Child of the Dragon Prophecy

by Effie Joe Stock

  Dalton’s heart sank as he turned his attention back to the stallion. The horse’s coat was still dirty, though it seemed rain had helped wash some of the muck off. Dalton quickly took in the horse’s measurements and qualities.

  The stallion was of a fine breed and had excellent composition. And yet … Dalton shook his head. He was no horse trainer, and neither was Stephania. The stallion would be impossible for either of them to tame.

  “Come on, Stephania. There’s nothing we can do.”

  He turned to leave, but when he didn’t hear her follow, he turned back.

  He was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

  “I want him, Uncle Dalton. I think he needs me.” She bit her lip and balled her hands into fists. She glanced back over to the stallion, to his wounded legs, to the tangled matts in his hair, to his glistening eyes. In some places, his coat shone honey brown through the dirt. His mane and tail were black, blacker than night.

  Dalton sensed a strong emotion emitting from her. He tuned into it, listening for its essence. He frowned. It was familiarity.

  The stallion turned to face Stephania, and briefly, their eyes met.

  The horse stopped pawing the ground, and the fire in his eyes burned a little softer.

  It was only for a moment though. He reared and screamed again when Dalton moved toward Stephania.

  “Please, Stephania, there is nothing we can do for him.” His own heart ached, now not only for the horse, but also for his adopted niece. He hated to see her hurt in any way. Her life was already so hard; she had already shed so many tears. But he couldn’t see how this would end in anything but disaster. Neither of them knew how to train a wild horse and they would be forced to give him up eventually. It would be harder to give him up after they had taken him home and cared for him.

  “Come on, child.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled, gently leading her away from the scared stallion. Her eyes never left the horse until they rounded the stable and she could see him no longer. A pang tore through Dalton’s heart as he saw her bite her lip against the tears brimming in her eyes.

  She barely responded when he tried talking to her and seemed to not see the horses he showed her. He tried to excite her with the spirited geldings, but she brushed them off, her eyes trying to stray back to the stallion with every glance she could spare.

  In a final attempt to change her mind, he even suggested that if she wanted to rescue a horse, they could look into going to the New-Fars horse auction. She refused. She didn’t want just any horse. She wanted him.

  From the corner of his eye as he paid for his dappled gray gelding, Dalton watched Stephania as she wandered back to the stallion’s pen and stood up on the bottom rung of the fence; the stallion pawed the dirt across from her at the other end of the pen.

  Slowly, Dalton stepped behind her. He hesitated to call her down, wishing he didn’t have to tear her away from the unruly horse she so desperately wanted.

  A deep sigh escaped her lips, and she rested her chin on the top rung.

  Dalton knew she had been looking forward to this day for years. He had, long ago, promised to buy her her very own horse when she was fourteen. It should have been an exciting day, not a sad one. But something about this horse … Dalton shook his head and was about to call her back when he heard her whisper, “Why are you so familiar?” He froze at her words. Familiar.

  “Why do I feel as if I know you?” She reached a longing hand out to the horse, and it backed farther into the fence, the whites of its eyes sparkling in the suns.

  Why indeed. His brows furrowed in a frown. He was just about to ask Stephania about what she had said when the trader interrupted.

  “’E’s the only ’orse that looks like that for miles.” The dealer shook his head in mourning. “Don’t really know the name for that color, but I thought ’e’d sell well, seeing how rare ’e is.”

  Dalton frowned, looking back and forth between Stephania and the stallion. Why was this horse so significant to her? Why couldn’t she let it go?

  “Stephania, please.” He held his hand out to her, beckoning apologetically. “If you are going to pick out a horse, we should to do it now. We’ve kept this kind gentleman long enough.”

  New tears glistened in her eyes as she tore her gaze from the stallion. She opened her mouth and then closed it several times, as if she just couldn’t find the words.

  “We can’t afford a horse we can’t tame, my child.” His voice was soft and gentle, but he could see how deep they cut as her shoulders sagged.

