by Bryan Davis
He turned again and marched right into them. “Talk to me, Cassabrie. Help me fight them.”
Of course, Jason. I know you can do this. Just focus on my words and ignore their cries. She hummed for a moment before continuing. I first knew there was something different about me when I was five years old.
He reached the tunnel entrance, ducked his head to get under the arch, and continued with a long stride, keeping his head low. Hundreds of vapors drifted by, some pausing to drop a comment, and the barrage of words split Cassabrie’s monologue into pieces, making it impossible to concentrate.
My hair was so red, the other children pointed fingers at me and—
“Arxad will not help you now. You will die without mercy.”
My green eyes added to the effect.
“Bring the old bard to me. The song must be altered. I will tell him what to say.”
So when the Separators decided to allow the Traders to sell me —
“You are not the first human on Starlight, Uriel, but what will you do with that information?”
Jason trudged on. Wave after wave of vapors flew by, and dozens, if not hundreds, of disconnected tales spun in his mind, triggering the dizzying effect once again. Although he tried to remember the familiar names and how they applied, even they fell into the churning mix of confused thoughts.
With so many pulsing lights flashing in his eyes, seeing where he was going became impossible. He held a hand out in front. His fingers were barely visible as they groped for obstacles. How strange it seemed that light could be as blinding as darkness. Who could ever approach this star without being given a reason, especially without preparation for the onslaught of hypnotizing messages? Any unprepared person would surely turn back.
After several more seconds, he exited the tunnel and entered another massive chamber. The flow of vapors halted, as did the whispers. Cassabrie quieted. It was like walking into a cathedral—on the outside, the buzz and bustle of people going about their business never ceased, but one step past the tall doors, and a hush descended. Could this be such a holy sanctuary?
About ten paces ahead, a transparent sphere hovered above the floor, perhaps fifteen paces in diameter. At eye level a few feet to his right, streams of radiance flowed from the surface, starting out invisible and slowly beginning to glow as they drew farther away. When they reached a point beyond where Jason stood, they burst into light, shaped themselves into the comet-like vapors, and swam into the tunnel.
Like rain dripping down a sheet of glass, clear liquid streamed around the surface and collected at the very bottom of the sphere. A steady drip fell from the base to the floor about two feet below. Each drop sizzled on contact and transformed into vapor before disappearing into cracks in the rocky surface.
Jason smacked his lips. Yes, the telltale bitter film coated his tongue. It was extane. So that was how the gas entered the planet’s mining veins.
Looking up, he followed a long, chimneylike channel that opened to the sky far above. Maybe that was the way those whispering streams escaped when the wall at the entry foyer was closed.
He stared through the sphere’s surface. Inside, another sphere floated. Multicolored and about the size of a wagon wheel, images of dragons, humans, and their surroundings flashed on its surface at high speed, too fast to take in the details. As if feeding itself with each new image, the central sphere grew until a layer peeled off, spewed out, and formed into one of the light streams.
As a new stream broke from the surface, Jason studied the point of exit, a hole the size of his palm, jagged, as if ripped open by a projectile that slammed into it from the outside. Reaching out, he set his hand a few inches in front of the hole. A prickly flow warmed his skin. Light gathered underneath, tickling his skin, while some bounced back into the star. For a moment, the star seemed to lift higher as if buoyed by the influx, but the heat grew too intense to continue the experiment.
Jason drew back. His palm, now red, itched terribly. As he scratched, the whispers continued, but too many and too jumbled to understand. The dizzying effect died away. In fact, an unusual sharpness cleared his mind, like sunlight breaking through a fog.
“Cassabrie,” he whispered, still sensing the holiness of the place, “do you feel anything?”
Oh, yes, Jason. I feel alive. Energized. There is power here that I can’t describe.
“Deference called this star Exodus.” He stopped scratching, though the itch continued. “What do you know about it?”
Quite a lot, but yet again, I cannot tell you all I know. The king gave the star its name, and he let me come down here, but no one else. He said I needed to bathe in the flow from the star’s heart until I was ready for my journey.
“What journey?”
I’m sorry, Jason, but that is the tale I cannot divulge.
Jason frowned. How many times would she echo that useless reply? “Tell me. When you died and came to the Northlands, did you have your Starlighter powers?”
Not for a long time, but they returned.
“Before or after you started bathing in the energy here?”
After. I assume that’s why the king sent me here.
“That’s my guess, too.” Jason eyed the whispering “heart.” It continued to swell and deflate, much more rapidly than any real heart, and it altered at times from its original spherical form, to ovular, to a variety of amorphous designs, once nearly splitting into two kidney-like shapes. “What’s it doing?”
It takes on many forms and has a language of sorts. I think the shape indicates its mood, because when it’s a sphere I hear happy whispers, and when it twists into a tight coil, I hear sad and tragic ones.
“I hear whispers, but I can’t understand them like I did back there.”
I understand them. They call out to me. Some laugh. Some weep. Their stories fill me with empathy. When I was in this chamber, I sometimes laughed or wept, as if I had been with them when their story took place, and as I grew stronger I created the forms of the whispering wounded right here in this room so I could see them.
