“We found writings from an old prophecy that said there would be one who could call them back. Someone to restore the balance in our world.”
“D’yob’s Prophecy,” Thom whispered.
“Yes!” Elerbee said, looking up at him. “The writings of a mage…in a book of spiritual history! Can you imagine? We are so divided these days that no one remembers that priests and mages once lived and worked together.” He looked back to Mey. “Our world was balanced.”
Mey was not sure she was taking in everything he was saying. “So, your sect of priests found this prophecy? I still don’t understand what you’re doing here and why.”
“My sect is one of the few that believes this prophecy. We have been working secretly with the few mages residing in Jareen.” To Thom, he said, “They knew that your masters would seek out the Descendant. After they contacted their informant, they told us that the masters had sent someone to Seaside. From there, they tracked your magical energy so we knew where you were headed.”
Thom’s mouth hung open as he listened. Mey knew what he was thinking; if he could be followed that easily by priests, who else would be able to get to them?
“Once we saw you were on the move,” Elerbee continued, “we acted. We knew one mage alone could not get the Descendant to her destination. We knew because,” he hesitated, “most of the priestly orders are trying to stop you.”
“Trying to stop us?” Mey asked. “How exactly are they doing that?”
“Well, we’re not sure, but we think the priests of Yenoh are working with someone. A rogue mage that is willing to call creatures of the foulest kind to stop you.”
“A rouge mage…” Thom’s voice trailed off. Mey looked at him, trying to decipher the look on his face.
Turning back to Elerbee, she asked, “Why you? I mean, there had to be other priests. Why were you sent?”
“I am Chosen. I have been touched by Sirrah.” Turning, he pulled the neck of his robe down, so that they could see the symbol of Sirrah, a circle surrounded by line bursts of differing lengths. The skin was raised as if the symbol were underneath, pushing out.
“Does it hurt?”
He turned and smiled at her, shaking his head. “No. I woke one morning with it there. You know that feeling that you’ve had the most wondrous dream but you can’t remember it?”
She nodded.
“That’s what it was like. I was ten-years-old. I have trained as a Chosen ever since. We are educated beyond other priests, taught to fight, and are put to tests no others could endure.” His eyes held a sadness that Mey couldn’t identify, but it was gone quickly, replaced by the special light his brought.
Thom had fallen silent, but now spoke. “Do your elders and scholars have any idea who this rouge mage would be? The Heads of the Circle have guessed at this same scenario.”
“No,” Elerbee conceded. “They only know it must be a mage. Priests cannot work the arcane spells necessary to call up dark creatures. Our magic relies solely on the divine; we cannot control evil.”
Mey listened until she felt numb with information. She just couldn’t take in any more. She excused herself to find her uncle. She had questions of her own to ask him.
For one, he had been a quickling while dragons still roamed on Cantor. She wanted to know more about the blue dragon she had seen when she used the dagger. It had whispered a word to her…Makagesh. Perhaps he could tell her something. She was hesitant to mention this to anyone else until she knew what it meant. The dagger called to her silently and constantly. She recognized that it had a conscious of its own but she had been able to push it away for the most part.
Mey felt a sense of urgency. She needed to know things before they approached the Heartstone. This dagger, the mask, her growing abilities; they all fit somewhere. Someone had to be able to help her put this puzzle together. Her uncle was the oldest. She was certain he would have some answers.
TWELVE
The amount of information Mey took in before they reached the Dahrst Hills threatened to overload her mind. The dagger, with its sentient dragon, spoke to her daily. Bob was familiar with the word, Makagesh, and told her it was the name of a blue dragon that had been defeated when he tried to dominate a group of mages living in the western region of Cantor, just off the coast of Dronos. The dragon had made its home on the Faery Isles. Isolation and the whisperings of the fey creatures that inhabited the islands had driven the dragon mad over time. The voices convinced him he could take on the group of more than fifteen mages that were assigned to this coastal region and possess the magic they held in abundance. Needless to say, he failed; the mages drove his conscious being into the dagger she now carried. Bob was amazed she had this relic. It had traveled a great distance to end up on a peddler’s table in Seaside.
Mey was familiar with the concept of sentient weapons, but had never actually seen one. So far, she was able to keep the influence of the dagger at bay. It spoke to her, but she ignored the voice urging her to hold it, to use it, sate its thirst for blood and vengeance. The one time she actually used the weapon, the image it inundated her with stayed with her. Makagesh was magnificent and the image of him was burned into her mind.
She worked relentlessly to control her emotions. Taking her cues from Thom, and on occasion, Elerbee, she learned to make meditation part of each morning and night. Bob and Durlag worked with her on skills in sword-play and the exercise was wonderful at burning off any unspent energy.
She practiced at her daggers alone, however. Well, alone to everyone else’s eye. Her memory of Garrin was with her in these moments, recalling his training. His jests at her early attempts to best him, his patient urging to push herself farther than she thought her will and stamina could go. He was still her teacher, even in death.
The hills of Dahrst loomed into view on the fifth day. Dark mounds against a fading sky, they looked like huge boulders set in the middle of the land. They were grey and lifeless just like the dead things rumored to inhabit them.
