The Quest for the Lost Shards of Power

by F M Andrews

  “Ela! Ela!” she cried gently, shaking the protruding leg. There was no response. “Ela!” her mind screamed. “Wake up.” There was still no response. Sobbing Ema gingerly began to remove as much debris as she could from Ela’s prone body. “Please, please don’t die,” she begged. Lifting a large piece of sail she uncovered Ela’s face. Her eyes were closed but she still had colour and Ema could see she was breathing. It was rapid and shallow but she was alive. Relief washed over Ema and threatened to reduce her to a jabbering mess.

  Taking a firm hand on her emotions, she gave herself a stern talking to and began to examine Ela for injuries. There was nothing that was obvious until she lifted a large piece of decking from across her chest. She stopped breathing. How was Ela still alive? A shard of wood the size of her arm had pierced her twin’s chest and probably her lung as well. There was no way she was going to survive this. “Oh, Ela, what have we done!” she moaned, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ela’s forehead. Ela’s eyes fluttered. “Ela,” Ema called softly, “can you hear me?”

  Slowly she opened her eyes and focused on Ema. “What?” Her question was vague and confused.

  Ema bent low and grasped her twin’s hand in hers. “I love you, Ela. Please stay strong. We will get help, they’ll come for us.” She tried to put as much positive belief into this thought as she could; however, it was obvious that her sister was not buying it.

  Ela was rapidly regaining consciousness but oddly she was not projecting any pain. Possibly not a good sign, Ema thought. Squeezing Ema’s hand, she asked, “Are you okay?” Ema nodded. Ela glanced around and then as if suddenly remembering the crash she gasped. “Ferna?” Ema tried not to picture the dead girl but failed. Ela let out a single sob, tears flooding her eyes, a sense of hopelessness descending like a wet, heavy fog.

  Clasping hands they stared at each other, knowing that this was the end of everything. No longer able to stand the anguish in her twin’s eyes, Ela looked up at the sky. The sun had barely moved. It was probably not even lunchtime yet. How could your world change so dramatically in such a short time?

  “If only we could go back a little while to when we were sitting on the hill,” she wished fervently. A small trickle of power responded to this heartfelt plea. Ela’s eyes widened as she felt it. Ema felt it too, and together they greedily reached for its strength and promise like a drowning man grasping at a straw, willing themselves back to the carefree morning before the horror of the crash. It responded with a huge surge of power that threatened to completely overwhelm them. They had never felt power like this before – it was a living rampant beast that they could barely control. They knew they would not be able to hold onto it for long. If they were going to use it they had to use it now before it destroyed them.

  In desperation their minds melded and a vision of the time and place they wished so fervently to return to swam before them, hazy at first but slowly becoming more and more real. It was impossible to contain the demon they had summoned. It was like dangling at the end of a rope over a cliff: you can hold on for so long but eventually other forces become too strong and you just have to let go. The twins’ minds shut down unable to cope and so, once more, blackness descended over them.

  They woke in the nothingness of limbo, screaming. No one heard. Time is totally irrelevant in that dead space that operates between reality and the girls had no idea how long they were left floating. It could have been many turns or just a few moments but the jolt when they returned to the physical world was still a shock. The first thing they both noticed as the mists of limbo cleared was that they were descending rapidly towards two figures sitting on a grassy hill top. The next thing they noticed was that these two people were in fact themselves, but an earlier version of themselves. It was a stomach turning feeling, falling towards yourself with no control. Ema closed her eyes but she could still tell she was dropping like a stone. Ela couldn’t look away and was mesmerized as she grew closer and closer to her happy, unaware self. The collision, when it came, was not at all jarring. It was more like falling into a big, soft pillow. They were back in the real world. They could hear, smell, touch and communicate again it was such a relief that both collapsed to the ground, weeping. Cautiously they peered at the scene before them. It was just as they remembered it. Both girls did a quick check to see if they had any lasting injuries but they were whole and hearty. The yacht sat a small distance away, totally unscathed. Their relief was overwhelming.

