Child of the Dragon Prophecy

by Effie Joe Stock

  Silence instantly followed, and Aeron quickly moved to Artigal’s right side—his rightful place.

  “I have called you together today for the obvious reason that your leader has returned!”

  A loud cheer rose from the crowd, and Artigal waited a moment before hushing them once more.

  “But tonight, I also bring you together to present to you a new Synoliki warrior!”

  The crowd murmured, and silence fell over them.

  Synoliki warriors were the most elite band of Centaur warriors; it was a great honor to be a part of them. Thousands of years ago, when the Centaurs had their own Country—Ravenwood—an enormous, silent network of them had ensured the safety and peace of the tribes. Now, however, their numbers had trickled into near extinction, with only about four to five Synoliki per tribe.

  Aeron’s eyebrows rose at the news and questioning murmurs ran through the crowd.

  “Would you please come to me, Trojan, son of Aeron?”

  Gasps of shock rippled through the crowd as they parted a path starting at Artigal and leading all the way to Trojan, who had been listening at the edge of the crowd.

  His heart throbbed in his chest, and his limbs became paralyzed. Him? A Synoliki? Only the very best were chosen to become a Synoliki, and they had to prove themselves worthy first. How had he done that?

  Thinking this was some horrific joke, or even just a dream, Trojan took a deep breath, lifted his chin high, and delicately trotted up to Artigal.

  Bowing before the leader, Trojan proudly whispered out in the old Centaur language “Me koshoawázh, Igentis.”

  Frawnden pushed her way through the crowd to gain a better view of her son, glistening tears of happiness streaming down her exotically beautiful face.

  Artigal placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and Trojan stood up.

  “Trojan, not only today, but for your whole life, I have watched you grow and learn the ways of life. You are still very young. Nine years a few months ago, correct?”

  “Yes, Igentis.” Trojan, though his voice was quiet, stared back fearlessly, a thrilled gleam in his dark blue eyes. Subconsciously, his long, black tail swished softly from side to side, betraying his inner excitement.

  His eyes landed on his sword, which Artigal was holding. A small gasp left the boy’s lips. The sword had been enhanced with a spell to make it a true weapon of a Synoliki. The sword was now bigger than it had been and was shining with strange blue markings. The boy turned his attention back to Artigal, his hands twitching in excitement and the anticipation of holding this new weapon.

  The curve of Artigal’s lips betrayed his own joy. He gently caressed the sword’s shining blade. “I took the liberty of enhancing your sword, should you agree to become Synoliki. With intense training, you will be able to use the bit of magic within you, and the magic you will gain as Synoliki to turn this sword into any weapon you might have need of.”

  Trojan was unable to mask his shock and excitement. He had only heard about such weapons in legends.

  “On top of that, if you are ever parted from it, you will be able to teleport the weapon to yourself.”

  “I have found much pleasure in instructing you, and today you have shown yourself worthy of becoming a Synoliki.”

  Once more, Trojan’s heart raced in his chest.

  “So, I ask you, Trojan, son of Aeron the high leader of Trans-Falls: do you accept my offer? It is a hard and dangerous life, but a life filled with meaning and purpose. There will be times that it may not seem worth it, and times when there is no need for you, but there will also be times when our existence lies solely in your hands. Knowing the requirements, the expectations, and regulations of such a title, will you defend the weak and the poor, promise to destroy evil, and swear to protect the Centaur tribes with your life? Will you promise to seek only after Pure Magic and never waver into temptation of the darkness? Will you become a Synoliki warrior?”

  Trojan took a deep breath and turned to face his father.

  Tears glistened in the older Centaur’s kind eyes, and he gave a small nod to show his son his consent and pride.

  The young buckskin could see his mother out of the corner of his eye. A warmth from the overwhelming feeling of being so loved filled him, and he was unable to contain the sweet smile that spread across his face. As he turned his head back to Artigal, his eye caught something red.

