Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai)

by Toni Kerr

  Who was he kidding? The turns they’d made were already a blur.

  They rounded another corner and Tristan spotted the dark-skinned ghost standing at one of the tinted windows, the window frame behind him clearly visible through his transparent cloak.

  “Is he with you?” Tristan asked, doing his best to point at the ghost with his chained hands.

  Shaely looked in the right direction but shook her head. “This is the museum,” she said, glancing at her watch.

  Tell her you want to see it.

  “Can we stop?” Tristan asked. He hadn’t decided if the apparition should be trusted or not, but stopping would give his ankles a break. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the museum.”

  The ghost nodded his approval.

  “We only open it to the public once a year. Sometimes not even that.”

  “Is that a yes? I understand if you don’t have authority....”

  “Oh, I have authority. I just don’t want to risk my brothers catching us.”

  Tristan didn’t care either way and prepared himself for more walking.

  “I guess it’ll only take a few minutes, and it might explain why you’re on trial.”

  “Sure.” Though, he’d rather get off his feet sooner than later.

  Tristan glanced at the man to see if this detour was worth the effort. He looked a lot like Talak, in an old-fashion tribal sort of way. “Did one of your brothers kill Stanley?” Tristan asked.

  Shaely rolled her eyes as she finished punching in a series of numbers on a keypad. “Don’t tell me you’re the one who started that rumor.”

  “No.” The door slid sideways, retracting into the main wall. Only then did he notice there was no doorknob. “They questioned me and asked about you. I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “It wasn’t a problem. And no, we had nothing to do with whatever happened to him.” She waved him in and followed behind. The door whooshed back into position and sealed itself. “This is it.”

  Lights came on as Shaely aimed some sort of remote control at the wall to her right. Glass display cases, lit from within, spanned the entire length of the room. Intricate murals covered every inch of wall space, including an arched ceiling.

  Tristan scanned the room in awe, stopping for a moment on the dark man, and turned away, so as not to project his thoughts outward by accident. Molajah, wasn’t it?

  Yes.

  Tristan spotted his poncho under glass. “Is this mine?”

  “Yes and no,” Shaely answered. “It’s why you’re on trial.”

  “You lost me. And what sort of trial are we talking about?”

  “They say the fabric is made of dragon fur, woven with whisker spines.”

  “Fur?”

  “Not all dragons are scaled, according to the records. And they probably didn’t have aluminum knitting needles back then. It’s an artifact. Any sort of fabric like this is extremely rare.”

  “O-kay.” Tristan left it at that. “So, why am I on trial?”

  “The elders sent us to New Zealand because they felt the presence of a dragon.”

  “Felt?” What sort of cult was this girl messed up with?

  “The elders spend hours meditating in the Forest of Darkness. They’re never wrong.” She clasped her hands behind her back and continued walking along the displays. “But they are getting old. Some of us wonder if it was just the artifact they felt. Not a dragon.” She pointed to a depiction in the mural where a man sat cross-legged in a circle of gray moss, surrounded by wicked-looking bare tree branches. “This is the Forest of Darkness.”

  “So...if I donate the poncho to your museum, I’m free to go?”

  Shaely almost laughed. “They aren’t planning to give it back, and it’s not that simple. The elders want you slain, just in case.”

  “Slain? But I’m not a dragon! That’s just...murder!”

  It is the spirit of a dragon that communes with those who enter the Forest of Darkness, Molajah added. His name is Whiromanie, and his soul will be forever snared in the forest until he can break the curse that binds him; a curse that can only be broken by killing every last dragon.

  “They wouldn’t have agreed to the trial a hundred years ago,” said Shaely. “You should be grateful.”

  “Yeah. Grateful.” If Whiromanie is a dragon, he continued to himself, wouldn’t that mean he has to kill himself, too?

  He’s already dead.

  Shaely walked him through the scenes of war playing out in the murals. Villages burned, hundreds of dragons lay slaughtered across the land. The rivers flowed red. People speared the dying beasts. A man tossed a scroll to a burning pile—revealing a symbol Tristan had duplicated on the map in his cabin.

  Are you...dead? Tristan winced at the question, but clearly the man strolling alongside him was a ghost. Why can’t Shaely see you?

  I am tuning my conscious with your biorhythms, not hers. As for being dead, I have no earthly body, but my spirit is bound by the same contract that binds yours.

  “Don’t feel sorry for them,” Shaely said. “Dragons nearly wiped out the entire human population, like evil demons swooping in at night. Our job as Slayers is to make sure it never happens again, to make sure they go extinct and stay extinct. Some say they can hibernate for a hundred years or more, so we can’t even guess at how many might be left.”

