“As in left or dead?”
“Left. He was less than happy with the accounting Mel and I gave—independently I might add—as well as what was reported by one of the merchants who was at the inn. We were lucky the merchant was passing through town again and was willing to report what he experienced. With three people all telling the same story, he had little else to do but leave.”
Shara pursed her lips together. “While that’s good, I have the feelin’ yer about to tell me something not good.”
He nodded. “The Amaskan was looking for you as well. Had a piece of parchment signed by the King of Sadai no less, offering a hundred crowns for your return to the capital.”
“Dead or alive?”
Sam flinched. “I-I didn’t think to ask. No one here’s going to turn you over to them, reward or not.”
“And the merchants? The traders who pass through here on the summer caravans?”
“They’d have to know you were the person being sought. No one here knows who you are.”
She ran her fingers through thick, black hair that grew longer every day. “How do ya know? Maybe they just ain’t sayin’.”
“That Amaskan spoke to every person in town, Shara. He showed them the parchment with your picture. There was no spark of recognition from anyone accept Mel, and I only caught that because I know her so well.”
“Is that why ya sent her to find me? A test to see if she’d betray us?”
He nodded. “She didn’t, Shara. I know trusting people comes hard for you, but this town—we’re here to protect you. No one’s going to let the Order take you and our son away.”
While she feigned agreement, inside her heart took up a familiar ache. If she stayed here, she put everyone in danger. The Order wouldn’t stop until they found her, and if they’d gone to the King, doubly so.
Rather than risk him figuring out how afraid she was, Shara worked on preparing a decent sized meal for Sam. Bread bowl and hearty stew in his belly, she did her best to seduce him for the first time since their son was born.
Shara exhausted him until he slept as deeply as his son, then she quietly dressed in her warmer clothes. She carried her boots out into the front room where she sat at the table. She flipped over the parchment from the Order and used a pencil nub to write a quick letter to Sam.
Sam,
We both know they’ll keep comin’ ’til they find me. As long as I stay here, Leolin’s in danger. I couldn’t live with myself if somethin’ happened to him, so I’m leavin’. This time, I’m not runnin’. Thirteen knows I could. Instead, I’m goin’…home. Maybe yer right. Maybe my brother will be lenient. If I survive this, I’ll find a way to return to you and Leolin—even if only for a time. Take care of him and remind him who his momma is. A woman with honor.
-Shara
Tear blotches marred a few of the letters, but it was readable enough. Shara propped the note where Sam would see it, then grabbed a traveling pack from near the door. Inside she packed dried fruits, a bit of bread, and a small chunk of cheese. Flint and steel and a small knife were tucked in a pocket, as well as a canister for water. She’d grab the second one and her cloak from the crate in the woods before traveling West.
Her trip would take her through the desert and a second forest before she reached the shores of Sadai and the Order.
Shara hesitated at the door as she stared into the bedroom where her son lay. Every ounce of her cried out to run to him, to swoop him up and hold him and never let him go, but if she did…she’d never leave.
Instead, she inhaled deeply of the smells of had become her true home, then turned to walk through the door as tears ran down her face.
When she escaped the Sadain Desert, her skin was chapped and burned, even with the cloak. Reaching the forest was a relief as its cool streams gave water and its shaded canopy soothed her skin. For all that she preferred the forest, she flinched at every sound as she approached the Order.
The lack of black clothing and bald head marked her an outsider, and a few miles before the Order, a shadow stepped out from beneath the trees, giving her quite a start. “What business do you have here?” the woman asked, and Shara moved her hair aside to expose the tattoo on her jaw.
The woman grew closer to better study it, then tried to rub it off with her fingers. When it didn’t move, she glared at Shara’s face as if trying to place her. “What business do you have here?” she repeated.
“I have business with Grand Master Bredych. What business that is is my own.”
“Anur’s blessing this day,” the woman said.
Shara smiled. “Asti’s blessing this day.”
