Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2)

by Ripley Harper

  “You don’t know her like I do. They are real people to her.”

  “My orders were to bring her back. I don’t care about the rest.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “We need to leave.”

  “She’ll fight to the end for her people. And if she dies now, it’s all over anyway.”

  “We can’t waste any more time.”

  “You know what’s wasting time? This argument.”

  He curses. Says something to the others. Puts me down on the floor, surprisingly gently. Disappears down the steps again. The other two men follow.

  I count my breaths until three of my Skykeepers are carried onto the plane. A hundred and forty-seven.

  Zig looks at me. “The other girl is dead. There is nothing anyone can do for her now.”

  Alania. Oh God. Alania.

  I nod.

  It makes the world spin.

  It hurts to inhale. Hurts to exhale. It burns. The pain in my head like an icy fire. The exhaustion like a rushing river, pulling me under.

  I fight it. I fight it.

  I stay awake.

  And then I feel us lifting off the ground, and I give myself over to the pain until I

  *

  My sisters come to me when the agony is finally too much to bear. I know them immediately. From my dreams and from the many lives we lived together, many lives ago.

  So long ago.

  They sing to me and tell me how much they love me. They assure me that I am not alone in this world.

  They carry my pain for a little while. They are strong, and they want to help me.

  They would gladly carry all my burdens, they tell me. They would be honored to.

  But they are busy with a very important task, and cannot be distracted by my suffering for too long.

  They will help me now, they tell me.

  For a little while. Just until they know I will not break.

  I am the last one. Their only hope.

  I cannot break.

  My sisters take the pain from me for a little while.

  It is difficult for me to feel the relief of it, at first. I have lost myself so completely in the dark folds of my suffering that I cannot truly tell when it lifts. I’m in too deep, adrift in a shadow world without any light.

  My sisters talk to me while I stumble my way back through the dark, searching for myself. They berate me for my carelessness, but gently, and with love. My mistake, they tell me, is simple and easy to remedy. I am wearing my flesh in the wrong form: the delicate tissue and fragile beauty of a girl’s body is far too weak to bear the true power of our kind.

  The only answer is to transform, they tell me. To become whole and mighty, the way I was supposed to.

  They did it, they say, even though they knew what the risk would be. It did not work out so well for them… But for me!

  I am perfect, they tell me. I could carry our true form easily!

  They sing to me until I find my way out of the darkness. Until I find the strength to be myself again, somehow.

  When they hand my suffering back to me, their beautiful, glittering eyes are full of pity and sorrow.

  But there is no other way. They must return to their very difficult task.

  It cannot wait any longer.

  *

  The pain smashes into me with a force too hellish to bear.

  I clench my human teeth, and I bear it.

  Chapter 23

  The Horror shall shew great signs and wonders: flesh shall be restored and great tribulation spared. But be not deceived by its great lies; believe it not.

  For in the fullness of days, those so saved shall become desolate; they shall fall by the sword; their heads shall be dashed to pieces and their hearts shall be ripped out to hang in the sun.

  The Old Words: Verse 4:23-24

  I wake up in a strange room, perfectly healthy and all alone. The room is luxurious and a bit over-the-top, like those expensive hotel suites you see in movies: black marble floors, crystal chandeliers, antique furniture, a staggeringly high ceiling.

  When I get out of bed, I realize I’m wearing my own clothes, white cotton shorty pajamas, and that someone has brought over my personal belongings—my computer is on the desk, my clothes in the closet, my things on the dresser.

  I stare at it for a long time. Make-up. Nail polish. Deodorant. Hairbrush. Cleanser. Toner. Moisturizer. Sunglasses. Perfume. Jewelry. In this strange room my stuff looks lost and a little sad, as if it belongs to a dead person.