  Stephania slowly walked down the path that led up to Artigal and proceeded to stand on Artigal’s left side. Though it was rare that anyone ever stood on Artigal’s left side, unless it was Jargon or Frawnden, no one move to take Stephania away or scold her. It seemed right that she was standing where she was, as if it had been her place all along.

  Trojan smiled at her, and as sleepy as she was, she smiled back and nodded.

  Without any regrets, Trojan lifted his voice making sure it was loud enough for all to hear. “I swear on the Great Emperor, I will!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers.

  Artigal placed his right hand upon the boy’s forehead, and closing his eyes, he chanted a spell. Intricate, glowing blue markings began to swirl across the right side of Trojan’s face, down his neck, and onto his chest and arms.

  Trojan opened his eyes when the process was complete, his eyes shining a bright, daring blue—the mark of a true Synoliki warrior.

  §

  Artigal startled out of his sleep at the sound of a soft voice. He held his breath, waiting to hear it again. The party had gone on late into the night and some Centaurs were still singing softly outside as they stared up at the stars.

  “Artigal?”

  He frowned. It was Stephania. “Come in, child.” What was she doing in his tent this late at night?

  Her curly, red hair poked through the tent flap. Her gaze locked with his, and when he nodded, she stepped in, her eyes fixated on the ground. He couldn’t help but notice she appeared more timid than usual.

  “What do you have to say that made you think it is acceptable for you to sneak away from your family and bother me at such a late hour?”

  A blush rose on her little cheeks, and she played with the hem of her shirt. “I was just wondering, Artigal, if, um …” Her eyes met his again. They were unusually soft and gentle, almost doe-like. “If you had a family.”

  Her question hit him like a brick wall. A family?

  “Why do you ask, child?” His voice was harsher than he had in-tended.

  She shifted uncomfortably, and he knew her nervousness was a mirror of his own at the moment.

  “I don’t know. I was dreaming and saw you with a child. A Duvarharian child. Like me. And a Centaur woman.”

  Artigal’s eyes widened, and the air left his lungs. She had seen them—his family. But how? Had the connection between him and her really been that strong? Strong enough to give her his hidden memories? He had heard such things happening—of memories being passed from ancestors to their descendants and from conscious connections made between creatures with Ancient Magic, but he hadn’t channeled any of that Magic when their minds connected. At least, not knowingly. Was their connection not just a strange coincidence or fluke of common magic but something more?

  “I did have a family,” he drawled slowly. “Once, a long time ago.”

  She frowned. “You don’t have a family anymore?”

  He scowled, not sure if he liked how intrusive she had suddenly become, or how sweet and gentle. It was as if a different girl were standing before him—a girl who had not experienced the horrors of life she had. “Not anymore, no.”

  “Aren’t Mother and Father and Trojan your family?”

  He didn’t know why, but a rage washed over him. “Of course they aren’t! Why would they be?” He instantly regretted his harsh tone when he saw how she flinched.

  “I—I don’t know. I just see how you treat them differently than everyone else.” Her eyes filled with tears, and his heart lurched. “I just thought, maybe they were … special to you.”

  T
hey are, was what he wanted to say, but he forced the words back down. “Why do you care, child? What does this mean to you?”

  “You’re always alone. You’re always so distant, as if you are a star, shining brightly and sadly with no other stars around you. The stars told me families are like constellations. No star is ever alone. But you are alone, Artigal, always. And the stars say it isn’t right.” The tears that had brimmed in her eyes spilled over, and she sniffed loudly.

  Her words stabbed at him like cold knives. She had taken their star reading lessons closer to heart than he had thought, and she could now read them as well as any trained Centaur. But what she told him didn’t bode well. He knew he was alone, and he knew it wasn’t right, but that had been his allotment in life. In exchange for the Pure Magic, he had sacrificed all else. It was a choice he would never go back on, but that didn’t make it any easier to live with.

  “The stars never lie, child. You are right to listen to them.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be alone. You should have a constellation.” A scowl creased her forehead.