At the correct, the woman stepped aside to allow Shara to proceed. She was tested thrice more as she approached, and at the gate of the Order itself, she was no longer able to hide her identity. Too many people in the Order knew her face, fuller though it now was, and a man who’d been one of her teachers stopped her. “So the oathbreaker returns,” he growled.
She lowered her head in penance and waited as people inside the walls scrambled. Minutes passed until her brother arrived, his face a mix of concern and anger. The black silks he wore marked him the same as any other Amaskan, but it was the way he carried himself as he approached that screamed of power.
When he reached her side, he embraced her, brother to sister, and she forced herself not to flinch within his arms. I used to love him, but looking at him now, all I see is a man obsessed with telling others what to do and how to live.
He took her elbow and guided her through the gates and into the Order’s main building. At one time, this had been home. She’d felt comfortable and safe here, but looking at it now, all she wanted was to return home to Tarmsworth, to Sam and her child. This was a prison.
“Brother—”
“Grand Master,” he corrected her.
Shara dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Grand Master, I-I have lost my way, but I return to you in hopes I can find Justice again.”
Bredych smiled, though his eyes lit with an eerie fire that set her stomach trembling. “We welcome you home, Amaskan Shara, and are eager to hear of your travels. Should you be willing to perform some particular tasks as penance, I’m sure the Order can help you find your way once again.”
Shara closed her eyes for a moment. Delorcini, may I find my way home to Leolin again.
When she opened them, she schooled her face into an expressionless mask. “Whatever you wish me to do, Grand Master.”
Her brother smiled, and the doors closed behind them.
Shara’s story is just getting started! What happens when she returns to the Order and her brother? Does she change both or keep quiet to protect her family back in Tarmsworth? Shara’s story continues in the Boahim Trilogy Book I, Amaskan’s Blood. Her story will also continue in an upcoming stand-alone novel entitled Ear to Ear, coming in 2021 by Grey Sun Press.
1-click order Amaskan’s Blood now!
About the Author
International award-winning and bestselling speculative fiction author and artist Raven Oak is best known for Amaskan’s Blood (2016 Ozma Fantasy Award Winner, 2016 Epic Awards Finalist, & 2019 Reader’s Choice Award Winner), Amaskan’s War (2018 UK Wishing Award YA Finalist), and Class-M Exile. She’s an active member of SFWA and has short stories published in multiple anthologies and magazines. She’s one of the first writers to have an LGBTQ+ story published on the moon. (Yes, really!)
Raven spent most of her K-12 education doodling stories and 500 page monstrosities that are forever locked away in a filing cabinet. When she’s not writing, she’s getting her game on, indulging in cartography and painting, or staring at the ocean. She lives in the Seattle area with her husband, and their three kitties who enjoy lounging across the keyboard when writing deadlines approach.
For more information about the author, please visit: www.ravenoak.net
The Mouth of the Dragon
Revelations
Devorah Fox
When his shi
p goes off course, King Bewilliam and his knights venture into an unknown land in hopes of gaining practical guidance to reach their destination port. Instead, the people they encounter have heard only of the mysterious fabled land of Perooc and its magnificent treasure rumored to satisfy every desire. Even those who refute Perooc’s existence live lives shaped by its denial. Others devote themselves to the attainment of its treasure. Yet no one admits to knowing its location and how to reach it. An empiricist, the king wants nothing to do with magic. In pursuit of his own ends, however, he finds himself breaching the gates and plumbing the hidden passages said to lead to Perooc and the acquisition of its secret power.
I drew inspiration for the three stories of “The Mouth of the Dragon” from “The Parable of the Palace,” a chapter in The Guide to the Perplexed. A masterwork of religious philosophy by Moses ben Maimon (aka Maimonides), a medieval rabbi, the “Guide” seeks to resolve the conflict between metaphysical and secular knowledge.