  For a long moment they just sat and took it all in, tears of joy streaming down their cheeks. Both were shaking with reaction and they subconsciously edged closer to each other so that they could touch. “We did it!” Ema whispered. “We really did it.”

  Ela nodded and smiled. “Yes, we did. We actually went back in time.” She looked away, taking a deep, wonderful breath. After a time of happy shared silence Ela mused, “How come we know what happened? If we really travelled back we would not be able to remember anything because it won’t have happened to us yet.”

  Ema shrugged. “Maybe it's a wizard thing? Maybe the wizard who goes back in time is not affected.” The mention of wizards triggered a terrifying thought, paralyzing them both – Zail – and as if in a mirror image of each other, their hands flew to cover their mouths in horror.

  Together they shakily came to their feet, suddenly anxious to be back among friendly faces. They flew a very safe, steady course back to the clan, waving enthusiastically at Ferna as they sailed high above her. She waved back looking slightly perplexed. “She will think we are crazy,” Ela thought with a giggle.

  “So what's new?” Ema thought back, grinning from ear to ear. It was so very good to be alive yet, despite this feeling of euphoria, a dark shadow lurked in the back of both girls’ minds. They had avoided death, but at what price? What would their desperate, selfish act cost the people they had come to love and the world they had adopted?

  #

  Zail sat pinching his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger in contemplation. The scene before him was not enough to distract him from his thoughts. Everything had gone very quiet again. It was as if the wind that had caused the ripples in the pond of power had ceased to blow and all was calm again. But he was not fooled. Something still lurked beneath the surface. But what? A scream, cut short, made him look up just in time to see the next body being impaled on a wooden spike. He noticed that there were only a few such spikes left. Annoyed that he had missed most of the fun he stood up, and as he was leaning forward to get a better view, he was blasted by a unknown, powerful force. He was totally unprepared for the incredibly strong shock wave that came out of nowhere. He clutched the rail in front of him for support, gasping with the magnitude of it. He had not felt talent like that in a long, long time and it was coming from a far off location, a location where there should not be power of this strength. Something was happening. Something he was sure he was not going to like.

  It was time to get serious.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Turrin was floating.

  He was weightless, as insubstantial as air. Below him lay a pale, twisted body, spread out on the sandy ground. He tried to concentrate on it because he had a strange feeling that it was important to him somehow; however, he had no control over where he could look. Slowly his view revolved until he was looking at a bright arch of light, off to one side, through which two large, lumbering silhouettes could be seen, black against the glowing light. As they came closer to the discarded figure on the floor their rumbling voices could be heard, and although the sounds made no sense at all, he found that he understood exactly what they were saying.

  “I don’t think it is worth me trying to heal it, Syran,” a female voice echoed through his mind. “I don’t think it is going to survive. I can only do so much and it has already lost too much life essence. I am not even sure how its body works, it is very different from anything I have ever seen before. There are no scales or wings and it is so soft and pale. I think you are just going to have to a
dmit that you took a stupid, irresponsible risk trying to save something that is going to die anyway. One of these days you are not going to be so lucky, and these crazy chances you take will cost you your life.”

  Although Turrin could hear the words resounding in his head, none of them made sense. Who was Syran? What had he risked his life to save and why? But if the words had him baffled, the image before his eyes was almost impossible to decipher. The closer the speakers came, the more he doubted his sanity, for below him now stood two of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen in his life. They had come to a halt beside the sad, little form in the middle of the floor, a beam of light making their glorious scales sparkle and shine, the hues changing when they moved as if they were coated in liquid glass. One of these creatures was coloured every shade of green and the other, the larger of the two, shifted through the spectrum as it moved, its silver scales reflecting all light.

