A small smile curled the corner of Mey’s lips. Of course, she thought, men and women were not housed together under the temple roof. The boy led her down the hallway to a smaller room.
“Thank you,” she said when he opened the door and gestured her inside.
He bowed at the waist and was gone without another word. Mey let out a sigh and sank onto the cot. She was exhausted, but her mind refused to slow. Her thoughts were constantly running over what the others had told her.
Looking at the basin of water, curiosity got the better of her. What did she look like? Slowly, she stood and stepped to the little table holding the basin. Careful not to shake the table, thereby disturbing the water, Mey took a steadying breath and leaned in.
She froze. These were not her eyes. One was completely silver; the other still held a mixture of the green she had always known. But both of the pupils had elongated, reminding her of the old tabby cat she used to feed scraps to. Her hand trembled as she reached to touch her own face. This can’t be. Only then did she notice her hair.
Running a hand over her long, dark tresses, she untied the leather strip at the nape of her neck and, tenuously, held the silken strands away from her face. Its color had always been soft auburn. Now strands of deepest violet ran thickly throughout. It was a color she was unfamiliar with; purple, yes, but more than that. She didn’t have the words to describe it. Hot tears seared the corners of her eyes. I’m losing myself.
A knock on the door startled her and it opened almost immediately afterward. Bob stepped through, holding a small bowl of something hot, judging from the steam rising from it.
“Meylaran?” He walked straight to her and started to hand her the bowl, but stopped at the sight of her tears. “Why are you crying?”
She turned fully to face him and stared into his soft green eyes. Silence hung between them a moment longer. He didn’t turn away as she expected. “You don’t find this frightening?”
“And what, exactly, would I find frightening?”
“The eyes! The hair!” her voice rose uncontrollably. “This isn’t me, Uncle.” Tears rolled freely down her cheeks now. “I am losing myself and I can’t do a thing to stop it!”
A smile broke his usually stoic features, almost obliterating the white scar that ran the length of this face. He was beautiful when he smiled. People might think the scar took away from the hauntingly exquisite elven features. But for Mey, it only added to his charm and made him more interesting to look upon.
Not for the first time, she thought how much he looked like her father when he smiled.
“Perhaps you are finding who you were truly meant to be, not losing who you were.” Mey loved him more because he could always make her reevaluate her position in the fewest words possible.
He offered her the bowl. “You should eat. We need to strengthen ourselves while we can.”
“I’m not hungry.” She ignored his outstretched hand and turned to the basin. The cool water felt heavenly against her skin as she splashed it to her face. Grabbing the towel and dabbing at the moisture, she continued, “I want to see Thom as soon as possible. I was planning to go to the main temple and wait.”
Outwardly struggling to compose his disapproval, Bob set the food on the small table and moved to position himself in front of her door. “I think you should eat and rest.”
“I’m not in need of a nurse maid,” she snapped at him. “I am going to the temple.” Moving forward to pass him, his solid form did not sway. “Uncle, let me pass.”
“No, tae’wa. This time you will listen to me. Eat. You are no good to anyone if your body fails. I will not concede on this.” His mouth set in a straight line, his eyes hardened and a small muscle in his cheek ticked. He meant what he said.
“Fine. I’ll eat, but then I will go see what progress the priests have made in helping Thom.”
He nodded but stayed where he was. Trust was obviously something she hadn’t completely earned with him yet. He knew her too well.
“You are so much like your mother,” Bob told her as she ate. “She was very strong-headed as well.”
“But did she carry the weight of the entire world on her shoulders?” Mey mumbled through bites of the warm stew.
“Yes, she did.”
“She did?”
“You forget she was the last of her kind. People did not know what to do once the dragons were gone. They had always turned to dragons when an unfair lord decided to overstep his bounds with their land, money or food. Or to settle disputes that surely would end in bloodshed otherwise.” Bob seated himself on the edge of the small bed. “Not knowing where else to turn, they sought her out. And with it being in her nature, she felt compelled to help them.”
“How? If so many people demanded her attention, how did she manage to help them all?”
“She could not help them all, tae’wa. Hence, the weight she burdened herself with.” He reached out and stroked her hair, not at all apprehensive of the changes in her appearance. She loved him so much more for that. Even Durlag and Elerbee had stared, making her feel a side-show freak somewhat. But not her uncle.
In an almost inaudible whisper, Mey voiced the thought that weighed on her so heavily, “But I can help them all. I can bring back the dragons.”
Smiling at her, Bob stood and moved toward the door. “We will meet you in the temple.”
Nodding absently, she set the bowl aside and moved to the small window in the far wall. The streets of Sorga held so many people. Many begged for money or a bit of bread to feed their families. Children ran, without shoes and little clothing, up and down the filthy road, oblivious that the rest of the world did not share their plight. Hollow stares looked out from almost every doorway. Helpless, Mey thought, they think their situation helpless.
