don’t make me feel any better. I look at Daniel. “Are we really keeping three Skykeepers prisoner?”

  He nods. “Both attacks happened in the middle of the night. They sneaked up on us in groups of three. The first attack was on Wednesday and the second last night. These weren’t normal Skykeepers either. They’re professional soldiers, members of the White Lady’s own personal Skyguard, and they knew exactly what they were doing.”

  “How did you manage to fight them? None of the people outside are soldiers, are they?”

  “No. But they are keepers. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to attack a group of keepers from four different clans, all working together. They badly underestimated what they were up against.”

  “I don’t understand. Did you fight them with, like, magic?”

  “No. They used normal weapons and so did we. But the magic helped. We had Seakeepers here, so the darkness didn’t hide the attackers in the way they thought it would. And we had Bloodkeepers to confuse them, and Earthkeepers to heal the wounded, and Skykeepers to probe the minds of the prisoners.”

  Whenever Daniel tries to put a positive spin on a bad situation, he gets a certain tight, falsely cheerful expression on his face. Exactly like the one he’s wearing right now.

  “The Skykeepers who died. How did it happen?”

  “Jean-Marc was killed in an explosion on the first night. That’s how the two Bloodkeepers and the Seakeeper got injured too. They shot a grenade into the house; we knew they were coming, but we didn’t expect that. Two of the attackers were killed in the shootout that followed.”

  “Okay.”

  “Last night, we ambushed them long before they reached the house. Our Skykeepers probed the prisoner we took on Wednesday, so we knew what kind of firepower they were carrying, and we didn’t want to take any chances. Individually, none of the Bloodkeepers here are very strong, but together they managed to create enough of an illusion to hide Gunn and Ingrid from the attackers until they could get close enough to work their magic. The Black clan has its own powers, as you know.”

  I look at Ingrid, but her face gives nothing away.

  “Long story short, it worked. None of us were hurt last night, and the three attackers weren’t too badly injured.”

  I frown. “So there are four prisoners altogether?”

  “No.” He looks down. One of the Skykeepers we captured last night took his own life.”

  “What?” My heart kicks against my chest. “Why would he do something like that?”

  Nobody answers.

  “The important thing,” Sofia says when the silence stretches too long, “is to get you out of here. The attacks so far were little more than scouting missions. If the White Lady decides to send any real numbers this way, we’re in serious trouble.”

  “So what?” I ask. “The Pendragons?”

  “Yes. We were waiting for your awakening. If you’re feeling okay, we need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” She hesitates. “Look, you probably need to say something to those keepers outside. They’re not going to leave until they know you’re okay.”

  I glance at the door, overwhelmed with a sudden dread.

  “Can I take a shower first?”

  “Not really,” Daniel says. “Our water supply was damaged in the grenade attack, so we’re rationing water. Which is another good reason why we should get out of here soon.”

  I nod, pick up my plate again and eat the last of the cold lasagna. The food helps.

  I can do this.

  “Okay. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Sofia smiles approvingly. “Just walk out there and be yourself.”

  “I thought I had to be their queen.” The note of childishness in my voice embarrasses me; I’m immediately sorry I said it.

  But she doesn’t seem to mind. “They’re all normal now, Jess. I promise you. They may be a bit in awe of you, but they’re not zombies any longer. Talk to them. Tell them to go home.”

  I get up, my legs surprisingly steady beneath me.

  Before I can go anywhere, Daniel grabs my hand. “Dude. You realize the Skykeepers can’t go home.”

  “That’s not our problem,” Ingrid says coldly.

  Daniel ignores her. “The White Lady will never forgive them. If you send them home now, you’re signing their death warrants.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “We should take them with us.”

  “Absolutely not!” Ingrid hisses. “I won’t allow it.”

  I look at her lined, attractive face. This woman who loved my mother so much that she still suffers the agonies of hell every day, thinking of her horrible death. The same woman who stood by while they tortured me for weeks and weeks, until I almost broke.

  “It’s not for you to decide,” I tell her, my voice neutral. Then I turn back to Daniel. “Would they want to come with us?”

