The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1)

by G. L. Breedon

  It felt good to be far from the others for a short time. The tensions between the pilgrims pretending to be carnival folk and the real carnival people ebbed and expanded as the weeks passed. Some days, the two groups appeared indistinguishable as they made camp or marched along the roads. The pilgrims made themselves useful when they passed through towns and villages large enough to set up the stage. A few of them even took roles in The Saga of Fallen Lands, the play they mounted most often, the play with so many scenes, written by so many hands over the centuries, that it could rarely be presented in its full form in a single day. Usually, Leotin selected scenes to perform based on the mood he intuited from the patrons, sometimes choosing the next scene while the actors spoke their lines. He seldom gauged a crowd wrongly, nearly always knowing what they wanted to see and what would entice them to spend more on trinkets and games between acts.

  While the performances with both pilgrims and carnival folk frequently showed great promise, the times between often shattered that hope, particularly when the band came across other faithful wayfarers. Jhanal, the spokesperson for the leaderless pilgrims, repeatedly made the case for adding more of his fellow believers to their collective. He argued that all the Goddess’s children deserved to travel in the relative safety provided by the carnival and its three foreign warriors. Leotin refused to listen to Jhanal’s entreaties, threatening to banish them all back to the road alone. Only Palla’s continued persuasion, and the threats of the three outlanders to accompany the pilgrims, kept Leotin from making good on his stated intentions. Tensions rose higher when passing the remnants of pilgrim bands attacked by militia, but tended to ease after a few days without harassment. Today had been a good day, with all parties behaving like a closely woven village rather than a roaming band of strangers.

  Palla smiled, reflecting on the difference of her life in little more than a year. A year traveling with the carnival, of acting before crowds, causing them to swoon with her words, fear her presence, or hate her actions, depending upon the character she played. She lived a life she had never imagined, a life more fulfilling than she could have hoped for had she stayed with her family.

  She sank a little as her body tensed at the memory of her home. She pushed the thoughts away. Some memories added too much weight and dragged one beneath the surface. Best to consider them on dry land in the safety of a warm blanket. She tilted her head back into the water, immersing her long, fiery hair to fan out behind her — a wide, crimson lily pad waiting for a lotus to bloom forth from it.

  “Hello?”

  Palla opened her eyes and twisted around, searching for the voice that called to her. She saw Ranna, one of the pilgrim women, standing at the edge of the pond, holding the branch of a tree from her face with an upraised arm, strands of her long black hair caught among the leaves.

  “Hello.” Palla smiled and waved. One of the more friendly and helpful of the pilgrim band, Ranna always pitched in to set camp or make a meal or hold scenery upright at the sides of the their portable stage.

  “I was lookin’ for someplace to…” Ranna waved her hand to indicate the pond. “You’ve found the bathin’ hole.”

  “I got lucky with the direction I chose to walk.” Palla wiped water from her face as her head bobbed along the surface of the pond.

  “Is it cold?” Ranna released the branch and stepped closer to the water, tugging at her large leather boots.

  Palla thought the older woman looked ridiculous wearing men’s boots, but Ranna had told her they were all that remained from her father, a farmer who had taken his lone daughter on the road to seek the source and meanings of the dreams they shared each night. He had died, impaled on a militiaman’s sword. She had been out walking in the woods and returned to camp to find everyone dead.

  “It’s chill, but not cold.” Palla averted her eyes as Ranna tugged her dress over her head and shucked her underclothes to the ground.

  Ranna’s form reflected across the water, slender brown limbs submerging quickly beneath the surface. As Palla turned back to Ranna, she noted how clearly she saw the woman’s small breasts floating before her. She experienced an irrational desire to cover her own breasts, knowing they were as easily visible. An odd sensation coursed over her as Ranna swam closer to float a few paces away. She chided herself for being silly. She had seen plenty of naked women in the last year and been seen by plenty more. The same for the men. A carnival of actors made a poor home for false modesty.

