Origins

by Lindsay Buroker

  5

  Greetings, story teller! Shulina Arya’s words burst into Rysha’s head with alarming cheer.

  Good morning, Shulina Arya.

  Even though she had spent an hour regaling the dragon with stories the night before, while Shulina Arya perched unnoticed on the roof of Trip’s grandparents’ house, Rysha still felt strange thinking words of a conversation in her mind. But, as with the previous night, the dragon didn’t have any trouble understanding her.

  Rysha peered at the rooftops of the buildings the squadron passed as they strode through Charkolt, wondering where the dragon was now. And if Bhrava Saruth was with her. He hadn’t come for story hour, nor did she know what Shulina Arya had done after she dozed off.

  We played in the ocean, Shulina Arya thought brightly. We shape-shifted into dolphins and frolicked with several real ones. They thought us odd, but they were very welcoming. We didn’t have dolphins in the other world. Or oceans. It is so beautiful here.

  I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. And Rysha was. She hadn’t noticed that any other dragons did. Oh, she’d witnessed Bhrava Saruth enjoying belly rubs while in ferret form, but Shulina Arya seemed to enjoy every aspect of exploring the world. This world.

  Where will your team go next? Do you need the assistance of dragons? Will you tell me stories along the way? Such as about dolphins? Where did dolphins come from? I tried to ask them, but they insisted on showing me their favorite places to fish. I do not think they fully understood me. Or they were distracted by Bhrava Saruth. He was being a pest. He tried to convince them to worship him. He’s so self-centered.

  Rysha thought about pointing out that Shulina Arya had accompanied Bhrava Saruth out here, despite his self-centeredness. But instead, she answered the question. I took a marine biology class in school. I could probably tell you a few things about dolphins. Would you like to hear about the other species on their phylogenic tree?

  Indeed, yes. On our journey. Where do we travel to next?

  A continent to the east of this ocean. We call it Rakgorath.

  What? rang Bhrava Saruth’s voice in her head for the first time.

  Good morning, Bhrava Saruth, Rysha replied, not certain if that question applied to Rakgorath or had something to do with acquiring dolphin worshippers.

  Dragons do not go to Rakgorath-ilthin, Bhrava Saruth said.

  Any dragons? Why not? Rysha slowed down, again glancing to the rooftops, wondering if the dragons were nearby.

  The magic dead zone.

  What is that? Shulina Ayra asked.

  Rysha felt too stunned to ask any questions, at least for now. She’d never come across information on a “dead zone” in any of the historical texts discussing dragons. Nor had she seen anything on atlases or read anything regarding such a zone in the histories discussing the continent. Was Bhrava Saruth truly a reliable source for this? If he was… would it be a waste of time to visit the continent? If dragons never went there, that could mean Trip’s sire wasn’t there and never had been.

  But that didn’t make sense. There had been a dragon-rider outpost there once.

  It is a vast desert expanse where we cannot sense things around us, Bhrava Saruth said, and many of our magical abilities do not work or are unreliable. It is a miserable place for other reasons too. There is little water, little palatable game. I don’t believe there are sheep anywhere on the continent. There are certainly not humans who will bake mango tarts for dragons. I highly doubt mango trees can live there.

  The open gate to the army installation came into sight. Realizing she’d fallen behind, Rysha hurried to catch up with the others.

  The entire continent is inhospitable to dragons? she asked, wanting to make sure she understood correctly.

  Extremely inhospitable. The dead zone does not exist along the coast or in the mountains, but that does not make it friendly. The humans there shoot at you if you come close. They are very surly. Completely unacceptable as worshippers.

  Has it been that way a long time?

  Oh, yes. Thousands of years, I believe, though my grasp of time may not be as divine as the rest of me. I lost track of how long I was locked in my imprisonment. There was once a dragon-rider outpost there that protected one of the cities, but the inhabitants were, as I said, surly. And unappreciative. Eventually they drove the dragons and sorcerers away from their shores. I believe the outpost has been abandoned for a long time. We will not go with you to that continent. No sane dragon would.