Jason imagined Koren standing with them, twirling her cloak as the whisperers came to life. “Starlight,” he murmured. “This is the fuel of a Starlighter.”
Yes, Jason. And Exodus is our heart.
fourteen
Randall knelt, pressing down one of many dead flowers that littered the landscape. Once yellow and supple, they were now browned and crumbling after succumbing to the poison Tibalt had concocted in preparation for their journey back to the dragon planet. The plants’ fragrance could no longer render them unconscious as it had during their previous visit.
Randall combed his fingers through the grass while Tibalt stood at his side. “If Orion is telling the truth, the door should be right around here.”
“That’s a mighty big if,” Tibalt said. “Trusting Orion is like trusting a lion. They both have teeth that will bite. If we find out he’s lyin’, we’ll both soon be cryin’, and we’ll wish we had kept out of sight.”
Randall grimaced. “That’s a terrible rhyme, Tibber.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t trust him. And I noticed you didn’t want any part of Orion’s liver berry potion.”
“That’s true.” Randall recalled reading Orion’s notes. They offered a concoction of bitter herbs and rotten liver berries to counteract the flowers, but simply eliminating them was much easier. “Now if we can just find the door handle. It should be a metal ring.”
A burst of fire shot through a crack in the turf. Randall fell back, then scrambled up and yanked out his sword. When the flames subsided, something thudded near his feet, shaking the ground.
Tibalt backed away. “Maybe riding that river wouldn’t be so bad after all.”
“Nonsense,” Randall said, pointing at the ground. “The portal chamber has to be right under us. Whatever is down below would be there no matter which way we went.”
Another thud sounded. A wooden door flung open, revealing a square hole.
A deep voice sounded from underneath but without any intelligible words.
Tibalt drew a sword of his own. “That didn’t sound like any human I ever heard.”
“Dragon language,” Randall whispered. “I heard Yarlan use it.”
Tibalt lowered his voice to match. “What do we do?”
“Position yourself on the other side of the hole and do what I do. We’ll lop his head off.” Randall knelt close to the opening and readied his sword. Tibalt did the same on the opposite side.
More draconic words erupted from below as well as the sound of beating wings. Then, a scaly head popped out. With twitching ears and bugged-out eyes, it looked around frantically.
Randall and Tibalt swung their blades, but the dragon dropped down just in time.
“Missed him!” Tibalt said. “You’ve seen him before?”
“I don’t think so, but they all look alike to me.”
“Humans!” another deep voice shouted. “We mean you no harm. Kindly refrain from using your weapons against us.”
Randall mouthed “we” at Tibalt, who just shrugged.
Keeping out of fire-breathing range, Randall yelled into the hole. “How many dragons are down there?”
After a moment of silence, the dragon replied. “If we are two or twenty, would that matter? We merely request a safe exit from this place.”
Tibalt cackled. “Well, I know twenty can’t fit down there. Maybe three, four at the most, if you squeeze together like cats on a cold night.”
“Why should I let dragons loose in this world?” Randall asked. “The last time you came, you stole some of our people and enslaved them on your world.”
“We have come with terms of peace.”
“Peace? Do those terms include bringing back all our people?”
“Every one of them.”
Tibalt shook his head fiercely. “They will ask a high price. Be sure of that.”
“It can’t hurt to find out.” Randall leaned a bit closer. “What do you want in exchange?”
A new pause ensued, this one longer. “If they’re taking this much time,” Tibalt whisper shouted, “they’re making it up on the fly.”
Finally, the dragon called again. “Taushin is a newly hatched dragon in our world, and he has great power that he will use to destroy your people who are enslaved on Starlight. I am a priest there, and I have come with the former dragon king. We want to wrest control from Taushin, but we cannot yet do so. We are convinced that we have no hope but to appeal to you for aid.”
“Ah!” Tibalt said, raising a finger. “A power struggle. The new king kicks out the old one, so the old king gathers an army to fight back. A classic tale, indeed.”
“How are we to know you’re telling the truth?” Randall called. “Once we let you out, you could kill …” He looked around at his lack of army. “Us all.”
A sigh rose from the hole. “We are only two, so your armies are likely sufficient to conquer us. I have nothing to offer to ensure my pledge, only my word as Arxad, the high priest of Starlight, that I will not harm you in any way, and I will do everything within my power to bring about the return of your people to your world.”
Randall stared at Tibalt. They both mouthed the dragon’s name at the same time. Natalla, one of the girls they rescued from the dragon planet, had sung the praises of Arxad every chance she could. He had defended her nobly at her trial and rescued her and Koren from certain death, risking his own life in the process.
Randall stood and pushed his sword into the ground near the edge of the hole. Cutting a wider opening would take time, but they could do it. “I need one more promise from you, Arxad.”
“If it is in my power.”
“My father was the governor of this land, and he was murdered by someone who hopes to rule in his place. In the meantime, that usurper has installed someone else until he completes his plan.”
“Then you are Governor Prescott’s son,” Arxad said.
“You knew my father?”