  “This is lovely.” Ranna sank beneath the water, staying down a long time.

  Palla ignored the nagging thought that Ranna saw her nakedness even more obviously while swimming below the surface. She popped up a few feet from Palla, water streaming from her face as she smiled.

  “I wish we could take this pond with us along the road.” Ranna spit out a mouthful of the clear water.

  “I rather doubt it would fit it in a wagon.” Palla laughed at the idea.

  “I been meanin’ to thank ya.” Ranna’s angular face took on a serious cast. “Fer working so hard to take us pilgrims along with ya all.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.” Palla blushed under Ranna’s intense stare. “I’m sure it had more to do with the outlanders promising to go with you if Leotin kicks you out.”

  “All the same, yer words help. It’s much appreciated. Dreamers don’t find many to take their side across the realm. Does ya have the dream yerself?” Ranna’s eyes held Palla’s.

  “Yes.” Palla ignored the urge to dip her burning cheeks beneath the water. Why did a simple farm woman cause her so much consternation? “I think half the carnival folk have the dream. Maybe more.”

  “And ya gots no desire to follow it? Ta see what it means?” Ranna cocked her head to the side, curious.

  “I gave up letting forces around me guide my steps when I left home. I go where I choose and do as I choose now. And for now, I choose to follow the carnival.” Palla did wonder about the dreams, about the star and the prophet, but she wouldn’t allow those things to set her course. She’d run from home to make her own life instead of one others wished for her. She’d not go back to allowing someone else to point her feet or pick her path, especially not some dream goddess in the Forbidden Realm. As far as concerned her, only one goddess likely existed, the Great Mother Goddess, Nag Mot Gioth, creator of all, twin eternal force and mate to the elemental destroyer, the Great Father, Nag Pat Gioth. Two gods were two gods too many to believe in already.

  “Pretty flowers floatin’ in the water.”

  Palla turned to the voice calling loudly across the pond. She grimaced as she saw Grandal and Tellin at the water’s edge. This time, she did not ignore the urge to cover her breasts, churning her feet faster to keep afloat.

  “Come closer so we can smell ya, pretty flowers.” Grandal laughed at what he clearly thought to be good joke.

  “Go away, Grandal.” Palla put as much authority as possible into her voice, calling on her many times playing the queen on stage.

  “Ain’t no fake trees here, and we ain’t yer footman today.” Tellin sneered at her.

  The two men had joined the carnival two months ago as simple laborers to replace two older men who left to follow a pilgrim band. The new recruits often served in lesser roles without words or managed scenery for the actors. Palla scowled. She did not like these men. They did not fit well with the others in the carnival. Did not respect the work each person did. Did not respect much of anything beyond their own high opinions of themselves. They constantly pawed at the women of the troupe, bringing hard words from Leotin until they learned to restrain themselves to mere verbal advances.

  “We’ll leave if ya want the water that bad.” Ranna made to swim for the shore.

  “Thank ya fer yer kindness.” Tellin glared at Ranna. “Maybe we don’t wanna wait.”

  “What’s yer hurry? Ya got no clothes to wear anyways.” Grandal grabbed the women’s dresses and pitched them up into the branches of a nearby tree.

  Rann
a stopped in the water, paddling in place.

  “Stop acting like fools, the both of you.” Palla raised her voice to a shout.

  “Think yer too good fer us?” Grandal jabbed a finger at his chest.

  “We’ll shout for the others if you don’t leave.” Palla feared that would help little. She had walked far from the camp. Doubtless the men had followed her and Ranna from the start. Their arrival at the pond could not be chance.

  “Call all ya like.” Tellin stepped closer to the water’s edge. “Can’t no one hear ya.”

  “I got a better idea.” Grandal tugged at his shirt, yanking it over his head. “Don’t you bother comin’ out. We’ll come in fer ya. I got sumpin’ I wanna show ya.”

