“We were unprepared. The beast killed three of my comrades instantly. Three more a second later. It didn’t try to fly by us. No. It wanted to fight. Wanted to kill. And I… I was frozen.
“Screams filled my ears. Death and terror spread before my eyes. The land along the river burned, a flame so bright it lit up the night, so deep it still leaves a scar over the earth to this day.
“I was a coward. A fool. My friends were not. Alec and Phoenix attacked. They did their best, but it was not enough. The dragon knocked them to the ground, burned their limbs. My friends… my friends were going to die and it would be because of me. Because I could not find the strength to fight.
“As the dragon landed, preparing a final strike against my friends, it did not even seem to notice me. So inconsequential was I. So weak was I.
“But I could see it. So close. Its giant sapphire eyes not far. And as the dragon prepared to breathe fire a final time, to turn my friends to ash, I charged. I summoned all my strength. Used all my knowledge of Spirit. Before the mighty leviathan could react, I Transmuted my body, growing scales over skin, growing claws over hands, and I tore out the dragon’s eye.
“It reeled back in pain, but I did not slow my assault. I ripped out its other eye, and then… then I went inside… past the flesh… past the skull… I slashed into the dragon’s brain, and it fell. When it hit the river, the very earth shook. Its dying roar tore at the very air.
“As its life faded, I heard something then. One word. Umi. Umi. Umi. And I knew it was the dragon’s name. It communicated with me somehow, touched my Spirit. The last thing it could do in the world, and it chose to speak to me.”
Kaden pauses, his gaze vacant, lost in the past. “I was made an Ashlord the next day. The people of Al’Kalesh proclaimed me their savior. They called me Darkflame, Iron Dragon, and more names than I can even remember. Outrageous rumors spread throughout the Cliff. I tore the dragon’s head off with one blow. I had gone to the battle alone. Preposterous, but I was a hero.
“Yet I did not feel like one. Because inside, I knew I was a coward. I knew I only won because of luck. Because as my comrades were killed, I did nothing, and that made me invisible to the enemy.
“They say Spirits come from the dead. But I have never met a Spirit I recognized. Until now. Until Umi. I am sorry for how I reacted. But his name brought me back to another time. A darker time.”
I scoot forward, closing the distance between us, and take his hand in my own. “I know what it is like to be paralyzed by fear,” I say. “I've seen it on the job, when fighting the fire. I've frozen myself. What matters is pushing through. And you did. You fought the dragon, and you won.”
His lips curl, a hint of a smile, and then he turns to the horizon. “We are here, Shishami. Welcome to Al’Kalesh.”
The capitol of Nirandel sprawls over the desert. One side surrounded by the Golden River, the other by silver sand. Where everything south of the city was nearly barren, here the land is lush and rich and green, and emerald trees and bushes grow in the shadows of the giant yellow stone walls of Al’Kalesh. The air is humid and thick. The scent sweet and powerful drifting from purple flowers as large as a man. Birds whistle songs from above. Lizards the colors of opals scuttle about the shrubbery. Starcatchers glide around the vines, singing secret messages to each other. A proper road leads into the city, built of solid white stone, and wide enough for dozens of people. They move in masses, one side heading into the city through the steel gate, the other side leaving the city with Boxen-pulled carts and goods in tow. The chatter of many voices, many languages, fills the air, a cacophony of sound both chaotic and exciting. The people wear an eclectic array of clothing styles. Thin and delicate silks. Thick wool robes. Jewelry made of gold and gems. Jewelry made of bones and vines. Many cultures have come together here. Many lives.
Past the gate, the wonders of the city unfold. Golden buildings built of sandstone. Stalls full of marvelous rugs and trinkets. Street performers playing flutes, juggling swords, eating fire. Children running amok, laughing and singing and playing games in the side streets. And above it all looms the Palace of Storms, a giant citadel built on a hill in the center of Al’Kalesh, casting a shadow over a quarter of the city. Two stone towers grow from its golden dome roof, reaching so high in to the sky, pale blue clouds drift around them. Thousands of windows adorn the white walls, made of colorful glass depicting stories and portraits. The door must be four stories tall and looks made of pure gold. The whole structure seems to speak: You are beneath me. You are nothing.