  His eyebrows rose. Why is she so persistent? What had she seen in that dream that made her so afraid?

  “No, Stephania. I am a star no longer.”

  Her sharp eyes bore into his, and he almost smiled. Here was the stubborn, fiery girl he was used to.

  “Yes, you are. You even said, ‘we are all children of the stars’.”

  “No, child. Not all. Only the Centaurs and forest children are. Duvarharians are the children of different Beings.”

  She winced as if she had been hit. “But you are still a star.”

  “No. I am a star no longer.”

  “But—”

  “Be gone, child.” His patience had run out. Her persistence and ill-timed questions had chipped away at places inside of him he wished to remain hidden. “Return to your family at once and leave me in peace.”

  Tears shamelessly poured down her face. “I just wanted—”

  “Leave!” he barked despite the stinging in his throat. He met her teary, pleading gaze once more, holding it with power and indifference, before she fled from the tent crying.

  Regret filled him, but he instantly shoved it away, an unease settling in its place. But then another sensation settled on him—remembrance and duty.

  The words that had brought him comfort so many years ago rang in his mind once again: You are a star no longer. Go forth and shine like the suns, as a shadow of Light.

  He was alone, but Stephania didn’t have to be. She had her family from Trans-Falls; he had made sure of that. Though he could never be part of it, he had done his best to ensure the happiness of that little family, his little family, and though it brought him only sorrow now, he knew it would be the only legacy he would be proud of once his soul finally left Rasa.

  Chapter 11

  A Few Months Since Aeron’s Return

  Aeron, how many more days until the barricade is in place?” Artigal’s voice was tense with concentration as he and Aeron pored over every map of this part of Ventronovia that they could.

  Aeron didn’t even look up as he traced his finger over the road they were taking. “Only seven, Igentis.” His eye twitched. What they were trying to accomplish just wasn’t possible.

  “Zuru fuñofufe!” Artigal threw down the compass in fury and ran his hands through his silky mane. Many other curses quickly followed as he passionately paced the tent.

  “How many days out are we still?” A thoughtful look suddenly crossed Aeron’s ruggedly handsome face. Artigal’s fits of anger were nothing new to him, and they hardly fazed him anymore, though they usually sent most people scurrying for safety. Even so, Aeron got the impression that Artigal was disturbed by more than just the problems they faced. In fact, it seemed that the Igentis had been unnerved by something private for the few short months since Aeron had returned. Aeron knew his leader and friend well enough to know that unless it had something to do with the tribe, he would never learn of it.

  Artigal stalked away from the table. “Still nearly two and a half weeks, no matter what zuru way I draw it.”

  Aeron shook his head. “The only thing that can travel two and a half weeks of land in seven days would be a galloping Centaur … with only a small burden, of course.”

  Artigal nodded before his whole face suddenly lit up. “Yes. A galloping Centaur with a small burden.” The white Centaur began to once again pace the room anxiously. “Yes. Of course. This could work.”

  Without another word, Artigal raced to the maps and furiously began crunching the numbers, days, and distance.

  “The Eta army is approximately three days behind us. If we leave now, we could make it. I would only take a few. No, actually, just two—and the boy. The boy, of course. He needs to see this. And if I leave them behind, they could buy us some time.”

  Artigal’s chaotic scheming didn’t faze Aeron. The younger Centaur knew that the random rambling was the result of a crazy yet brilliant plan.

  “Aeron, find Frawnden and Trojan. Oh, and Aeron, don’t bring anything you absolutely can’t live without. We’ll travel as fast as we can. It’ll be more dangerous without the rest of the warriors, but it is necessary. We might, might, just make it in time.”

  Aeron bowed his head, knowing better than to ask any questions just yet.

  “Stephania!” Artigal turned to a flap in the tent, and Stephania instantly stepped out of an extra room in the tent where she had been reading a scroll explaining the art of reading and listening to the stars.