  Tellin laughed and ran around to the opposite side of the pond. He kicked his boots off as he mimicked his friend’s disrobing. As Grandal shed his trousers and waded into the pond, the engorged state of his member indicated his intentions.

  “If ya don’t want to lose that little thing, don’t swim no closer.” Ranna moved beside Palla, both paddling backward.

  “Oh, I wanna get it lost somewheres, that’s fer certain.” Grandal snorted as he dug his arms into the water to propel himself toward the women.

  “Ain’t had none say it were small.” Tellin grunted in amusement as he splashed into the pond.

  Palla doubted it as well, from what she glimpsed as the man dove into the water. Her limbs began to feel weak and her stomach tightened. She looked to see Tellin approaching from behind them. She and Ranna could try to swim for the side of the pond and run through the woods. How far would they get barefoot and naked? She didn’t see many other options.

  “We need to get out of the pond and run,” Palla whispered to Ranna.

  “Yep.” Ranna paddled faster.

  They were unwilling to take their eyes from the men and watched as Grandal and Tellin reached the middle of the pond.

  “Where do ya think yer swimmin’? Didn’t we just get in ta join ya?” Grandal leered at the women from the center of the pond.

  “Ya ain’t changed yer minds, has ya?” Tellin splashed beside his friend. “If ya thinks yer wet now, just wait a bit, girl.”

  Palla did not like her options. They could run, but the men would catch them. They could fight, but the men would overpower them. They could surrender, but the men would take that as permission. Who among the carnival or pilgrims would believe them then?

  “Goddess protect us.” Ranna traced the sign of a spiral across her chest as she continued to paddle with the other hand.

  “Yer not dreamin’, ya daft girl.” Grandal threw his arms wide. “There’s no goddess here.”

  As Grandal’s voice echoed between the trees of the woods, the water around him began to move. At first, the motion of the pond resembled ripples sent rushing outward from Grandal’s movement, but in the space of seconds, the direction of the waves twisted sideways, turning back upon themselves, rotating in a circular fashion.

  “What the hell!” Grandal yelled in panic.

  “What have ya done?” Tellin cried out as the water spun him around.

  Palla stared in fear and wonder as she watched the whirl of water grow into a churning vortex, a liquid sinkhole that pulled the two men beneath the surface. The whirlpool continued for several long seconds, touching only the center of the pond, leaving Palla and Ranna floating well beyond its reach.

  The mysterious fluid phenomenon ended abruptly, the water returning to normal, the surface of the pond once again still. Palla looked around, expecting the bodies of the two men to float to the surface. Whatever force had pulled the men to the bottom of the pond, it did not release them again, and no evidence of their presence arose in the water, now muddied from the silt churned up from the bottom by the bizarre whirlpool.

  “Did you do that?” Palla’s breath came in frantic gasps. She could not discern if her fear originated with the plans of the two men, or the manner of their death and disappearance.

  “Not I.” Ranna smiled. “The Goddess saved us.”

  Palla thought the woman’s wide-stretched mouth to be beautiful. Maybe a goddess had saved them, but it had been Ranna who had called for divine assistance.

  “We must tell the others.” Ranna’s eyes seemed alight with the passion of her belief.

  “We tell no one.” Palla could not imagine the response of the carnival folk to the events she had witnessed, and did not feel certain she wanted to know what the pilgrims would make of it. “For now at least.”

  To continue reading the Carnival story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Palla’s storyline follow this link.

  THE SEER

  RANKARUS

  “WHY?”

  “I told you. It’s not safe.”

  Rankarus looked out the window from beyond the edge of the wooden frame, resisting the urge to close the shutters. Closed shutters in the afternoon would stand apart from the other windows and call attention to them. Only people who needed to hide something closed their shutters before sundown.

  “Yes. You said. But you did not tell me why.” Kellatra folded her arms across her chest. “Who was that man?”