  We? Shulina Arya asked. You believe you can speak for me?

  Of course I can. You are new to this world. I am old and wise, and therefore, a suitable guide for you. We shall stay here, where the humans are less bristly. Would you not like to swim with the dolphins again?

  Are you asking that because it would be enjoyable or because you want me to help you convince them to worship you?

  Yes. Bhrava Saruth shined a mental smile into Rysha’s mind—and likely Shulina Arya’s too. I have never had an underwater temple.

  Rysha did her best to ignore the rest of Bhrava Saruth’s speculation, though he did continue to share it with her. She was mulling over what he’d said—the more pertinent tidbits—and considering if she should warn the others. She didn’t know how reliable Bhrava Saruth was, but maybe she should ask Trip’s opinion.

  As they passed through the gates, it occurred to her that a continent known to be repulsive to those who relied upon magic might make the perfect hiding place for a dragon that didn’t want to be noticed. Where better for a dragon to live in anonymity than somewhere no sane dragons would visit?

  • • • • •

  “I heard you’re going to Rakgorath,” a familiar voice said from behind Trip.

  He was outside the hangar, packing his flier for the journey across the ocean. Most of the squadron had opted for sleeping on the floors or sofas at his grandparents’ house rather than returning to the guest quarters in the barracks. Trip hadn’t slept much at all, reliving his grandmother’s memories about him, so he felt cranky and out-of-sorts this morning.

  “What do you want, Dreyak?” he asked, turning to face the Cofah warrior.

  Dreyak’s head was freshly shaven, his pack on his back and his weapons at his belt.

  Somehow, in his irritation, Trip pried with more than words, and he glimpsed thoughts—memories—of Dreyak at the docks early that morning. He’d been looking for ships bound for Rakgorath and been frustrated that nobody was heading that way. As everyone told him, it was a loathsome, desolate desert land with the only population centers run by criminals. It wasn’t a safe place to dock, and only the captains that were criminals themselves—or extremely desperate for work—took their ships there for trade and cargo deliveries. The only person who’d been willing to take Dreyak had quoted an exorbitant rate, more money than he had on him. He’d decided to come up to the airbase with the thought that he could bribe one of the local pilots. He’d been shocked to learn that Trip’s group had plans to head there.

  “You’re reading my thoughts,” Dreyak stated.

  Trip almost flinched, alarmed at having been caught—he hadn’t even meant to pry. Damn it, what was happening to him? He’d thought he would learn to control his power better with training, but it only seemed to be rearing its head more frequently.

  Once a swordsman has been trained to block, it’s impossible for him to allow a blow to land, Azarwrath told him.

  It sounded like some old Cofah quotation—Dreyak would probably know it—but Trip wasn’t sure how it applied to him.

  He means it’s tempting to use your abilities once you know how, Jaxi said. It’s especially exciting when you’re first learning.

  I’m not excited about much right now, Trip promised.

  Maybe your subconscious is.

  I doubt it.

  “Because you weren’t answering my question,” Trip said.

  “I thought I was better at hiding my thoughts from prying telepaths.” Dreyak sighed. “But I suppose
you’re more than the average telepath.”

  “What are you looking for in Rakgorath?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Emperor Salatak?” Trip had seen that in Dreyak’s thoughts when they’d been in the Antarctic, that his reason for being in Iskandia and joining the squadron hadn’t solely been to close the dragon portal. He’d hoped to find the three-years-missing emperor, the Cofah believing that Salatak had been captured by Iskandians and perhaps exiled by King Angulus himself. As long as there was doubt, Prince Varlok remained a prince only. Trip imagined that limited his power somewhat, but he didn’t know why it mattered to Dreyak. Unless Dreyak had been sent by the prince, and his presence on the portal team had been designed to allow Dreyak an opportunity to snoop around the Iskandian capital.

  “Emperor Salatak,” Dreyak agreed.

  “What makes you think he’s in Rakgorath?”