  “Yes, Artigal?” Her young voice was smooth and dripped with grace and honey, her red eyes glistening in the light. A lock of her soft, red hair fell delicately into her eyes, and Artigal nearly smiled at her as a warm feeling of pride and love filled him at the sight of the Duvarharian child he almost considered to be his own child. Almost.

  “Go with your father and be very quick about it.”

  Stephania obeyed without hesitation.

  Aeron helped her onto his back. “Did you learn a lot?”

  She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Some of it was hard to read, but Mother’s been teaching me. I read more about reading the stars.”

  Aeron’s eyes glinted with pride for his daughter and mate.

  Taking a deep breath and popping his back, Artigal began to furiously write instructions on a parchment, which he would leave for the next-in-command and Jargon.

  When he was finished, he hastily strapped on his sword, a few knives, and his bow and arrow.

  A heavy sigh left his lips as he stood still for a moment. He could feel the Kijaqumok throbbing in his chest, and he tried to ignore the constant, searing pain that raced through his body.

  “Just let me live long enough to get her to safety, Emperor. Please.” He began packing as minimally as possible, unsure of what he would need most. In the end, he settled on a few maps, light rations, and a small jar that contained a branch from Trans-Falls.

  He hesitated before putting the jar into his satchel. The branch was from the Gauwu Zelauw—the forest that grew around the edge of Trans-Falls. As he held the jar, his chest felt a little lighter and he breathed a little easier. The Magic in the leafy twig had done well at staving off the evil’s power up until now, but how much longer would it be before it wore out?

  Shaking his head, he quickly stuffed it into his bag.

  They were in a race against time, and it seemed only death had the advantage.

  §

  The trees bent and sighed around them as the wind tossed and turned in the branches. The stars were bright overhead tonight, along with the greater moon. Trickles of light fell from the heavens and scattered across the dark forest floor. The wilderness seemed so much bigger, so much more consuming when traveling in a small group.

  Aeron, Frawnden, and Trojan were all stretched out across the ground in various positions, fast asleep.

  Stephania, however, was lying on her back, her hands behind her head and her eyes fixed on the st
ars, which glistened and winked at her through the tree tops.

  Artigal had been poring over his maps, sleep having abandoned him hours before. “Just two more days!” Artigal let the scroll slide together.

  They had been traveling for five days now, just the small family and Igentis, at full gallop nonstop all day; the Centaurs were extremely tired, and Artigal had been struggling to keep up. The Kijaquomok was spreading further through him, and every day it seemed harder and harder to do anything.

  They were almost on time—just a half a day late.

  Chuckling softly to himself, Artigal trotted over to Stephania and followed her gaze to the stars above them.

  “I think,” she whispered softly, pausing to shift her weight and cast a moment’s glance at the white Centaur, “I think that they’re singing.” She smiled, and lifting her hand, she traced a few constellations.

  “Oh.” She frowned. “But now they’re sad.”

  Artigal focused on the stars. He couldn’t feel the stars the same way she could; he could only read what they told him. She, on the other hand, could hear them. He had heard of this being possible, but no one he had known, himself included, had ever been able to.

  “What are they mourning about?”

  She sighed heavily. “Something about someone they know and love that will be leaving. Of a sad parting of one knowing one loved and the other not.” Her frown deepened. “I don’t understand it, Artigal. It really doesn’t make any sense. What does it mean?”

  He swallowed and turned away from her, strange tears glistening in his eyes. He knew exactly what the stars sang of tonight, but he didn’t have the heart to tell the child. He knew what he had to do to keep her safe. He had hoped against it, prayed against it, wished there was another way, but that horrible, perfect idea always came back. Would he be able to hurt another like this again? A brown-haired Duvarharian girl smiled back at him. He bit his lip and shoved the memory away. It didn’t matter. This was the only way she would be safe. It had to be done.

  “I don’t know, Stephania, my child,” he lied quietly and turned away from her, unable to look into her sweet, innocent, red eyes. “I really don’t know.”