She watched as a man dressed in comfortable robes made his way up the moonlit street. Stopping before a woman holding a small baby, he spoke, gesturing to her neck. She cried and shook her head vehemently, clutching at whatever the priest had obviously gestured to. Mey couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was obvious that the man was demanding something and the woman did not want to comply. The child in her arms wailed.
As she tried to comfort the infant, the man reached up and yanked something from her neck. She tried to grab for it but he struck her with the back of his hand so hard, she fell back against the wall.
Heat rose in Mey’s middle. Concentrating hard on the robed man as he turned, she took a good look at his face, imprinting the details in her mind. The large strawberry mark he tried to hide with his beard would be the only detail she would need. That, and the fact that his robes held the mark of Yenoh. She watched him until his small figure turned the corner of the street and disappeared.
Looking back at the sobbing woman holding her child to her breast, Mey let the heat crawl through her limbs. Even welcoming the voice that urged her on. Makagesh was ever-present, even now when the blade was not physically with her. He held no dominance over her, she had conquered that demon. Yet he still talked incessantly. Mostly she could ignore him, sometimes she let him ramble and now she welcomed his voice, encouraging her to let her anger take her to a place where he was sure to find bloodshed.
Turning from the window, Mey strode to the door. Determination and anger flowed through her, but first things first. She would check on Thom.
**********
Entering the big open room in the main temple, where Thom had been housed, Mey’s footsteps echoed as she approached his bed. The stone table where his magical elements had been laid was there, at the head. A lone priest sat vigil, monitoring his condition.
The priest briefed her. While he still walked the plane between spiritual and reality, they had managed to stabilize him further; his breathing and heartbeat had grown stronger.
Mey noted his color looked much better. His lips were no longer blue and his skin had regained some of the healthy pink tinge it should have. A wave of relief washed over her and she breathed a bit
easier.
“Can I have some time alone with him?” she asked the priest. He glanced at her, eyes widening before he was able to compose himself. Nodding, he stood and bowed as he exited. Mey took the seat next to the bed.
Thom looked more peaceful than he had on the journey into Sorga. He no longer thrashed, but rested comfortably. It even appeared he had a slight smile on his lips. Mey took his hand in hers; it was still colder than it should be given the warmth of the temple.
“Thom,” she whispered close to his ear, “we have made it to Sorga. Come back to us. I need you here; I don’t know what to do next.”
Mey wasn’t sure if she was seeing things but he reacted to her voice, slightly turning his head in her direction. And she could have sworn she felt him squeeze her hand. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Could he know what was going on around him while his mind wandered another plane? Moving in very close to him, she tried again.
“Thom,” she said. “Thom, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
Nothing. Watching him closely, she could discern no movement of any kind. Her hopes sank; she had imagined it. Breathing in deeply, she could smell the familiar mixture of herbs and flowers. Lowering her forehead to his arm, she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to break through yet again.
Letting her mind drift to thoughts of others she had lost, there was no stopping the warm flow of tears that found their way down her cheeks. Her father, vanished while on a trip to the elven lands. Garrin, ripped from her life by thugs who thought they could bully him into revealing the mask they had acquired. Was she never to be allowed any happiness? Any time someone that made her happy was in her life, something happened to take it away.
Thom made her happy. She loved him, she was sure. A conclusion she had come to when the fear of losing him sent waves of panic and anguish through her heart.
“What am I supposed to do?” Her voice echoed off the walls and rang back at her, empty and hollow.
A whisper made her start and sit up straight. Expecting to see the priest, she quickly wiped at her eyes to obliterate any trace of tears. But, when she looked around there was no one there. Certain that she had heard someone, she called out. “Who’s there?”
When no answer came, Mey tensed, and reached for a dagger at her hip. “Damn!” They had given their weapons up on entering the temple. Well, they had given most of them up. She reached down to her boot and slid the small knife from its hiding place. Crouching low, she moved around Thom’s bed, listening for any more sounds. She was positive there was a voice. A male voice. But she couldn’t make out what it had said. Moving around, she made her way to the head of the bed where the stone table was placed.
The pull of the magic was so strong. Almost as if she couldn’t control them, her eyes moved down to the table to look at the various gems, trinkets and the dagger. Everything here glowed with a magical aura, some stronger than others.
The feeling that someone watched her was stronger here. Glancing around, Mey noted everything in the room in just seconds. There was the bed where Thom lay, with several other cots folded and stacked against the wall to her right. The room had two entrances. The one she used and another to her left. That one must open up to admit the higher clergy. Tapestries hung on two walls, left and right; none of them long enough to hide a person. And windows lined the top, allowing light to enter. There was no light from these at present, it was still nighttime outside and the moon had hidden behind clouds for at least two days now.
Mask… The word whispered through her mind and made her jump. Jerking around to look behind her, she found no one. It was plain as anything and somewhat familiar. “Mask?” she repeated.
Looking down to the table before her, she scanned its contents. There, half hidden under Thom’s pack, was the mask she and Garrin had acquired. Mask… the voice floated through her mind again. This time she was convinced she knew it.
“Garrin?” she asked with a shaky voice. Surely she was going crazy. It couldn’t be.