  “Since I was one of those who helped your team close the dragon portal, I was granted some trust in your capital. Some leeway.”

  “From the king?”

  “From everyone.” Dreyak drew a folded letter out of his pocket with a broken seal on it. He didn’t open it to show it, but Trip assumed it was written proof of permission. “I investigated and found a few people to question. Not those who were a part of the original mission, unfortunately, but there was a soldier who was among those who transported a bound and hooded man to a desert island off the coast of Rakgorath.”

  “Huh.” Trip was surprised the king would have squirreled away a political prisoner in such a distant location. It was hardly convenient to the capital. But maybe he’d feared people, people just like Dreyak, would have thought to look for Salatak close to Iskandia. “If you’re trying to find a man that my king exiled—and I have no idea if that’s what happened, because I was still finishing school then—I can’t help you.”

  “Take me to Rakgorath,” Dreyak said. “That’s all I ask.”

  He locked gazes with Trip, and Trip sensed Dreyak trying to use the small amount of power he had to manipulate him. A few weeks ago, he probably wouldn’t have known Dreyak was doing anything, or he only would have known something felt weird, but now, it was blatantly obvious.

  “I may not have figured out how to move the fish pictures from one side of the pond to the other, but I can tell when someone’s trying to manipulate me,” Trip said.

  Dreyak’s forehead furrowed.

  Trip hadn’t shown him the workbook, so that wasn’t surprising.

  “I need to get there,” Dreyak said. “I’m not trying to free my—Salatak. Even though it’s true that I’ve had to be stealthy and was here as part of a ruse to throw off your king, I don’t truly believe we want different things. I want Varlok to be crowned Emperor of Cofahre, and I already know your king believes he’s a much more reasonable man to deal with than Salatak was. Varlok wants to solidify what Cofahre has, not conquer more enemies.”

  “Then why are you looking for Salatak?”

  “To find some evidence to prove he’s dead. My people won’t crown Varlok until they know for certain.”

  “But he shouldn’t be dead, right? Not if he’s in exile. How can I believe you want to do anything but free him? What else makes sense?”

  Dreyak shrugged. “Read my thoughts if you wish. I don’t truly believe he’s still alive. Maybe your king kept him in exile for a while, but would he truly have done it indefinitely? Paid for guards to stay with him, for food and water to be brought in?”

  “I have no idea. If Angulus had wanted him dead, why would he have exiled him in the first place?”

  “Because killing the leaders of other nations sets a bad precedent if you yourself are a leader of a nation.” Dreyak shrugged. “And it’s possible your king only wanted him exiled indefinitely, but…” Another shrug. “I knew Salatak. And for the last year, I’ve sensed—I believe he’s gone.”

  “You knew him?” Trip squinted. “Who are you, Dreyak?”

  Dreyak gazed blandly back at him.

  “You ready, Trip?” Blazer asked, coming around the nose of the flier. She twitched when she saw Dreyak. “What are you doing here? Again?”

  “Trying to talk Captain Trip into giving me a ride.”

  “Did you notice these at any point in your journey?” Blazer touched the rank pins on her collar. “I’m in charge of this little mission. You want a ride, you come see me.”

  Dreyak snorted in dismissal. “You would do as he wished if he wished it. Trust me.”

  Blazer scowled at Trip.

  Trip lifted his hands, not appreciating Dreyak reminding his teammates that he wasn’t the same as they were. “I’m not wishing anything right now, I assure you.”

  “You better not be.” Blazer pointed a finger at Dreyak’s nose. “If we take you to Rakgorath, we’re leaving you there.”

  “That’s acceptable,” Dreyak said calmly.

  After holding his gaze for a long second, Blazer stalked back the way she had come. Belatedly, Trip realized that Dreyak might have influenced her.

  He’s not particularly powerful or that well trained, Azarwrath said, but he does have dragon blood. He’s likely used to getting what he wants when dealing with mundanes.

  I shouldn’t have allowed that. But Trip didn’t know what he could have done. Grabbed Blazer’s arm and shaken her?