“There they are,” Durlag quietly commented as the group entered the forested expanse that led right up to the edge of the Hills. His face was pale, eyes wide and the tone in his voice hinted at his fear.
All of them looked up to gaze on the mountains as they disappeared behind the trees surrounding them on all sides.
Mey swallowed her own fear which bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. The sight of the Hills was unsettling, but more disconcerting, the voice that echoed through her mind. The voice of the dagger that hung at her hip. It was hungry and eager to feed itself on the evil lurking within the approaching region.
The forest became denser further in. They weren’t making much progress and Mey was now certain they would be camping in the forest this night. True to what her instincts told her, they cleared a spot to settle in. Elerbee and Durlag went off in search of wood to build a small fire while the rest finished preparing the site.
As Mey unpacked the horses and set food before them for their own respite, a sound that had been faint before, rose to an almost earsplitting pitch. A moan, slowly swelling into a wail, floated through the clearing. Bob threw his hands to his ears, obvious pain reflected in his expression. Mey felt some discomfort but not to the level that her uncle clearly did. She looked at Thom who was just sitting, scratching odd symbols in the dirt.
“What is it?” she asked to no one in particular.
“What is what?” Thom looked up. When he caught sight of the other two his brow pulled together in confusion.
The wail grew to a level that finally made Mey put her hands to her ears. Bob was on his knees, crippled by the noise, eyes wild with pain.
Then it was gone. Mey released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her uncle had tears in his eyes when he looked up. “The trees…” was all he could mutter.
“Oh,” whispered Mey. She understood now. Her father had once explained the connection elves had to nature. No wonder Thom didn’t hear it; he couldn’t.
&
nbsp; “They’re in pain,” she continued. “I could tell that much from the sound of it.”
“Yes,” Bob nodded. As an afterthought, he said, “Durlag and Elerbee!” He got to his feet, ready to head off when the other two entered the small clearing, carrying armloads of freshly chopped wood.
“You cut the trees?” Bob demanded of them as they approached.
“’Course we did,” Durlag said. “Couldn’t find any fallen limbs. Had to get our own. This priest here climbs a tree like nobody I e’er seen!” He chuckled as he dropped his armful, oblivious to the incredulous look on Bob’s face.
Elerbee, however, did catch it. “Why?”
Bob turned to Mey. “We will have to fix this. It will not do to camp here while they are so unnerved and distraught.”
She nodded. “Sure. Um, what about the others? Shouldn’t they be a part of it since it was their fault?”
“What are ye two elves babbling about?” Durlag asked.
“You’ve upset the trees.” She tried to explain. His look of confusion deepened to surprise.
“Upset the trees? What kind of mumbly-jumbly elf talk is that? We only took what we needed.” His voice started to rise. “If the durned trees had been considerate enough to drop a limb every now and again we wouldn’t have had to cut them!”
“Upset trees, upset dwarves…now we’ve done it,” mumbled Thom as he moved past all of them to begin building the fire.
As Thom reached for the pile of sticks Durlag had unceremoniously dumped in a heap, Bob sprinted over to him. Catching Thom’s hand, he said, “No. Let us first ask their permission. Give us a half hour, at least.”
Clearly too tired to care either way, he shrugged and moved away to set his bedroll out.
**********
Mey and Bob moved away from the group to find a proper place to make their connection with the forest. They found a spot where the trees formed a half-circle. Rising above most of the others, these trees soared into the sky, and then bent inward, leaves flourishing out and intertwining with one another. The sight was beautiful and Mey found herself admiring the tall trees.
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Just follow me,” her uncle told her.
He knelt before the nearest tree, placing his hands on its trunk. “Open your mind to them, Meylaran. They will talk to you. They long for it.”
A bit unsure, she moved to the next tree and knelt, as her uncle had. She reached out, fingers sliding along the rough skin of the tree. She pushed her palms to the trunk, letting her body relax and her mind open to the world around her, just like she did when she meditated. A faint humming sounded in her ears. Gasping she pulled her hands away quickly. Was that its’ voice? She let her hand drift back to the tree. The humming sounded again, resonated through her fingers, into her bones and rose until she could make out actual words.
There were so many voices! The humming was all the voices talking at once. Elves! There are elves in our forest! She heard the proclamation more than once. Mey concentrated and could single out one, clearer than the rest. You are more than elf. What are you?
She knew the voice was addressing her but words stuck in her throat as she attempted to answer. The amazement she felt was almost overwhelming.
There is no need to speak your words. You can impart your thoughts to me.
That made sense. Breathing deep, Mey tried again, this time conveying her feelings in thought to the tree, just as she did when she Mind-spoke her uncle. I’m talking to the trees! the thought came before she could stop it. The words sounded clear, just as if she were speaking them aloud.
Laughter from all around her rang through her mind. How beautiful. You feel different than the other elf. What are you?
My ancestors were dragons, she answered.
Dragons! We’ve not spoken to a dragon in such a long time. Even longer than the last elf we spoke with.