  They had long bodies ending with sinuous tails that seemed to be constantly swaying back and forth in a gentle rhythm. Their heads were wedge-shaped with protrusions that might have been horns, above eyebrow ridges that arched over large, liquid eyes, yet the most amazing thing about them was their iridescent wings, which were folded neatly along their backs. “Behold! The dragons!” Turrin thought to himself in wonderment.

  “You didn’t hear its cry for help,” replied a male voice. “If you had, I don’t think you would have been able to resist it any more than I could. It was gut-wrenching in its desperation; however, I have to admit that I was also a little curious, as I have never heard such a loud mind call before and I had to know who was sending it.” The silver dragon gently nudged the inert body before him. Turrin felt a tug and began to fall inexorably towards the floor. With a painful jolt the world suddenly became real again. He heard himself take a shuddering breath in and nearly blacked out with the excruciating pain it caused. There was warm sand beneath him and heavy, heat-ladened air enveloping him. Everything was alien.

  Opening his eyes he nearly screamed. Two huge, horned heads filled his vision. One was green and the other silver. Their eyes were as large as dinner plates, full of swirling colours reminding him of oil floating on water. He tried to move, to scramble backwards away from their scrutiny but he found, to his horror that his body would not respond.

  “Be still, little one, we will not hurt you. We only want to help,” The green dragon growled down at Turrin, its warm breath smelling strangely of hay. “You were injured by the Bazoni that lives deep in the canyons but Syran, who was hunting over the mountain when a sand storm hit, trapping him there for the night, heard your cry for help and flew to rescue you.” Turrin did not miss the look of reproach directed at Syran. He shifted his gaze to get a better look at the silver dragon, triggering a sudden rush of terrifying flashbacks. The smell of blood, the scream of the night creature, the paralysing fear as those huge, dark wings snapped open above him and the feel of the sharp talons gripping his shoulder. He hoped that that winged nightmare had, in fact, turned out to be his saviour and not his executioner, but still a remnant of the fear he had felt, left him silently shuddering. The large green dragon, sensing Turrin’s distress gave him a gentle nudge with her nose and he could see the concern swimming in her eyes.

  “My name is Yonla and I am a healer. That is, I heal our kind,” she amended. “As a healer I cannot let any creature suffer, but I also cannot heal someone who will not let me into their heart and mind. You have many injuries and have lost a lot of your life essence. I fear you will not survive if you do not let me help you.” An almost pleading expression passed through Yonla’s large eyes. It was clear that she would not go where she had not been invited, but it was also clear that she was very concerned that Turrin was running out of time and options. He was so tired, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and drift away.

  “Sleep. I have to sleep.” He managed to project this one thought before exhaustion overcame him and his eyelids slid closed on their own volition.

  “If you sleep now you may not wake again.” The dragon’s mind voice was kind and gentle. “Please accept my help. There must be someone or something you need to live for?”

  Her words stirred a memory deep within him. There was someone who was depending on him, someone he cared about and he was sure that there was something he was meant to do. Errin’s smile swam into focus opening up a floodgate of memories and with a shudder, his responsibilities landed heavily back upon his shoulders. He groaned under their weight. He had to live, he had to help save Feld. There were so many lives depending on him but, oh! He was so, so weary. He forced himself to concentrate for one more moment. “You are welcome into my heart,” he whispered. “I am at your mercy.” No longer able to resist the heavy weight of his eyelids, he let them close, blocking out the world and enclosing him in comforting darkness.

  He awoke to the resonating rhythmic sound of snoring and the smell of dusty, baked earth. Opening his eyes a crack, a wall of iridescent green filled his view. With a huge effort he raised one hand and reached out to touch it. It was warm, satiny smooth and gently expanding and contracting in time to the rumbling snoring. The green dragon! Turrin had no idea how long he had been asleep. It was daytime, judging by the light that came through what he now could see was an entrance to the cave he was in, but whether it was the same day or not, he could not tell. Unable to hold his arm up any longer, he let it fall and the dragon woke.