  Typically, a sorcerer working with or protecting mundanes in my time would have challenged an enemy sorcerer attempting something like that. Or, if the sorcerer was the more powerful of the two, he would have simply punished the enemy for his presumptuousness.

  An image flashed into Trip’s mind of two men in colorful silk clothing with furs draping their shoulders, standing off against each other. One raised his hand, and the other dropped to his knees, gripping his head and crying out in pain.

  Trip stepped back, his head bumping against the lower wing of his flier. The image disappeared from his mind.

  He waited, hoping Jaxi would comment, calling it savage and letting him know that few sorcerers had been like that by the time she’d lived.

  His was a more savage era, Jaxi said, perhaps because more people with more power were about and had to vie against each other, but it wasn’t uncommon for people to enforce the law by inflicting pain on others, even in my time. However, you can simply learn to extend your bank vault around your friends’ minds to stop others from manipulating them. Admittedly, the inflicting-pain method tends to be more effective and teaches enemies not to try again.

  I’ll work on my bank vault, Trip thought firmly.

  Make sure to throw some sewing pattern magazines in there to keep Blazer entertained while you’re protecting her.

  Was that a joke? Trip remembered thinking of decorating his mental bank vault with metalworking magazines the first time he’d created it.

  Naturally. Did you not automatically recognize my wit?

  Dreyak tossed his gear into the back of the flier. He eyed Trip warily out of the corner of his eye, but that didn’t keep him from clambering up after the pack.

  Trip sighed. If we take him, will we regret it?

  You’re the one who can pierce his veil, Azarwrath said. What did you see?

  Trip hadn’t gotten the sense that Dreyak was lying, but he also hadn’t been trying to scrape every thought from the man’s mind. Had that been a mistake?

  It’s a long flight over the ocean, Jaxi said. You can scrape his thoughts while he’s a prisoner in your back seat.

  And flip over and dump him out if you don’t like what you discover there, Azarwrath added.

  You two aren’t quite the mentors I imagined soulblades being.

  An odd thing to say, Azarwrath said. I’m in quite an agreeable mood. I enjoyed your grandmother’s excellent cooking last night. We must visit her more often, Telryn.

  What would you recommend I do to my enemies if you weren’t in an agreeable mood?

  Perhaps we should wait to have that discussion another time, since you grew squeami
sh at my first suggestion.

  “Can’t wait,” Trip grumbled and climbed into the cockpit.

  Just don’t be afraid of your power to such an extent, Jaxi warned, that you let it keep you from helping friends. You’re sensitive, which is better than being an egomaniac hurling power around without thought, but you won’t forgive yourself if someone is hurt, or worse, when you could have done something.

  6

  A hot sun blazed down from a clear blue sky, and for the first time, Rysha felt that summer was on its way. She enjoyed it for the first hour, and then tugged her jacket over her head for the rest of the flight in an attempt to keep her freckled skin from turning lobster red.

  The continent that came into view late in the afternoon was entirely tan, the color of dust. If there was a single tree along the shoreline, Rysha couldn’t see it. Farther inland, a chain of mountains stretched from north to south, but they were the same color as the surrounding desert.

  The fliers were still miles from land, but Rysha could already see why rulers from previous eras had turned this into a continent of penal colonies. Iskandia had marooned criminals on its western side, while Cofahre had often used the eastern, the side closest to its own western edge. Not many scholars had studied Rakgorath in recent decades, nor did the newspapers ever report on the goings on here, so Rysha knew little of the current state of affairs.

  “Think there’s anywhere down there to land fliers?” Duck asked.

  He was her pilot for the day, but Rysha doubted the question was for her. He did look back occasionally and ask her how she was doing, often while providing some insight into the workings of the animal kingdom, but most of his chitchat was directed at his fellow pilots.

  “I don’t know,” Blazer responded, her voice faint to Rysha’s backseat ears. “I’ve never been here. I’m not sure any Iskandian pilots have been. Trip? Leftie? Cougar Squadron ever get sent across the ocean?”