  “If I could just touch him,” she muttered more to herself than him as her eyes drifted back to the horse. “If I could just feel him, everything would be okay.”

  The trader watched the horse and then watched the girl. His eyes narrowed as if he were thinking very hard about something, then he shook his head and chuckled. He leaned toward Dalton and whispered, “I’ll let you take the ’orse, no charge, if she can pet it.”

  Dalton did a double take at the man, wondering if he had heard the dealer right. “What? No—”

  Stephania’s eyes widened. Despite the trader’s nearly inaudible voice, she had heard his offer clearly.

  She looked at Dalton, a wild glint in her eyes, her lips parted slightly.

  “No, Stephania!” He shouted too late.

  Before he could stop her, she had launched herself over the fence and into the paddock with surprising speed and agility.

  As her feet hit the soft dirt with a muted thud, a cloud of dust rose around her, and everything went silent.

  “Stephania,” Dalton murmured, frightened that if he spoke too loud or tried to rescue the girl, he would end up spooking the horse and getting her trampled.

  She ignored him.

  Her eyes locked onto the horse’s. He watched her cautiously. Neither moved.

  She took a step forward.

  He pawed the ground.

  She raised her hand.

  He raised his head.

  Another step.

  A whinny.

  Her foot inched forward.

  Something changed in the horse’s eyes; they shone with desperate fear.

  Stephania’s eyes widened in fear.

  Time slowed.

  Dalton saw the horse shift its weight to its hind legs. He knew if it reared up, its hooves would strike Stephania down like grass. But if he could distract the horse …

  Dalton yelled as loudly as he could, loud enough for both the trader and Stephania to cringe and cover their ears and for the horse to hesitate, just for a second.

  A spark of magic left Dalton’s hands, pushing the horse away with a small gust of wind.

  The stallion screamed, jumping to the side, slamming into the fence. The sound of splintering wood mingled with the chaos.

  For a moment, Stephania stood completely still, as if torn between two choices. Then suddenly, she bolted forward toward the stallion.

  “No!” Dalton screamed as Stephania’s feet dug into the ground, propelling her forward.

  “If I could just touch him—” she pleaded.

  The stallion’s hooves raised, churning the air. Stephania ducked, rushing to his side, and placed her hand on the side of the horse’s neck.

  “Woglawu!”

  Her shout hung on silent, still air.

  Dalton’s heart slammed in his chest, and his eyes widened with awe. “By the gods.”

  The fire had died out of the horse’s eyes, and he suddenly was as meek as a songbird. Stephania’s shirt was comically caught between the stallion’s lips as he innocently nibbled the loose fabric.

  Her lips curved into an elated grin. “Hey, bud. Are you alright?”

  The stallion nickered, as if answering. His eyes were calm and warm, his breath had slowed. He stood still, his movements unhurried, gentle, and trusting. He pulled on her shirt and pressed his head against her chest as if asking for forgiveness for his earlier attitude.

  “By the gods,” Dalton repeated again
, unable to say much more.

  A strong hand clasped him on the shoulder. “Well, looks like you got yourself a free ’orse.”

  Dalton scoffed and shook his head, but inside, he burned with pride. “Looks like it.”

  “You’re alright. You’re alright,” Stephania whispered soothingly.

  Dalton watched as her hands moved across the stallion’s grimy coat, her fingers snagging on the matts in his mane. “And what should I name you, eh?” She stared deep into the horse’s liquid caramel brown eyes for a long time, and Dalton leaned on the fence post, letting her take her time. “How about Braken?” She laughed when he pushed her with his face and nickered. “Braken it is, then.”

  “I suppose a halter and lead are in order then, if we have a deal,” Dalton winked at the trader, and the man threw up his hands, still laughing with disbelief as he went off to find the tackle.

  Dalton turned his attention back to Stephania as she touched the horse all over, delighting in how gentle the stallion was.