  He nods, relieved, and lets go of my hand. “They feel they owe you a great debt. But also, they have nowhere else to go. None of the other Clan leaders will challenge the White Lady directly.”

  Ingrid, however, is far from finished. “Little one. Please. Listen to me. It would be sheer folly to allow a group of Skykeepers into our midst. Their shine-sickness is gone; they are not yours to command any longer. To trust them would be madness.”

  “I know you hate all Skykeepers, Ingrid,” I sigh, frustrated. “But I can’t send them home to die.”

  She raises her chin, her mouth a thin, forbidding line. “You don’t know your own history, and that’s partly my fault. But you need to listen to me. Those people are your enemies. You cannot trust them.”

  “I told you. I know how you feel.”

  “This is not about my feelings! I know you don’t trust me anymore, and that’s my fault too. I’ve made so many mistakes. But you can trust me on this. I swear it on my life! On your life. On Gunnar’s.” Her dark blue gaze is equal parts determination and desperation. “People like them have been killing people like you for centuries. They’ve hunted your kind almost to the brink of extinction! If you only knew what the White Clan has done to girls like you –”

  “I certainly know what the Black Clan has done to girls like me,” I interrupt her tirade, fighting to keep my voice even. “I felt that on my own body. So I don’t think you’re the right person to be pointing any fingers.”

  She doesn’t back down. “I did what I did out of concern for you. You’ll never know what their motivations are.”

  I smile wryly. “Oh, I’ll know. Haven’t you heard? I’m a firemaster now.”

  Then I walk out the door to face the people outside.

  Chapter 20

  Curiously, almost all the heroes known for bringing the power of fire to mortal men and women meet terrible or tragic fates.

  Sticks of fire are tied to Coyote’s tail. The mantis who helped the Basarwa people burns to death. And Prometheus is bound to a rock to suffer the most excruciating, endless torture: every day an eagle is sent down from heaven to feast on his liver, and every night it regenerates again only so that the eagle can feast all over again the next day.

  From Myth, History, and the Order of Keepers, by Sofia Rodriguez (2000)

  They all turn out to be completely normal. Not a single freak among them.

  They come from all over the world: they have different accents, different hairstyles, differen
t eye shapes, different clothes, different skin colors. The only thing they have in common is that they all speak English pretty fluently. (Which makes sense; their Clan leaders wouldn’t have called them to witness my trial last year if they hadn’t been able to understand the proceedings.)

  Some of them are shy and quiet, some are loud and confident, some are warm and friendly, some are nervous and wary. They wait for me in a loose queue stretching through the house, and I speak to them one-by-one, taking my time with each of them.

  Antoni, the Polish businessman, shakes my hand and thanks me with such quiet dignity that I get lump in my throat. He has pale blue eyes, and such fair skin that it’s still red, blistered and peeling a week after his ordeal in the desert. Apart from his sunburnt skin, however, there’s absolutely no trace left of the crazed fanatic who arrived here a week ago. He seems shy and sweet and a little bit formal, as if he comes from an age when people had better manners.

  The old man who cut his hand on my window turns out to be a famous TV star from Nigeria. His name is Olawale and he apologizes for breaking my window with such humorous, delightful charm that I’d have sworn he was flirting with me if he’d been fifty years younger. It is only when he thanks me for freeing him “from the sweet depths of oblivion,” his eyes tearing up, that I realize how much he must have suffered. I walk away humbled by his gratitude and unbelievably relieved that I could help him.

  There are more faces, more names, more stories.

  I patiently listen to all of them and what amazes me most, after the first hour or so, is that nobody seems to blame me for what happened to them. Not in the least. They just seem grateful for my help and awed by my presence and eager to offer their help to me in return.

  After a while, I realize that I’m smiling. And this time it’s not the false smile of bravado I pasted onto my face when I walked out of my bedroom earlier. It’s a real smile: wide and open and happy and relieved.

  Sofia was right. I did something good.

  It’s a strangely unfamiliar feeling, to realize that I’m enjoying myself. I like being here, with these people. I like the way they look at me, the way they talk to me.