  There’s a huge, gilt-framed mirror against one wall and I find myself drawn to it, curious. I haven’t seen myself in a full-length mirror for a long time; the only mirrors we had in the desert were the shaving mirrors in the bathrooms and a small decorative mirror in the kitchen. I study my reflection for a while, then turn away. Except for the bright green hair, which has grown a lot longer, I look completely normal, but I suddenly find it weird and confusing to look at myself like this. From the outside.

  Behind double doors of gleaming wood, I find an enormous bathroom just as over-the-top as the rest of the place: there’s a lot of gold and marble and crystal, and a sunken tub the size of a small swimming pool. I take a quick shower, put on some clothes, brush my teeth, slap on some moisturizer. But the cream on my face feels too thick and kind of sticky, so I wipe it off again, and I don’t even try to put on any make-up.

  It’s strange to remember how important all that stuff seemed, once.

  When I open the door, Zig is leaning against the wall outside, watching me with those icy eyes. Behind his casual pose he’s poised and ready to strike. Like a cobra.

  “Hi Zig.” I smile sweetly, mainly because I know it will irritate him.

  “Your deceitful charm will never sway me.” His voice is low, his face clenched in stark, aggressive lines.

  There’s something so familiar about his response that my mood lifts a little. “It’s good to see you too, Zig. And thanks for saving my life, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

  The way he grinds his jaw makes it look as if the tattooed snake on his face is flicking its tail. “Make no mistake: my blade will end you one day.”

  “I know, I know. But only later.” My smile widens into a real one. “You have no idea how much that promise meant to me, by the way,” I tease, grinning at his obvious discomfort.

  But hearing the words spoken out loud makes me realize how true they are.

  I drop the teasing tone. “I’m serious, you know. At times on that flight, it was the only thing I had left to hold on to.”

  “It wasn’t meant as a comfort.”

  “Yes, it was; you just won’t admit it.” I glance at his forbidding face, suddenly a bit shy. “Thanks anyway. I owe you one.”

  For a moment it’s as if his mask of hatred slips, and I see real confusion reflected in those strange silver eyes. But then he makes his weird sign again and starts to mumble that horrible poem.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask, ignoring his frantic whispers about monsters devastating the earth and ravaging the innocent.

  He mutters another verse before he answers. “Sleeping. It’s half-past two in the morning.”

  “Everyone’s okay?”

  “The Rodriguez family are healthy and well. Waymond is recovering from his wound; he’s out of danger and his condition is stable. Your keeper and your Skykeeper slaves hover between life and death. Our healers can do nothing for them.”

  There’s a sudden dull feeling of loss inside me. Of emptiness. Then I remember.

  “Alania died?”

  A slight nod. “We had to leave her body behind. There was only time enough to save the living.”

  It’s not quite an apology, and yet there is something in his eyes. A hint of guilt, maybe.

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t need your understanding.”

  “She was just a girl, Zig. Eighteen years old. It’s okay to feel bad about it.”

  “You have no idea how I feel,
monster.”

  I rub my eyes, my heart too heavy for Alania’s sake to start arguing again. “Are the rest of them here? In this house?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re in the Pendragon mansion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take me to them.”

  “I will never take orders from you.”

  I sigh. “Come on, Zig. Please. Don’t be like that. I just want to see them, okay? I’m really worried.”

  Again, a glimmer of confusion. Then he turns on his heel and stomps away, muttering under his breath. I follow him to a room on the other side of the long hallway which has been set up field hospital style: four beds in a row. My three remaining Skykeepers lie in three of the beds. They all look completely normal, as if they’re simply in a deep sleep.

  Not Ingrid.

  She’s lying on the bed closest to the door and she looks like a nightmare: a skeleton covered in papery skin, her veins a map of blue and red, her hair brittle and patchy over her raw scalp.

  “What happened to her?” I ask, horrified.

  “You fed her dry. Like a parasite.”

  “What?”

  “She pumped her life-force into you to give you the energy to deal with your pain. And you sucked and sucked and sucked until only this was left.”