Devorah Fox
Lost while sailing to the port of Hewnstone with food for the famine-stricken Chalklands, King Bewilliam traverses an uncharted land hoping to find people who can put him back on course. Bereft of his knights, he alone faces the dragon who guards the legend-shrouded treasure of Perooc. Having exhausted every other remedy, Perooc’s treasure, reputed to satisfy every desire, is the king’s last chance to get his ship to port and its cargo to his desperate, starving subjects. But gaining the prize demands not only bravery but also a heart-wrenching sacrifice.
Chapter One
Robin stomped away from the commons and left the village. His eyes smarted from the pungent smoke and his ears rang from the clamorous music. He scoured the ground before him for the path he and Sir Maxwell took from Near to reach the rowdy settlement of Nowhere. He hoped to spot the trail they cut when they first passed through. When they first traversed the meadow, the paint the denizens applied to the foliage to color their surroundings rubbed off on their legs. He expected the unsullied grass to stand out in contrast. However, the breeze had stirred the grasses back into place. One stretch of varicolored meadow looked like another.
His stomach growled. He opened his rucksack hoping to uncover some morsel. Meeyoo leaped out and sat at his feet, squinting in the bright light. The cat had groomed herself and removed most of the paint she picked up from the tinted grass. Robin was relieved that the dye didn't appear to have made her ill.
He shook his head at the dizzying landscape. At least they had escaped the racket and the stupefying fumes of Nowhere's commons. The only edible item he found in the pack was the uneaten purple carrot the settlement's apparent warden, Oonen, offered him. A lone vegetable amounted to a pathetic repast for King Bewilliam. He chided himself for the thought. As the vagabond Robin, he got by with less. His famine-stricken subjects would be grateful for it.
He rubbed the vegetable against his sleeve but the tint did not come off. He snapped it in half to find it purple through and through. “It's an actual purple carrot,” he muttered. He held it up to his nose. “It does smell like a regular carrot. Well, beets are this color. Perhaps it's not a purple carrot but a carrot-shaped beet.” He took a bite. “It tastes like carrot.” He broke off a piece and offered it to Meeyoo. She sniffed, licked it, caught it with her tongue, and swallowed. She showed no signs of ill effects nor did Robin. “Maybe the beverage intoxicated Sir Maxwell. Let's find a spring of clear water without getting too far from Nowhere. Then we'll go back and find Sir Maxwell and hope he's returned to his senses.”
The cat tucked under his arm, Robin walked, pausing when Meeyoo wriggled loose to sniff or dig at the earth. He rounded a bend and came to an abrupt halt. The landscape had changed. Gone were the multicolored meadows, the absurdly colored trees. Grass here was grass-colored, trees were tree-colored. The flowers came in common shades for flowers. Birds flying overhead were of conventional avian size and color save for one that soared high above. Exceptional in size, the creature boasted a broad wingspan and long slim tail-feathers. Robin decided either he had reached the extent of Nowhere or they ran out of paint. Or had he crossed into Perooc? He put Meeyoo down.
Thriving plants hinted at a water source nearby. “Let's walk on.”
Robin's chances to quench his thirst dimmed as the foliage became coarser and withered. Thorny thickets dared him to press on. Trees stretched scraggly limbs toward the sky. He decided he would be likelier to find water in the other direction and was about to turn when he noticed something that stopped his breath. He swept up the cat and tucked her into the sack. “Danger ahead, Meeyoo. This is no time for you to explore.” He gripped the hilt of his weapon.
Ahead lay a dragon.
Chapter Two
Dun-colored, it was so well camouflaged by the surroundings that Robin nearly missed spotting it in time. But the creature's eye was unmistakable. Because the beast lay prone, it was low to the ground. Robin would have mistaken the enormous black eye for a shadowed hollow in a thicket but for the glint where the sun hit it.
Hunkered down and moving slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, Robin edged back one cautious step at a time. Retreat was a realistic response. He faced dragons before. Fear was a reasonable reaction. It bore no shame and had its purpose. Dragon-slaying called for strategy and well-considered actions. Fear made one wary, not foolhardy. Dragon-slayers got a single chance at victory and survival.