  “Woglawu,” he repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. Where had he heard that word before? “Woglawu.” It hit him. It was the word for “gentle” … in the Centaur language, Sházuk. His smile turned to a frown. How could she have remembered that word? Or anything of the Centaurs? He sensed for her magic, praying against what he knew he would find.

  A small trail of magic flowed from her. Not very much, nothing that could be traced, but it was there. She was growing up. The end was inevitable. One day, the magic within her would break free, and he could do nothing to stop it.

  A sick feeling welled up in him and dampened the joy he should have felt as the trader handed Stephania the tackle and she slipped the halter over the horse’s head and led him out of the pen, gentle as a lamb.

  As he led his own new mount down the road, just behind Stephania, he couldn’t help but wonder where he had seen this sight before. Stephania, walking side by side with a golden brown horse with a black mane and tail. He grunted and kicked a stone. My memory is not what it was, even for a Rider. I guess I’m getting old.

  What color had the trader said the stallion was? Dalton frowned, wracking his brain. No, the trader hadn’t known the name of the color.

  What was the connection between Stephania and the horse? What did it have to do with her speaking Sházuk, which should have been impossible? Why had she insisted on getting this oddly colored horse?

  His eyes flew open and he gasped as he remembered. Of course! The horse was a buckskin! He grinned, proud of himself for remembering, but his triumph was quickly replaced by shock. He stopped walking.

  “Dalton?” Stephania turned back to him, worry filling her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  He ignored her. Of course. The stallion was a buckskin, and so had been … he clenched his jaw, speaking the name under his breath, “Trojan.”

  Chapter 32

  Present Day

  Stephania! Stephania, wake up!” Dalton’s rough voice wrenched her out of dreamland as his strong hands unceremoniously shook her awake.

  “Huh? What?” she groaned and pushed him away as she sat up, cursing under her breath. “What’s wrong?”

  Dalton wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his gaze was now turned to a cluster of brush in the trees, a frightened look on his usually fearless, composed face. “Is it them? Oh, gods. I’d hoped they wouldn’t find us. Not this soon!”

  Scowling at his strange mutterings, dread filling her at his words, Stephania staggered to her feet and slowly approached him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ignoring her question, he unsheathed his sword. The early morning light glinted off the blade, shining in Stephania’s eyes.

  She squinted, feeling oddly disoriented.

  “Get your bow.” He muttered under his breath as quietly as possible.

  Unaware of the danger, the haze of sleep fogging her mind, she slowly drew her compound bow, pausing to gaze at the intricate pulleys that the waxed string wrapped around. She pulled an arrow from her quiver but didn’t nock it.

  Then she heard it. The sound of hundreds of feet beating into the ground. The sound of mutated animals screaming and clawing their way through the brush.

  Stark fear gripped her heart, and she leapt to her feet, feeling the adrenaline pounding through her body. She knew that sound. It was the sound of …

  “Etas. They’ve found us.”

  Stephania’s mouth dropped open. She wished she hadn’t heard him right, but there was no mistaking it. They were being hunted.

  Her curly, red hair snapped around her shoulders as she frantically nocked the arrow to the string and drew another, stabbing it into the ground beside her. The string pressed into the curve of her fingers as she held the bow, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

  A bloodcurdling battle cry in a beautiful but terrible foreign language rent the air. The sound of animals was replaced with the screaming of battle.

  She turned to Dalton, her body going hot then cold. Any courage that she had once felt abandoned her.

  An odd expression crossed Dalton’s face. “Those are—” He frowned. “That language—”

  “Uncle Dalton!” She thought her heart would race out of her chest. The noise of fighting was drawing closer. Why wasn’t he doing anything? Were they going to fight or run?

  “Shhh, Braken, Austin. It’s okay.” She let a small bit of magic extend to the two horses, and they stopped trying to pull their reins loose. Their hooves dug into the ground, the whites of their eyes showing. “Uncle Dalton we need to go. Please.”