  I remember her hand on mine. Never letting go. An anchor to this world.

  “Oh my God.” My body tingles with the horror of what I’ve done. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Your willful ignorance does not make you innocent.”

  “I know.”

  I put my hand on hers, as gently as I can, afraid that even the softest touch will tear her skin. “Can’t somebody help her? Is Principal Sweeney still here?”

  “Earthmagic can’t cure such an affliction. Healing is a form of growth; it helps the natural body to rejuvenate itself, but what ails our keeper isn’t physical. It’s unnatural—an abomination.” He pauses. “Only a monster could heal such corruption.”

  Only a monster?

  I search his silvery serial-killer eyes, trying to understand why he said that. Could he be trying to tell me something? Could this be some kind of… clue?

  But his face gives nothing away.

  “What do you mean ‘only a monster’?” I ask. “Are you saying I could heal her?”

  “Such an act would be a perversion of nature’s laws.”

  “Yes, okay. I get that. But seeing that I’m a perverted monster—I could probably do it, right?”

  “Your magic is evil. I have no interest in what you can or cannot do.”

  I roll my eyes heavenward. “Then at least take me to Sofia. She’ll know what to do.”

  “I have spoken to Sofia Rodriguez about your keeper’s condition at length these past two weeks. She does not know of any cure.”

  So it’s been two weeks. Poor Ingrid.

  I look down at the pathetic figure on the bed, trying to gain control of my emotions. I’ve been so angry at Ingrid for so long, but seeing her like this…

  It’s astonishingly painful to realize that my anger might merely be a scab under which my wounded love for her still festers.

  I stroke a finger over the delicate skin of her cheek. I did this to her.

  And now I’ll have to fix it.

  There’s no sense in waking Sofia, in arguing about what may or may not be done. I’ll just have to make it right.

  Suddenly, the fear inside me is so sharp it feels alive.

  I look at Zig. “If I use my power now, will I have time to go into my resting state afterward?”

  He nods, his tattooed face expressionless.

  “I’m safe here? I can rest?”

  Another nod.

  “Swear it on your Old Words.”

  “I will not swear for you, monster.”

  His self-righteous response puts me at ease. He’s not trying to trick me; he’s just being a jerk, as usual.

  Okay then.

  I’m about to draw on my power when I remember one last thing. “You’re immune to my shine, right?”

  Zig glares at me. “Your power will never make a slave of me.”

  “And thank God for that,” I mutter, more irritated than I wanted to be. “Just stand back and try not to get in the way.” I wave a forefinger at his chest, a last warning. “But I swear, if I wake up from my resting state to find you slobbering at my feet like a puppy dog, I will slap you.”

  “I will never kneel before you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just watch yourself because I’m sure as hell not going to.”

  I close my eyes, call my power to me.

  It comes easily, like pulling on a sweater. The one moment I’m myself, and the next I’m something more.

  Something better.

  I give a long, slow sigh.

  I am in the nest of the damaged ones, and my keeper lies before me, her inner fires burned down to ashes. Of the great outer fire of her magic, only smoldering embers now remain, and her spiritfire has been snuffed out almost completely.

  I look down at her shattered body, not without pity, and I realize that she must’ve used her own spirit as kindling to feed the fire she gifted me.

  A magnificent sacrifice!

  Such a keeper is worth her weight in gold.

  Pleased, I feed some of my power to her, returning to her the gift she shared so freely, until her spiritfire flickers and catches flame. When it bursts into a glorious bright red color, I also lend her some of my magic again, waiting until her outer flames burn with a brilliant white light.

  Once I’m satisfied that both her fires are blazing, I turn to my Skykeepers.

  Their wounds are not so grave. Their spiritfires are burning brightly, but there is a dark haze surrounding their magic, a dirty film that reeks of unnatural power. I shudder in revulsion, reluctant to come close to such an unclean thing.

  Fortunately, fire purifies.