Mey wasn’t sure how much they knew about the world around them. Would they know what events had transpired? Dragons have been gone from this world for a long time. The races rose against them in fear. They were driven away, into exile.
A wave of sadness flowed over her. Other emotions came fleetingly: anger, frustration, confusion. Please, she said, we are here to apologize to you. Our friends cut your limbs. We heard your pain.
There was a moment of silence. Then the tree’s voice sounded again. Yes, my sisters have told me. It was painful, but we heal very quickly. Your apology is accepted. We grant you permission to use what you need from us, Dragon.
Thank you, you are very generous. She wasn’t sure about trees, but she felt that flattery was always a useful tool when begging forgiveness.
Then the voices rose again to a jumble. So many thoughts came at her at once; they mingled together and she struggled to decipher words from the mass of voices. Her confusion must have been imparted to the tree, because when it spoke, it acknowledged the emotion.
We are sorry to cause you confusion. My sisters excite easily and we have not spoken to another being for so long. They tell me you are being followed, Dragon.
Followed?
Shadows. They seek you, specifically. Their thoughts are easily read, as they are base creatures.
Mey’s heart quickened. The Shadow Guard. How did they find her? Thom was making sure to cover their magical imprint. Perhaps his efforts weren’t enough.
Do not be afraid, we can delay them. Oh, what fun this will be! We have not been able to help elves and Dragons for long years. We will instruct the forest to aid as well.
Thank you. I must tell my friends. You are a generous being.
Dragons and elves have long been a friend of the trees. We are at your service. This parting thought drifted in Mey’s mind as she removed her hands to break her bonding connection with the tree.
Darkness flowed through her mind and crept over her body, through every pore. There was no pain, but when she opened her eyes…nothing. Where was her uncle? He had been right next to her. She couldn’t see or hear anything. Numbing panic started to set in and she jumped to her feet, reaching for her weapons.
**********
Rekho saw his chance. What good fortune that the girl had opened a bonding pathway. He quickly opened his own and joined it with hers. He connected to her easily. Her mind lay open for his suggestions.
In fleeting glimpses he caught pictures from her memory. He found her unconscious thought and delved deep. “Meylaran, ah la’du utahn.”
Those words brought all of her attention to him. He felt her concentrate only on his voice. “Father?” The word broke as she said it. It touched his heart to hear her speak to him again. As soon as he thought it, a pain gripped him and he steeled himself against the emotion.
He had to act quickly. The bond was tenuous over such a distance. “Mey, you have to stop this quest. The world will not benefit from having dragons back here to exact their revenge.”
Confusion floated in the open pathway. If she felt it, so would he in this state. “But there will be no revenge. The world is sinking, Father. Dragons will right the balance once again. Their presence is natural to this world and without them we are doomed.”
“NO,” his voice boomed. “It is trickery! You are being led to slaughter. You will be killed in the process.” He calmed his voice. “Please, tae’wa, I would have you live your life and be happy.”
Silence reverberated through the pathway. Then, in almost a whisper, she asked, “Are you dead, Father?”
He chose his words carefully. “All deaths are inevitable.” Better to let her think him gone. He didn’t want her to know what lay ahead of her would be his doing. He had to stop her. That much he was completely sure of and he warred with himself knowing what he had to do. All the same, he let his love for her soar through the path and directly to her essence.
There were so many confused emotions coming from her. It must be happening, he realized. She was changing and no matter what he did at this point, it would not stop that
process. That cinched it. He knew what he had to do and the pain of that realization nearly crippled him. She was not his little girl, she was a maturing dragon and the dragons had to be stopped. Whatever the cost.
He started to sever the bond, but felt her anxiety when she realized he was leaving. “Father! Wait! I feel like I am losing you forever.”
“Meylaran, my sweet tae’wa, I will always love you. Please, forgive me.” He couldn’t bring himself to say more, so he cut the last tie holding them together.
When he opened his eyes, tears were trailing down his face and running over his cheeks. Anger immediately overtook him. This life had taken everything from him; his beloved wife, his kind and trusting nature, and now his only child.
No matter what became of him, he could not let the threat from the retreating dragons come true. Even if it cost him his life, he would try to stop her.
A sound brought his attention back to his surroundings. Composing his face, he turned toward the doorway. A priest stood just inside the entrance. “Well, what?” Rekho demanded after a moment of silence.
The other man cleared his throat. “We have not received the crystals Jost was sent to retrieve.”
Rekho stood, his imposing height had him towering over the smaller human. His dark eyes narrowed dangerously. “I have to have those crystals.”
“Yes…sir…” the man stammered. “B-but we’ve lost contact with Jost. The last report came just before he entered the Caverns to retrieve the crystals.”
“Has anyone searched for his magical signature? His weapon?”
The priest’s eyes widened. “N-no. I wasn’t aware…” his voice trailed as he shrunk from the mage’s vast anger and towering presence.
“Of course you weren’t,” Rekho muttered. He stormed past the other man and down the dank hallway to the makeshift laboratory.
Reborn (The Dragons of Cantor Book 1) Page 12