If this was Perooc's dragon, the beast guarded a vaunted treasure sought by many and obtained by none. “Your heart's desire,” was the promised reward. What Robin desired was to regroup his scattered knights and James, return to the Emperor's Fancy, get to port, and deliver the ship's desperately-needed cargo to the Chalklands' starving subjects with all speed. As well, dragon-slaying was not a challenge that a lone fighter took on if he had any choice.
And then his choice in the matter vanished. His feet seemed rooted to the earth and his breath caught in his throat as he realized the dragon detected him, had its eye locked on him. Staring. Unblinking.
Robin stared back, ready to respond when the beast made its move.
Though the dragon didn't budge, it continued to stare.
Unblinking.
Despite the day's warmth, Robin felt chilled, his brain benumbed.
The dragon didn't stir, not even to flicker an eyelid.
No, that wasn't right. Though enormous, dragons' eyes worked like any other animal's. Dragons did blink and it was when their eyes were for the moment closed that a slayer could strike.
Crouched and holding his breath, Robin advanced and paused. He took another step.
The dragon remained still, its stare fixed.
Robin stood, released his held breath, and filled his lungs with needed air.
What appeared to be an eye wasn't a dragon's eye at all but part of a boulder, an oval shape of black anthracite or shale. What Robin had taken for the glint in the beast's eye was the sun reflecting off a metallic vein.
He hacked his way through the thickets to draw closer. What he saw had him hanging his head in weariness.
The eye wasn't a feature of a boulder but of an entire wall.
The eye shape was dark shale and rusty pyrite exposed when slabs of the rock wall broke off.
Robin laughed out loud and realized that his laugh sounded tinged with mania. Another wall? Yet another wall? How many could there be? This was the third, no, fourth wall they had encountered since landfall, each leading to a settlement. This was like the rings of a tree or the layers of an onion. How many were there left to peel? What would be at its center? Would that be Perooc? There couldn't be much of a treasure in the tiny space left, could there be?
He studied the wall. Of splintery shale, it could be climbed. Where was Sir Maxwell when he was needed? Or did a secret passageway lead to the other side?
Enough of this nonsense! No more walls. He would collect his troop, return to the Fancy, and resume the voyage to Hewnstone, wherever it was.
Robin turned to go bac
k to Nowhere when a curious aspect of the wall caught his eye.
He studied it from a different angle. This wall had not a panel or gate but a door. The dragon's eye was an immense round door, he could see that now. From a distance, its outline gave the appearance of an eye in a socket.
This was no dark conduit or narrow slit. Opened, the massive door would provide easy access. Robin saw no handle but ... could it be? What was probably a strangely-shaped mineral vein looked like a tiny keyhole.
A lock was no deterrent. He could break this open with the right tool. He defeated a lock in the past when he was still a lost king. Then he'd had far fewer instruments than now. Had, in fact, nothing but the clothes on his back. It took hours, yet he managed to open the lock with only his wits and a tool that Meeyoo supplied.
Robin took Meeyoo from the sack and rummaged for something slender and sturdy. He found several metal implements but they were too thick. He plucked twigs from the ground, but they proved brittle or flexible.
With a snort, he stepped back. He had intended to go back to the ship, not breach another wall. He would dally not a moment longer. Robin bent to pick up Meeyoo, at the moment poised to leap on a small lizard wriggling in the dirt. He grasped her with both hands earning him a glare as the lizard slithered away. The charm dangling from the ribbon around her neck twinkled in the sunlight. A brass key.
Robin took the ribbon from the cat's neck. The trinket couldn't possibly unlatch a colossal door made of rock.
Except ... that key had been bequeathed to him by a man who claimed to be a wizard. Who then spoke of Perooc and its treasure. Could Ofan have intended all along for Robin not only to discover this door but to open it? To reach that fabled land and have his heart's desire satisfied?
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