“Yes, but not that he was murdered. He and I were negotiating sending the gas you call extane to our world, hoping for a way to free your people. It is a long story, but, as is obvious now, the deal was never completed.”
“I see.”
Tibalt pointed at Randall. “I can read what you’re cooking up there in that head of yours. I say do it.”
He looked at the old man’s wild eyes. “Are you sure?”
Tibalt waved his sword, letting his voice rise. “First I’ll help you corral these dragons. Then I’ll go and help Jason and Elyssa. One man alone is a better sneak than any other number.”
“Are you contemplating a rescue mission?” Arxad asked. “If so, you should know we have no way to open this portal.”
“But we do!” Tibalt shouted merrily. “Yes, indeed!”
Randall elbowed Tibalt’s ribs. “Quiet! Don’t give away our secrets.”
“It is no secret that humans have access,” Arxad said. “Their appearance in our world is proof enough. Our coming here is similar proof that we possess the means to enter your world, a crystalline peg that opens the portal from there to here.”
“That seals it,” Randall said. “If I let you out, in exchange I want you to help me restore order here. You will also give us the peg so we can come and go as we please.”
After yet another pause, Arxad replied with a quiet “Agreed.”
Koren stepped forward, giving herself plenty of room in front of Taushin, Zena, and Petra. She stared out over the hundreds of wide eyes, each one following her every move. Telling tales from the past was hard enough, but revealing mysteries going on at the present time? That required more than a perfect memory and a glib tongue. She needed her gift more than ever.
After pulling her hood over her forehead, just enough to allow the shadow to accentuate her eyes, she fanned out the cloak and gave it a dramatic spin. “The prince asks where Magnar has gone. The great king of the dragons, whom many of you have never seen, has been little more than a mythical character in stories handed down in whispered words from guarded lips. Did he rescue us in another world where we were brutally tortured? Did our ancestors ride on his back as he flew through the skies to this place where we could pay back his kindness with labors that would save dragons’ lives? Or did he steal us for selfish motives? Maybe he was a king who would soon lose his kingdom if he could not produce the pheterone that could save his own scaly hide.”
She paused, allowing the questions to sink in. Then, bending her knees, she stalked toward one side of her makeshift stage where Magnar now stood, semitransparent and scarlet-toned, but not as large as his true form.
Koren stopped and swept her cloak in front of him. “Here he is, my fellow humans. The dragon who rules. The dragon who rescues. The dragon who rides between the worlds. Let us see what has become of him.”
Another dragon appeared next to Magnar. With tawnier scales and slenderer form, he appeared to be a much younger version of Arxad. Koren looked into his eyes. There was no doubt about it. He was Arxad. This tale would reveal history, not a current event. Yet perhaps it would connect to the present somehow.
Magnar spoke, but his words sputtered as if passing through a screen. Angling both palms toward him, Koren concentrated. He was speaking in the dragon language. That much was clear. She had to force his voice to grow and project over her audience. If they could just hear him, no one would have any trouble translating.
Finally, his speech clarified, and Koren backed away.
“We have no choice,” Magnar said. “We must kill every one of them.”
Arxad thumped his tail. “Not the children. Some are not infected yet.”
“And how do you know this? Because they exhibit no external symptoms? Are you willing to start a new colony with infected stock? Sending the eggs along with the genetic instructions is the only answer.”
“But when the children hatch,” Arxad said, “who will protect them until they are old enough to understand the in
structions? Who will teach them to apply the alterations? Who will ensure that the recessive gene survives until it is ready to combine with another? And when that generation is created, who will bring a specimen back here to repopulate the world?”
“We will have to share those roles. May I suggest that you are better suited to protect the eggs and the young offspring?”
Arxad nodded. “I agree.”
“And I will be the judge of when we should bring them back here.”
“Silence!”
Koren spun to the rear. That was Taushin’s shout. As the two dragons faded, she blinked at the prince. “What’s wrong?”
“I asked for Magnar’s present activity, not ancient history.”
A new buzz passed through the crowd, dragons and humans speaking their own languages in frenzied whispers.
“Aren’t you interested in this information?” Koren asked.
“Zena has provided all the history I need to know. What you were showing us will not benefit the dragons and humans here. It will cause only confusion.”
Koren clenched her teeth. This story would clear up confusion, not create it. Magnar and Arxad seemed ready to reveal the mystery of the humans’ presence on Starlight, apparently telling a tale that merged all the legends into a coherent history. Why would Taushin try to hide it?
Zena laid an arm over Petra’s shoulders. “Concentrate, Starlighter. If you cannot show us Magnar’s current activity, show us his most recent history.”
Koren glared at Zena. The black-hearted witch’s pretentious show of affection sent a clear signal—obey or Petra will suffer.
“I …” She cleared her throat to combat a squeak. “I will try.”
When Koren raised her arms again, the crowd fell silent. Mystery thickened, and no one stirred.
After going through her usual tale-telling motions, Magnar and Arxad appeared again, this time standing in front of a line of crystalline pegs embedded in the floor. Once more the voices warped, and only a few words penetrated the constant interference.