  He waved her off and lowered his sword.

  “Good gods. It is them. But are we really so close? I thought we were three days out. They must have followed the Etas to protect the tribe.”

  “Uncle Dalton!”

  He snapped around to face her.

  “What the Susahu is going on?” Her limbs burned with the instinct to fight or flee.

  Another battle cry pierced the air along with a stream of commands in a foreign language.

  Dalton grinned wildly and yelled back in triumph.

  “Gods of all, what are you doing? Do you want them to come to us?” She started backing away from him. Had he tipped over the edge? Was he really not mentally stable?

  “Oh, child. We have nothing to fear. The Trans-Falls army reached the Etas before they could find us.”

  “Trans-Falls.” The words were so familiar on her tongue, but they felt like a bad dream. “The tribe with my Centaur family?”

  His eyes darkened. “Yes. I thought we were three days out. But it seems we were closer than I thought. And good thing too, or we’d be dead by now.”

  Her heart only beat harder. The thought of Centaurs being so near did not ease her fears like it had Dalton’s; it only brought new ones. She began panicking. Her family. Her adoptive mother, father, brother—all of whom she wouldn’t remember—were here. She was going to see them. And Artigal. Oh gods. She tasted bile. “No. No. No. I’m not ready. I don’t want to do this now.”

  Dalton shook her shoulders. She couldn’t hear his voice. Something stung her cheek, and she opened her eyes, realizing that she had fainted. She felt like she was going to throw up.

  “Stephania? Stephania, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

  She nodded and tried standing on her own. The sounds of battle had stopped, replaced by the thundering of hooves. It grew louder.

  “Come on, child. They’re coming. Can you stand? Are you okay?” His eyes pierced hers. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay, child. I’m here. It’s just the army. Don’t worry. Just calm down. They’ll take us to Trans-Falls, and you can meet your family when you’re ready. Okay?”

  She nodded. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. I can see them when I’m ready.

  She planted her feet firmly on the ground and straightened. She would face them with pride. She was Stephania, daughter of Drox and An
dromeda, Lord and Lady of Duvarharia. She could not show weakness. She had nothing to fear.

  “Mu fud?” The commanding voice rang out again before repeating itself in the common tongue. “Who speaks?”

  “Dalton Lefone and Farloon!”

  More commands in the beautiful, wild language were shouted out, and the hooves thundered toward them.

  The ground shook violently, and Stephania felt the hooves pound in time with her heart. Her newfound courage wavered, and she stepped behind Dalton, her hands once more shaking, and sweat beading on her forehead.

  Braken and Austin screamed in fear, rearing and pulling on their ties. Dalton waved his hand, and they fell into a stupor, their heads hanging low.

  Out of the brush ahead of them, a mighty buckskin Centaur, and many other different colored Centaurs behind him, charged into the clearing. In only seconds, Dalton and Stephania were surrounded by at least twenty of them, but the buckskin was the only one whom she saw.

  His torso was bare, save for a plate of armor which rested over his heart and two others that covered his biceps. Straps holding the armor in place crossed his strong, muscular torso, and a thick belt girthed his waist. A quiver filled with an assortment of deadly arrows was strung across his back, his enormous, elegant, strong bow in his hand. An arrow was fitted to the string, the tip of the arrow pointed straight at Stephania’s heart. More armor covered his flanks and legs. His jet-black hair ran down his neck and gracefully transitioned into a long, silky mane that perfectly matched the long tail blowing softly in the wind. Strange markings, ones which looked oddly similarly to the ones on Stephania’s neck, decorated the side of his face, and down his chest to his arms and back. Splattered black blood glistened on his olive skin. Chiseled features on his battle worn face went hand in hand with his shining, steely blue eyes that seemed to pierce right into Stephania’s soul. He was beautiful but terrible.

  Her delicate eyes widened, her soft face displaying her terror at her first remembered sight of a Centaur. Her bow slipped out of her hand.