Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2)

by Ripley Harper

  “All I saw was a plane. It appears out of nowhere, suddenly.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes as she turns her vision inwards, and when she speaks again, she sounds calmer, almost resigned. “It’s not a passenger plane. It’s one of those tiny little ones that people fly for fun. It swoops down, too loud and far too low, until we think it’s going to crash into the house. We’re relieved to see it rising, so relieved that at first we don’t even notice it’s raining black tears. But then… So many explosions. Screams and smoke and blood. Fire everywhere. Death for everyone.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Gunn takes his arms from her shoulders and turns to my Skykeepers. “How strong is your magic?”

  “Strong enough,” Michael says.

  “All four of you have Control of air and wind?”

  Alania, the dark-haired girl answers. “We all have some Control. I am the weakest; Iryna the strongest.”

  Gunn looks at Iryna, the youngest sister. “Can you force a light aircraft off course?”

  “I have never done it before. But we should be able to achieve this without great difficulty if we work together.”

  “You can combine your power?” Gunn asks.

  “Before, no. The White Lady fears the strength of others; she will not give such power. But our queen has bound us together now. We have very much, very strong Skymagic because of this.”

  “Good.” He walks past the prisoners, opens the sliding doors and leaps down the steps. Once outside, he motions us to follow.

  “Shondra. Which direction will the plane come from?”

  She closes her eyes, then points. “From there.”

  “South-East. Right.” He looks at my Skykeepers. “Do whatever you need to do to get ready. When that plane appears, you have one job: stop it before it reaches the house. Way before, preferably. We don’t know what kind of explosives they have, what the reach could be.”

  “What exactly do you want us to do?” Michael asks.

  Gunn doesn’t even blink. “Force a landing, if you can. Otherwise, crash it.”

  Michael nods, his face grim.

  My Skykeepers take each other’s hands to form a tight little circle. Only Iryna, the youngest, faces South-East, her eyes open, waiting calmly. The other three close their eyes tightly, concentrating on something deep inside themselves. After a few seconds, Alania falls to her knees, as if she doesn’t have enough strength left to stand. Then Dasha follows. Then Michael. After a few seconds all three of them slump down on the sand, as if they’re too weak to even kneel. But their hands remain clasped; their eyes remain closed. It’s clear they’re lost in concentration.

  Iryna calmly turns her whole head to me, a weird, reptile-like movement. “I am now ready, my queen. For you, I will pluck that airplane from the sky. I have so much power in me now, I feel I can bring down even the sun.” She looks so supremely confident that she suddenly seems a lot older than fifteen years. Her eyes look ancient, actually. Beautiful. And perhaps not completely human.

  Something tugs at me. Snatches and fragments from a dream. Something to do with beautiful, glittering ancient eyes.

  I shake it off. Focus on the moment.

  Far off, I imagine hearing the faint sound of an engine. And then I see it. A distant speck appearing in the sky.

  From the South-East.

  “That’s great,” I tell Iryna. “But please don’t bring down the sun. Concentrate on that thing over there.” I point at the plane.

  She nods, somberly. “I will do what my queen comma –”

  Smack!

  The missile comes out of nowhere. It flies through the air for a split second, far too quickly for anyone to react, nothing but a small, black blur. When it hits Iryna’s head there’s a dull thud and then she crumples to the ground in a heap. At the exact moment of her fall, a shiver goes through the group, still clasping hands. It seems almost like an electric current: a brief vicious jolt, shuddering bodies, and then they’re all lying on the ground, unconscious and totally helpless. Perhaps even dead.

  All this happens in a second. In the time it takes for me to look from my Skykeepers to the direction that the missile came from.

  One of the Skykeeper prisoners is standing in the open doorway above the steps. He has managed to free his hands, but his feet are still bound together and his mouth still taped shut. As I look at him, stunned, he pulls the tape from his face.

  “We all die now,” he says.

  In the distance I hear the unmistakable droning of a small plane.

  Chapter 21

  Fire has always been closely linked to the concept of transformation. Alchemists, for example, saw fire as a catalyst for the metaphysical conversions they were obsessed by—moving into the energy of fire was to be transformed, lifted out of the ordinary and transported beyond the limitations of everyday existence.

  In the Tarot fire also symbolizes conversion: everything that touches fire is changed, mostly beyond all recognition, like the legend of the Phoenix, in which a mythical bird is destroyed by flames only to be reborn from its ashes.

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

  Several things happen at once.

  Two of the Skykeeper prisoners come tearing down the steps towards me. They must all have broken free somehow, perhaps even while we were still in the room, distracted by Shondra’s news. One is armed with a pair of scissors and the other’s got a wrench, and they’re rushing towards me with death in their eyes.

  Gunn immediately steps between me and the attackers, his arms straight and both palms raised towards them, ready to repel them in the way of the Black clan.

  But something’s wrong with his magic.

  I’ve seen Ingrid throw a grown man across the room with that slight motion, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on the two men coming for me now. When they’re almost on top of us, Gunn lowers his hands and takes in a fighting stance while Shondra screams, high and shrill, and throws her body in front of mine.