  I stoke their magic with my own until the scorching white heat of their outer fires blaze hotly enough to burn that repulsive muddy haze away. It disappears in a filthy cloud of smoke, but I let their fires burn clean for a while afterward to make sure the last vestiges of that sickening stain are gone forever.

  Then I draw the extra power back to me again, leaving them healthy and untainted and completely themselves.

  “You have done enough.” The voice behind me simmers with resentment, as if my actions have insulted some deeply held belief of his. “Let go of your shine immediately. You’ve wasted enough power. We don’t have weeks to waste on your resting state again.”

  Of course.

  Zig, follower of the Old Words.

  His words make sense, but before I relinquish my power, I decide to look upon him with my true sight. The risk is well worth the reward, in my estimation.

  I turn around.

  “Oh!”

  The young slayer’s inner fire is beautiful. A pure brilliant gold, completely unstained by any baser color. Even more amazing: he has no outer white blaze around the gold of his spiritfire. He has never borrowed any magic from me—his power is entirely his own.

  “You are beautiful,” I say wonderingly, reaching out to him. And then I look into the silver glow of his eyes and I sleep.

  *

  When I wake up three days later, Jonathan asks me to use my firemagic to help his father, who is still hovering between life and death. I’m reluctant to lose more time to my resting state, but I see no way out of it. I owe Jonathan and Jack Pendragon, and I owe them big. Both of them saved my life at different times; there’s no way around it.

  And so I call my power to me again, and I do what I must.

  After that—oblivion.

  Chapter 24

  Everybodys going on bout how she fought the shooter with only one hand but to me thats not even the best part. For me the best part is how she went back to get her friends eventhough she was so beaten up and kinda panicked. I musta watched it a hundred times already and everytime I cry all over agai
n. Its like first when she goes back to get the guy she seems sooo strong and cool like someone in a movie but then later she’s kinda limping and tired and her hands are all shaky and she looks really scared like. I mean who can blame her because you can see how tiring it musta been dragging that fat girl but still she does’nt quit. And then the third time she’s crying. You can tell she thinks she’s gonna die the whole place is about to blow and she knows it. You can see she keeps on dropping stuff and she’s just kinda just sobbing and not even wiping the blood from her eyes anymore but STILL she does’nt quit. She drags the last girl away crying and bleeding and limping and it honestly just gives me ALL the feels! Like I’m not even kidding in the end it inspired me so much I went damn girl you go!! If she can do it so can I!

  Extract from comment by darkbloodprincess02 on Sweetcandygirrls blog

  It’s about a week later, Thursday, early July, a beautiful summers evening.

  We’re sitting at the dining table in the Pendragon mansion. It’s now been almost a month since that day when we were attacked in the desert, and I spent most of that time in my resting state. Having missed so much, I feel disorientated and alienated from the people around me. Apparently a lot happened while I was out—relationships were built, alliances shifted, friendships were formed, people were killed—and as usual I’m the clueless one, desperately trying to figure out what’s going on while everyone else decides what to tell me and what to keep secret.

  I woke up a couple of hours ago, ravenous, which means that I’m now eating my second meal in a row. It still tastes great. I’m freshly washed, dressed in my own clothes, and finally starting to feel like myself again despite the rather trying circumstances.

  We’re eating dinner in the so-called “formal dining room,” which looks exactly like you’d expect such a place to look in the Pendragon mansion. There’s a lot of dark wood and heavy chandeliers and red velvet draping; the cutlery is silver, the napkins starched, the glasses crystal, the food French. We’re served by waiters whose steely eyes miss nothing and who carry their weapons openly.

  Zig is leaning in the doorway, and my three Skykeepers are spread out in a loose half-circle behind me. (I couldn’t convince them to join us for dinner, and frankly who can blame them.) I’m sharing the table with Daniel, his parents, Gunn, Ingrid, Jonathan and Jack Pendragon.