And perhaps this great structure is right.
For inside lives the Emperor, ruler of all Nirandel.
We part ways with Massani and his family at the gates, as city guards clad in white and red armor inspect the goods within their cart, checking for illegal items and hidden criminals. I thank our companions for their help and their gift, then Kaden leads me to a stable where he buys a pair of horses with a bag of coin. “The city is too large to walk through,” he explains as he checks the saddle on his black stallion. I’ve never really ridden a horse before, pony rides as a child aside, so Kaden guides me through the process. He helps me mount my steed, a beautiful white mare with a black star in the center of her forehead, who I name Moon.
“These horses are well trained," Kaden says. "Move your reigns in the direction you wish to go, and they will follow. If you wish to go faster, squeeze your thighs and feet against the horse. However, I recommend we go slow at first.”
I nod, and together we ride at a leisurely pace through the city of Al’Kalesh, Umi perching on my shoulder, my steed following Kaden’s, head to tail. I notice a wooden sign carved to look like a flame, the words “The Dousers” engraved onto it. It hangs over a small building with piles of buckets stacked before the door. Tools of a firefighter in this world, I imagine. It would be near impossible to keep a fire contained here. So many buildings, so squeezed together, such narrow side streets, most made of quite flammable wood. And I wonder if The Dousers are a group of volunteers, or if putting out flames is their job—their calling.
I wonder a lot of things. And as we make our way past the docks, where giant wooden ships sway in the water, I ask Kaden the questions that have been on my mind. “Why do people on Earth not know about the Nine Worlds? Why don’t we trade goods, information?”
Kaden shuffles a coin across his knuckles as he rides. “Most people here don’t know about your Earth, either. To them the Nine Worlds are a myth, nothing more. Only Nirandel is real.”
“Why the deception?” I ask.
“As my mentor once said, ‘There are always three truths. The physical, the emotional, and the spiritual.’ Always three reasons… well, or more. Physically, it is difficult to travel between the worlds. With few exceptions, only Broken Ones or Twin Spirits can, thus most people could never make that journey. Establishing trade would be difficult, and almost useless, since your technology would not work here, and much of our magic is weaker there. Emotionally, there are challenges as well. People already have much to worry about. To tell them about other worlds… worlds that could pose threats or disrupt their worldview, could create greater chaos and stress, and to no good end. Thus the truth is a closely guarded secret, at least here in Nirandel. Those of Ash and the Emperor know of course. But the common people do not."
He pauses, considering his next words. "Finally, there is the spiritual reason. You could call it ethics as well. Once, thousands of years ago, a group of Ashlords made themselves known on your world. They took advantage of their abilities, winning battles singlehandedly, destroying villages when their tempers flared. Tales of their powers soon spread, many becoming myths about creatures or gods, and the Ashlords grew in influence and strength. They had forsaken their duties in order to raise themselves up as kings and queens. They enslaved the people of your world, and massacred those not enslaved. As you can imagine, there were many problems with this. The Masters of Dragoncliff did not approve, and so they se
nt a force to assassinate the outcasts. Terrible battles ensued, causing much destruction, but they spared Earth from even greater chaos. After the outcasts were all killed, and their time on Earth forgotten, stricter rules were enforced. Those of Ash would forsake the kingdoms of men and women, allowing them to rule themselves. We would only protect from Spirits and dragons, nothing more.”
“I see…” I say, understanding the decision to keep the secret, but not certain I agree. “And you didn’t care to tell me earlier? What if I spilled the information?”
He smiles. “No one would have believed you. No one who didn’t already know.”
I nod. It makes sense, I suppose. If I started telling people on Earth about Nine Worlds and dragons and Spirits, they wouldn’t believe me either.
I ask the second question on my mind. “Kaden… how old are you?” I’ve heard him talk of ancient events as if he were there, and I wonder…
“Many centuries,” says Kaden, “too many for you to comprehend.”
My eyes go wide. “But… how? Because you’re a Twin Spirit?”
He shakes his head. “Because I am an Ashlord. I… I cannot say more. It would not be proper. But once you finish your training, you will understand.” He pauses. “There is something you don’t yet know about this world. Something you should understand.” He points to a wagon forged from steel pulled by a Boxen, surrounded by a dozen guards clad in silver armor, a red flame upon their white capes. They look around constantly, and keep their hands on the swords at their hips, prepared for an attack, ready to protect whatever it is they are guarding.