  The man with the wrench swings at Gunn, who blocks the blow with one of his huge shoulders. Shondra isn’t as lucky; the guy with the scissors knocks her sideways without losing his grip on his weapon for a second. Her head snaps back with a sickening crack and she falls at my feet in a helpless bundle.

  Another missile flies past my head and I duck just in time. It misses by a hair’s breadth, just as the man with the scissors takes his first stab at me, his face a mask of murderous concentration. From the corner of my eye, I see the guy with the wrench wrestling Gunn to the ground.

  All this happens in the time it takes to take a deep breath.

  In the South-East, a small aircraft is now clearly visible. It will be in striking distance within seconds.

  I do not concentrate. I do not close my eyes. I do not call on my inner power.

  It rushes to me in great, unstoppable waves, until I almost drown in it.

  This time I’m not afraid of losing myself in my magic; I welcome its embrace. This power is part of me, as much a part of me as my face or my body or my thoughts.

  It is me.

  The attackers’ movements now seem almost comically slow, and I dodge the man with the scissors with the most leisurely pace backward. It’s as if the seconds lengthen so that I can calmly survey my situation. As if even time itself must bend its laws to my will.

  I take a step to the left. Back. To the right. But we cannot continue this dance forever. Next to me, Gunn’s face is about to be smashed in by a wrench.

  “FREEZE.”

  The beauty and the purity of my true voice halt the attackers instantly. The wrench stops inches from Gunn’s jaw, carried by momentum even after the man freezes. The scissors stop right next to my eye. I step around my immobilized assailant, look up at the skies.

  The weapon my enemy has sent is a machine of the kind that humans use to take to the skies, laden with incendiary devices chemically produced to mimic my magic.
>
  It is an insult, really.

  They must know their fake magic could never hurt one such as me.

  And yet I will have to act.

  I will not allow anyone to hurt what is mine.

  There are people in the machine flying above us, which is now speedily approaching. I close my eyes and use my inner vision for a better look.

  Hmm. There are two of them. A man and a woman. Neither of them has a fire borrowed from me, and their spiritfires are respectively a deep, brownish-green color and a blue so dark as to be almost black.

  Hirelings. Recruited by my enemies because of their distrust of the future, their hopelessness, and their selfishness. Two deeply flawed individuals, purely human and uniquely beautiful. Of inestimable value.

  I allow myself a brief moment to feel the tragedy of their destruction — the waste.

  Then I reach out my hand, and with the briefest of flicks, I obliterate this latest threat.

  The explosion is so loud it sounds almost like silence. And afterward there are so many colors, so many shapes, so much energy released that I stand mesmerized by the pattern of flames and smoke and devastation.

  A flower of fire with smoky petals.

  Pure destruction. Purely beautiful.

  A man’s voice interrupts my reverie. “Jess. Please. You’re shining too brightly. You need to dial down the power, and quickly.”

  I turn away from the sight of the fire with some regret, bemused by this beautiful man’s request. “You are displeased by my power?”

  “No. I think it’s wonderful. Absolutely breathtaking. It is a privilege to see you like this.” His face is as calm as his voice, but beyond the veil of his flesh his outer fire blazes with a scorching white heat.

  I look closer, perplexed. “Why can’t I see past the flames of your magic, and into your spiritfire?”

  “Because I’m using my magic like a shield against you. It’s difficult though, and I won’t be able to do it for much longer.”

  I ponder this. “So you want to hide your real self from me. Why is that?”

  “I can’t tell you. Not now. But I’m doing it for your own protection, and out of deep concern and loyalty towards you.”

  There is no film of untruth over his words, and yet I am troubled by his request. “This is why you want me to let go of my power? So you can continue to hide your inner self from me?”

  “No. Or rather, it’s not the main reason. You can’t burn through too much power now. Your body will need to rest, and we can’t stay here any longer. We need to go, remember?”

  His voice is filled with urgency, but it is difficult for me to focus on his words when the beauty of the desert calls to me, a siren song of sand and rock and sky and wide-open spaces. And oh! I have not forgotten the wounded: five of them lying helpless on the ground, their spiritfires growing dimmer by the second.

  I approach the Seakeeper first. Her magic is strong, but her spiritfire has been snuffed out almost completely.

  No. This will not do.

  She has proved her loyalty to me and must be rewarded.

  I put my hands on her chest to pour some of my own life-force into her, and smile my satisfaction as her spiritfire begins to flicker. This woman will be a mother to her children, happy and whole and living in peace.

  Until I call her to my service again.

  When she opens her eyes, I approach my Skykeepers. They are connected so closely that the injury to the strongest is affecting them all equally. I walk towards their lifeless forms, take their hands, which are clenched together even now, and separate them from each other to break the magical bond.

  The boy wakes up immediately. He is a powerful Skykeeper, his outer fire strong and blazing. But his spiritfire is warped by hatred, black and murky.

  Bonding him to me was a mistake.

  “You have given too much of yourself over to hatred,” I tell him. “I will not be able to use you, after all. Your spiritfire is too damaged; it would be unwise to let you close to me.”