  “Someone I knew.” Rankarus turned back to face his wife, staring at her over the bed of their small room in the inn. Abananthus, Jadaloo, and the children sat in the adjoining room. He stepped around the bed, closing the distance from Kellatra.

  “Do you always knock old friends unconscious?” Kellatra scowled at Rankarus as he pulled her away from the chamber door.

  “When they want to mention that I’m in town, yes.” Rankarus lowered his voice, blinking his eyes as he tried to think. He had not expected Kellatra to see him in the alley. The children were hungry. She had been out buying food and found him by chance. How much could he tell her? How much did he want to tell her?

  Kellatra stared at him, waiting in silence for the further explanation she clearly expected.

  “I have not told you all of my past.” Rankarus glanced toward the door to the other room.

  “We have that trait in common, it seems.” Kellatra smiled and took his hands.

  “I owe someone in the city money. Or that is the way he will see it.” Rankarus found he breathed a little easier with her hands in his.

  “How much money?” Kellatra asked.

  “Enough to want to kill me for it.” Rankarus frowned as Kellatra gasped.

  “You borrowed it?” Kellatra clenched his hands.

  “No. He stole it from me, and I stole it back.” Rankarus winced at the look in her eyes.

  “That is why you did not wish to come to the City of Leaves.” Kellatra looked away, obviously thinking through their conversations over the last weeks. “That is why you wanted to sell the book?”

  “No.” Rankarus’s voice deepened in anger at the thought. “I’ll never give that man anything more than a knife blade. No, I wanted to sell the book so we would have the money to go and begin somewhere anew. Someplace where no one might recognize us. Someplace we would be safe.”

  “This adds rubble to the ruins.” Kellatra released his hands and clasped hers together in concentration. “I made an arrangement with my father.”

  “And the terms of that arrangement?” Rankarus’s stomach soured.

  “If I give him the codex, my father will convince the Academy High Council to suspend my banishment while I uncover the meaning of the text.” Kellatra’s eyes darted around the room, seeking something unseen.

  “We cannot stay in this city.” Rankarus pointed out the window in emphasis. “I cannot hide forever, and he will kill me.”

  “The codex and the dreams and the star are all connected.” Kellatra stepped closer to Rankarus, looking up to him, her face a mixture of confusion and anger and passion.

  “If the man who seeks me finds me, he will kill all of us as surely as those men and that soul catcher would have back in the inn,” Rankarus said. “Give your father the book and let us leave.”

&nb
sp; “I am to take him the codex tonight,” Kellatra said.

  “Good.” A wave of relief spread through Rankarus’s limbs — cool water on sun-tender skin. They could be clear of the city before dawn. It made the errands he ran that day useless, but better to be free of the book than see his family suffer for his plans. “When do we go?”

  “I will go alone.” Kellatra sounded sad, the loss of the book and the chance to study it nearly bringing tears to her eyes.

  “It is not safe.” Rankarus followed Kellatra’s gaze to the box hidden under the bed.

  “That is why I must go alone.” Kellatra’s face hardened. He recognized the look when she would brook no argument to her mind’s direction. “If something happens to me, you must protect the children. I will meet you by the north gate at middle-night.”

  Rankarus stared at her, uncertain what to say. All his past decisions had led to this moment, yet he could not discern which of them he would have needed to change to avoid the resulting danger surrounding his wife and children and friends. It did not matter. He could not alter the past. He could only act in the present and hope for better results in the future. A future where Kellatra and the children were safe.

  “Middle-night at the north gate.”

  Rankarus walked to Kellatra and took her in his arms, kissing her deeply, filling the kiss with all the words he could not manage to speak — words of fear and love and hope and anger and shame. As he pulled away from the kiss, he added a few words aloud.

  “If anything happens to you...” He found he did not have more words than that.

  Kellatra looked up at him, a near fanaticism in her eyes.

  “If anything happens to me, you will take the children and run.”