“They are transporting dragonstone,” says Kaden. “Blue stone, most likely. There are many kinds, but blue is the most valued here. It can be ground into a powder and taken in a drink. It extends one’s life. Indefinitely, if they keep taking the powder regularly. The nobles here purchase the stones in bulk from the Cliff for exorbitant prices. It is the way we fund the protection of the Wall of Light.” He seems sad as he says this, but I do not know why.
“The blue stone, is that how you live so long?”
“No,” says Kaden. “As I said, I cannot speak of that. The blue stone is how nobles live forever, how the Emperor will live forever.” He lowers his voice. “Unless of course, he is murdered.”
“You mentioned Masters…”
“Nine Ashlords chosen to lead the rest. Since they don’t age, they are rarely replaced.”
I nod. It doesn’t seem the best leadership system. But—
I hear the screams first.
Terrible cries of pain and despair.
My heart jumps in my chest. My breath catches. “What’s going on?” I yell.
And then, as we emerge into a plaza at the base of the palace, I see. The crowds of howling people.
The pyres.
Nine of them. A person tied to each one. Burning.
Umi hisses at the display.
I clutch my reigns tightly, my knuckles turning white. “What is this?”
“An execution,” says Kaden, his jaw tensing. “This is how it’s done here.”
The smell of ash and smoke and wood fills the air. And…
I turn to the side, trying to keep myself from vomiting.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” asks Kaden. “When human flesh burns, it smells much like any animal.”
My gut convulses uncontrollably, and I dry heave, my stomach already empty. Food rations have been low since we started our journey. Only bits of bread and dry meat.
Once the nausea begins to pass, I sit up straight, taking in more of my surroundings. The plaza is large, fitting hundreds of people. They circle the pyres, yelling and cheering and throwing food. They pack together, close to the fire, yet maintain a strange perimeter, about a dozen feet from each execution. I wonder why, and then I see the man… no… the thing standing at the center of the plaza.
It is huge, twice my size, made of thick muscle coiling under pale skin. And it has no eyes.
Two black pits stare from its skull instead.
Dark spikes run down its spine.
A scaled tail grows from its back, slithering in the air.
Long claws grow in place of nails.
It wears no shirt, only black leather pants and sturdy plain boots. Black tattoos cover its body, even its head, which is shaved clean. They spiral like flames. And though the creature has no eyes, I feel it sees me. Stares straight at me.
“A Shadow,” whispers Kaden.
The Emperor’s Shadow. “Why… why does it have no eyes?” I ask, trembling.
“They say the eyes are a distraction. You see the spikes down its back? They are made of dragonstone. Impaled into the Shadow’s body. You see the tattoos, they are glyphs. Flesh Imbuing it is called. The practice is… forbidden. At least, it was until the Emperor created his Shadows. He used them to win the Rising, to kill all High Dragons. Now Shadows may use Flesh Imbuing, but no one else. The practice twists their body, gives them the tail, the claws, and abilities, strength, a second sight, more things as well perhaps… the art, you see, is a well-kept secret by the Emperor. Even the Masters of Ash do not understand the details of Flesh Imbuing.”
The Shadow turns its head in our direction. Its tongue, long and forked like a snake’s, sticks out and retreats in an instant, tasting the air. The creature steps forward, the crowd parting before it as if out of instinct. And I realize, the Shadow is heading for us.
“Darkflame,” it hisses, in a voice low and oozing, stopping before Kaden. Though we are mounted on horses, the Shadow stands as tall as us.
“Sylus,” replies Kaden, and I realize he recognizes the Shadow.
Sylus smiles, revealing sharp white teeth. “The Emperor has been looking for you, Darkflame. He has a matter he wishes to… discuss,” he holds the s unnaturally long, turning his head to me. “And who is this?”
Umi crouches on my shoulder, growling, eyes fixed on the Shadow. I straighten my back and force myself to stare at the pits Sylus has for eyes. “I am—
“No one of importance,” says Kaden. “Just a—”
“I am Sky Knightly,” I finish, not allowing myself to be cut off.