  “There is more to me than hatred.” He meets my gaze with an openness and a dignity that does not displease me. “Because of you, there is more to me now.”

  The quiet conviction in his voice makes me look closer.

  Ah. Now I do see it: a few slivers of bright yellow sparkling amidst the black. Splinters of hope in an otherwise bleak internal landscape.

  “I will give you one chance,” I say. “Do not disappoint me.”

  “Never, my Queen.”

  I nod and turn away. I will have to watch that one.

  Two of the girls regain their consciousness next. Their outer fires aren’t as bright as that of the boy’s, but their spiritfires are far healthier: bright yellow and green respectively, with only patches of black here and there. They have suffered fear and loss and grief, but they have not been warped by it.

  They could be very useful.

  The strongest Skykeeper by far, however, is the unconscious girl, the one who sustained a head wound. I wake her up gently. It does not take much; her magic burns bright and true, unbelievably pure and strong. With a little help from me, her spiritfire also starts blazing again, but I am saddened by what it shows me. As I watch it flicker—red and blue and orange and green and purple and silver and black—I realize that this one is completely unformed, perhaps even maimed. A mighty oak turned into a tiny bonsai.

  It is a pity.

  When I am certain that my own are safe, I turn to the three attackers and I use my true voice to bind them. I order them not to seek us out again. To forget everything and everyone they saw while they were here. To stop killing people for the White Lady. To stop killing people, period. The words come easily to me, as if I’ve practiced them before.

  As soon as I have bound them, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  Skin against skin.

  It is a sensation almost unknown to me, thrilling and delicious and terrifying.

  “Jess. You need to stop now. Please. Let go of the power.”

  I look at the man with his hand on my shoulder.

  The beauty of such touch!

  My head spins with the pleasure of it until I’m drowning in pure, miraculous sensation.

  “Listen to me. Your life depends on this. All our lives. Are you listening?”

  The sky so blue above. The sun burning so brightly. His warm skin touching mine.

  I almost never get the chance to see this world. To feel it. They always want me to give up my power, these men.

  They always want me to be less than I am.

  I look at the beautiful man touching my shoulder. His power burns luminously enough to dazzle, blinding me to his inner world.

  “Jess!”

  I force my attention back to his mouth. His words. “Yes. I am listening to you.”

  “We need to get you away from here. Right now. The White Lady knows where we are; she’ll be sending a whole fucking army this way. But we can’t travel while you’re in your resting state. So please. Let go of the power. Do it now.”

  “I cannot travel in my resting state?”

  “No. It’s too dangerous; your physical body will be severed from your soul.”

  His words remind me of many things I once knew and have forgotten. Of parts of myself that are hidden in darkness.

  “Someone placed heavy shackles on my mind,” I tell him. “I need to get rid of that darkness first. Only then will I give up my power.”

  “No! Please. Listen to me. Getting rid of the Pendragon spell will take a lot of magic. And you’ve already used too much; it’s going to be almost impossible to keep you awake as it is. Do you understand me? You need to stay awake until we’re far, far away from here.”

  Tension vibrates from him. As if something is about to snap.

  “I do not need to rest. I am my true self now. Powerful and strong.”

  “Oh God.” The shield of his magic flickers. His control is slipping; he is fighting to stay calm. “Look. I know you feel fine now, but you
r body wasn’t made to handle such large amounts of magic. Trust me. After another couple minutes of burning at this intensity, you’ll begin to weaken. And after that you’ll need to rest. But you Can’t. Rest. Now.”

  I watch as the wall of magic he has erected between us begins to fade.

  “Are you listening? Do you understand? You can’t rest now. Let go of the power.” He runs his hands through his hair in a despairing gesture. “Please, sweetheart.”

  That word.

  It reminds me of something.

  That I used to trust this man with my life. That I used to love him.

  Perhaps I still love him.

  If love is possible for someone like me.

  I look at his beautiful, vulnerable, human face and I dim my power to make him happy.

  I let the power flow from my body.

  I let it go. I give it up.

  Because he asked me to.

  *

  Many things happen next.

  We are fleeing. Movements and people and tension and emotion.

  I’m sitting in a moving vehicle and I’m so very tired. My body is weary to the point of utter exhaustion. My heart needs energy to beat, my lungs to breathe, my cells to function. There’s no energy left in my body.

  None.

  “No. No! For God’s sake, somebody keep her awake.”

  “I said, keep her awake! No. Open her eyes. Shake her!”

  The drowsiness like a drug in my veins.

  “Don’t sleep! Come on, dude. Stay with me. Please, you need to focus.”

  I open my eyes, but it’s difficult to see. Everything is moving and blurring before me. Voices help me fight the overwhelming exhaustion. They are voices I trust. They belong to real people, who have been good to me. I can’t remember their names, but I remember the sounds of their voices.

  I do my best for their sake, but my body aches with the need to rest. My muscles. My face. Everything.

  I have to fight to stay awake. It’s very important. Everybody is telling me that.

  I keep my eyes open, the world swimming around me. Movement and colors. It is so hot. I’m sweating and crying and everything around me is spinning. I feel sick.

  There are hands on me, on my head and my shoulders and my neck. Cool water.