  “Ah, you are back with us, little one!” The soothing voice was almost familiar now. A massive head rose over the scaled body on a very long, sinuous neck and two stunning eyes regarded him, concerned but also assessing. “You have slept for a long time but you are stronger than I would have thought. I feel the spirit of the world in your thoughts and you need to draw on this to heal yourself now. I have done all I can.” Frighteningly, the head lowered itself until Turrin found himself staring directly up one very big nostril. Not sure exactly what to do, he stayed absolutely still, very aware of the large mouth and pointed teeth were a mere hand's breadth away. He tried to swallow, which made him realize how extremely thirsty he was and the need for a drink suddenly became an overriding need.

  “Could I have some water, please?” he asked out loud, still not exactly sure how the whole mind talk thing really worked.

  “Of course. You know it is a very good sign that you are thirsty,” the dragon answered, a pleased tone colouring her thoughts. She raised up to her full height and trumpeted a call that echoed off the walls. Turrin had to tip his head backwards to look up at her, she was so tall. He estimated that if three men stood on each other’s shoulders the top person would just about be able to touch her horns. He felt tiny. He must appear like a dog to her.

  A short time later, a rush of wind and a scrabble of claws announced the arrival of a smallish brown dragon. It landed neatly at the entrance of the cave. “Good morning, Tilin,” Yonla trilled. “I see you are flying without trouble now and your wing looks almost as good as new.”

  Tilin dipped her head towards Yonla. “I can almost keep up with Nazra now,” she said proudly.

  Carefully the young brown waddled through the cave entrance and presented Yonla with a large, spiky object that she held in her front claw.

  “Thank you, Tilin, and say thank you to your mother for sparing this fruit from her plot.”

  Tilin nodded, eying Turrin with curiosity.

  “This little one came to us needing help and we have made him welcome,” Yonla said as a way of introduction. Turrin stared up at the youngster and although he did not know what the prickly object was, he sensed that it was meant for him and so he offered up a polite thank you.

  Tilin bent low and gave him a gentle head butt. “You are most welcome, little thing. I hope you feel better soon.” With that, she turned around, carefully lifting her tail so she wouldn’t knock Turrin over, walked back into the sunshine and, with a snap of wings, she was gone. Yonla placed the round, spiky object on the ground before Turrin and then with one,
long, sharp claw she delicately punctured it near the top. A spurt of liquid shot out in an arc and Turrin needed no encouragement to drink. It was cool, slightly sweet, with a hint of citrus. He drank until the flow had become a mere dribble, then wiping his chin he grinned up at Yonla to say thank you. She bent down and softly huffed, ruffling his hair.

  “This drink has strong healing properties. You will sleep now, little one, and feel better when you wake.”

  Turrin found her words to be true as the next time he woke the pain was reduced to a dull ache. Beside him was a large leaf on which lay a variety of fruit. His stomach growled loudly and his mouth watered. He was famished and in no time only skins and pips were left. When Yonla eventually arrived he felt he had enough energy to try and gingerly clamber to his feet. He was a bit wobbly and had to lean on Yonla, yet he managed to walk to the cave entrance and out into the sunshine. Standing there he finally understood just how sick he must have been because he had not even been interested in what awaited him outside the cave until now; however, he was sure that he would never have imagined anything remotely as wonderful as the scene before him now.

  In front of the cave was a large, sandy ledge devoid of vegetation. Several paces on, the ledge ended in a high cliff. There was no path down. Looking out, Turrin could see that this cave was one of hundreds that pockmarked the surrounding cliff walls of a deep gorge. This gorge had a narrow entrance and exit and Turrin could imagine that once a powerful river had rushed into here and gouged out this basin, which was like an enormous amphitheatre several leagues across. There was no sign of the river now; instead, a startlingly blue lake pooled in the centre of the basin. The rest of the ground was covered in lush vegetation.