Kaden sighs, but says nothing. His eyes beg me to be quiet.
Sylus walks up to my horse, patting her head, the tile shaking under his boots. “I will remember you, Sky Knightly of no importance.” He tilts his head, dark pits looking past my shoulder, until I realize he is looking at my shoulder. At Umi.
“Your Spirit is powerful,” says Sylus. “But young and untrained. Tell me, have you considered the Emperor’s service?”
“I…” I realize what he’s asking. At least, I think I do. He wants me to join the Shadows. And it makes sense. Because if Shadows use a form of imbuing, they must be Twin Spirits.
Kaden stares at me, his eyes dark, body tense.
“I…” I never realized there may be an option other than the Cliff. Kaden never told me. But then I look at the Shadow once more, at his twisted and deformed body, and it brings back a memory. A man changing before my very eyes. His skin growing thin, gemstones growing from his body, at least I thought they were gemstones, but what if they were dragonstone? “I… I’m looking for someone,” I finally say. “Someone who calls himself Pike.”
The Shadow’s smile returns. “Then you best keep looking. And if you find him, let me know. The Emperor takes interest in such matters.”
If Sylus knows something of Pike, he will not tell me. There is no reason to join the Shadows, at least no reason I see. “Why are these people burning?” I ask, shifting the conversation.
Sylus tastes the air once more. “One of the men killed a woman who refused him. One of the women stole food for her children.”
“And the punishment for both is burning?” I ask, my blood boiling at the thought of the woman.
The Shadow shrugs. “I do not make the rules. Only enforce them.” He turns his head back to Kaden. “Now Darkflame… it is time you come with me.”
“No
,” says Kaden.
Sylus smiles. “Then perhaps Sky Knightly of no importance will accompany me to the palace.” His giant hand clutches my reigns, tugging at them.
Kaden clenches his fist. His eyes turn dark. The wind picks up around us, howling, whipping my cloak and Kaden’s crimson scarf. The shadows on the ground seem to grow longer. Darker.
“You will not touch her,” say Kaden, voice low, primal.
The Shadow hisses.
The wind picks up.
Kaden’s jaw tenses.
A vein pulses on Sylus’s neck. And then…
Then the Shadow smiles, releasing my reigns. “Very well, Darkflame. Another time.”
The wind stills.
The shadows retreat.
And the crimson scarf falls.
Sylus turns, walking away. “See you soon, Darkflame. The Outcast is becoming a problem. A problem the Emperor wishes to discuss.”
I turn to Kaden. “Perhaps he has information.”
“No,” says the Ashlord, face still hard. “The Emperor does not release those he takes into his service. He plays games, pulls strings, gains leverage over them. Alec once had dealings with him and… and it did not go well. I almost lost my friend then, before the Outcast killed him.”
He guides his horse forward, out of the plaza, and I follow.
I want to ask about the darkness, about the wind and the scarf, but I can see the hardness in Kaden’s body, the cold in his eyes, and so I say nothing, as we ride in silence, away from the fire and smoke and screams.
Eighteen
Darkflame
As the sun begins to set, we arrive at the other edge of the city. Here the buildings are small, the streets full of mud and nearly empty. Kaden leads us to an inn for the night called The Lucky Coin. I hear the music first. A upbeat jig reverberating through the air as Kaden ties his horse outside, then shows me how to do mine. I see the lights second. An orange glow filling the windows and cracks of the wooden building. In a part of town dark and quiet and hollow, The Lucky Coin seems bustling with life and song and laughter. Once we step inside, the smells hit me. Sweet cherry pie. Hot soup. Roasted beef. Dozens of men and women gather around the tables, some sitting on chairs, some standing because the chairs are taken, others finding unique places to rest: a windowsill, an upside down bucket, the floor. A pair of men play cards in the corner. Another group tosses dice at the center of the room, crowds making bets around them. A woman plays a lyre near the fire place, singing a fast song, the words hard to make out over the roaring and laughter. Waitresses walk around, dressed in red and white, carrying tankards the size of my head and foaming at the brim. This part of town was empty it seems, because well, the entire town appears to be here!
Of Dreams and Dragons Page 12