Glancing at Thom, Mey saw he had not moved. She shook her head but looked back to the table where the magical elements were laid out. The mask glowed just as everything else here. Reaching a shaky hand, Mey slid it from beneath the pack and held it at arm’s length. It was slender, only large enough to cover the eyes. Made from cloth and covered in thin gold sheets, there was leather on either side to tie it around one’s head. It was cold to the touch.
What was it that Thom had said? The thieves that had come for this mask said it had something to do with calling the dragons. She hadn’t paid much attention at the time. She was too angry. What else did he pull from the man’s mind? Did he ever say? Damn! She couldn’t remember.
She replaced the small knife in her boot and held the mask in both hands. “What do you want me to do, Garrin?”
Mask… the voice came again. How was she hearing him? So many strange things had happened to her, she had stopped questioning some time ago. After all, she saw Garrin most every night in her dreams. But she was awake and supposedly of sound mind.
Nodding once in determination, she brought the mask to her face, stopping inches from letting it touch her. “I trust you, Garrin,” she whispered and closed her eyes. Mey placed the mask to her skin and tied it behind her head.
Slowly opening her eyes, at first all she saw was a bright, blinding light. Then things began to focus and take shape. It was the same room she had been in but considerably different now. Her breathing came fast and in short gasps. The feel of the magic was starting to flow through her and it was the most exquisite sensation. Everything around her shimmered. She scanned the room and saw that now only two tapestries hung on the walls, one on each side of the second door. The only furniture the room housed was the table and the bed on which Thom lay. The other cots and the chair the priest had used were not there.
Strange. Where did everything go?
Moving around to Thom’s side, she placed each step carefully as the floor looked farther away than she remembered it. Her movements felt cumbersome and heavy. He still lay unconscious, but with a more marked smile on his lips. Satisfied that he was alright, she moved to the tapestries that hung by the door.
Each depicted dragons, some flying, some on land. On the first, a city burned as a dragon flew above. Looking closely at the creature, Mey could see it had tears in its eyes and the tears fell to the city below in large drops. The next scene showed bodies laid in a field while a dragon crouched over them, wings spread covering and enfolding. There were words written throughout the pictures:
From mountaintops to valleys low,
The softest chimes or trumpets blow.
Make whole the sick.
Bring home the lost.
Lay hidden the secrets to cleanse the sin,
The spoken word of dragon-kin.
Below the words were the same scenes, but now with a town made whole and the people all well and standing in the field.
As she stood and stared at the woven pictures and words, a memory of something her uncle had said came back to her. A dragon’s voice can give or end life as it desires.
Give life! A dragon can give life. It was the answer all along! Mey’s heart soared and felt near to bursting with happiness. She could save him; she could bring Thom back.
Quickly making her way back to his side, Mey reached for Thom’s hand but stopped suddenly when she looked down. The hands reaching for Thom were not her hands. These hands were covered with deep purple scales, almost black, and the fingers curled into talons. Jerking back, the hands she watched mimicked her movement. She moved her arms to hold them in front of her and the strange arms moved as well.
Looking down at her legs, they were also covered in scales and had elongated. No wonder her movements felt awkward. It wasn’t the magic, it was her. Reaching up, she yanked the mask from her face. Everything was as it had been when she first entered the room. There were dozens of tapestries on the walls, the furniture was in place
and most importantly, she was herself again. Her arms and legs were covered with skin, not scales and had the fleshy tone they had always carried.
Wondering at this, Mey slowly put the mask on again and held up a hand in front of her. It was covered in the purple scales. Without moving her hand, she used the other to remove the mask and the arm and hand transformed back to normal. Amazing. This mask was showing her the dragon side that resided within her blood. Mey found it strangely beautiful, curious and a bit frightening all at the same time.
Then she remembered Thom. Looking back to him and replacing the mask on her face, she reached to grasp his hand. What was she supposed to say? The tapestry did not tell her if there were any magical words, only that she must use her voice to help him.
She decided that she would recount their time together, starting with their meeting in Seaside. Mey began speaking, making sure to concentrate on the goal of waking Thom. After a few words a fine, spidery mist flowed from her mouth and curled around him. The mist twisted through his hair and circled his head, moving over his body. Hope filled Mey’s heart and she spoke faster, talking of their search for companions to help on their journey, the first meeting with the Shadow Guard, and Durlag’s story of the Flame Soul that devoured his friend.
The mist worked its way down and around Thom, completely enveloping him. The further it moved the more eager Mey became.
It was working!
She lifted her hands to his face and cupped it while she spoke, focused on him and blocking out everything else around her.
**********
Something was tugging at him. It was a slight pull but enough to be annoying. Opening his eyes, Thom saw Yndar, peacefully dozing, chest moving rhythmically with each breath.
Another tug. What is going on? Rolling over to see what could possibly be pulling, he almost fell straight into a big black pit. His heart pounded wildly as he scrambled to back away from the gaping hole. Gods! Where did that come from?
Reborn (The Dragons of Cantor Book 1) Page 16