  Whiromanie did have a following, and was rather cruel to the people. After he was captured by one of the gems, much like the emerald turning men into stone, he lured unsuspecting travelers into the Forest of Darkness and organized the Dragon Slayers. We were sought out and slaughtered.

  “But there’s no such thing as dragons.”

  “Look around you, Tristan,” Shaely said. “Some of this stuff is thousands of years old.”

  Tristan eyed each case as he passed, guessing at half of it. He stopped at a metallic-looking bowl. “You’re making this up.”

  “That scale is only a few hundred years old.”

  Tristan moved on to a tinted, lopsided vase. It was half-full of liquid and sealed with thin leather and wax. Beside it were three arrows wrapped in dingy frayed gauze. “What’s in the jar?”

  “Poison.”

  “If there were dragons, they’re long gone by now. What’s this?” Tristan jerked his head toward what looked like a horn wrapped in leather cords. It had a familiar shape—like the fang he’d retrieved from Ireland, only five times the size. The one that made Dorian so angry when he tried giving it to her. The one he’d used as a murder weapon in attempt to kill a man from her village.

  Maybe this trial was about Karma.

  This fang is more powerful than the one you encountered, but has similar residual qualities, Molajah confirmed. In fact, if it wasn’t for that fang, the surrounding trees might have had this place torn apart by now.

  “They say it’s an incisor.” Shaely shrugged. “Can you imagine how big that dragon would have been to have a tooth that large?”

  Tristan didn’t want to think of it. They continued along the displays.

  “The elders say that so long as one dragon lives, the world will be cursed.”

  “Cursed how?”

  “Disease, starvation, evil in our hearts....”

  “And you seriously believe this?”

  Shaely nodded. “I come from generations of Dragon Slayers.”

  “So what? I come from Florida!”

  “This is serious!” she chided. “It’s what we train for.”

  “Then, why not go after all the little Chinese water dragons? What about the bearded dragons, or the komodo dragons?”

  “Now you’re just getting silly. They aren’t the real thing.”

  “Well hell, Shaely!” Tristan took a breath to calm down. “Why on Earth would anyone in their right mind think I’m the real thing?”

  “And that’s all you have to say when they have you on trial. No one wants to murder anyone.”

  Tristan clenched his teeth and Molajah shook his head in warning.


  They continued through the room, stopping at a pedestal with a pile of polished gold nuggets. “Let me guess. Dragon loot?” Even as he said it, he noticed the gems placed throughout the stash—felt the pulse of power and made a quick count: six.

  “Not exactly. This display is probably worth millions, but do you see us selling it off for profit?” She continued when he ignored her. “Yes, it was found in a cave after the dragon was conquered.”

  “Murdered, you mean.” He wasn’t the only one who needed to be rescued; the six gems were as much a prisoner of this place as he was.

  Shaely sighed. “It’s no different than killing tigers or cougars. Once they started hunting people, they had to be dealt with. Simple as that.”

  Tristan glanced at Molajah and went to the next display, where a brilliant blue sapphire twinkled in the palm of a crystal hand. He recognized it instantly and nearly knocked the case over when he swayed against it.

  “We should get you to your cell,” Shaely said, keeping him steady. “I didn’t mean to be in here this long.”

  “What is this?”

  “Just another gem. Apparently, the dragons had a thing for bling.”

  Shaely tugged on his arm and he almost tripped over his chained feet.

  “Give me a sec—” Haven’t I see this before?

  Yes. The plea for help appears to loop in time, and not always in the same location. No one summoned has ever been able to alter the course of events. Not even myself.

  It really happened?

  The gems contain future generations of magical beings. Their powers, along with our binding commitment to the contract, keeps them concealed from the world in the essence of a time capsule.

  “Come on, Tristan. I can’t carry you.”

  For how long?

  For until we decide, as a council, that the world is a less violent, more habitable place for their kind.

  Will that ever happen?

  I doubt it. But it makes no difference. The contract can never be fulfilled—the beings will never be released and we will be bound forevermore.

  But you just said….

  There is only one way for the magical races to be reborn into this world. No part of the process can be replicated. It is a foolproof method and it requires a dragon. An actual dragon.

  Tristan took it all in, saddened by the fact that the beings thought they would be safe, and were now imprisoned forever, but also relieved to hear that there were no more dragons.

  I’ve been authorized to negotiate a deal with you.

  “I really don’t want them to find us in here,” continued Shaely.

  I’ll see that Jacques, your falcon, is freed from confinement as well as all charges of High Treason—

  Tristan looked up when Molajah stopped speaking.

  The door swooshed open and three of Shaely’s brothers swept into the room.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said the one in the middle, pulling a handgun from the inside of his denim jacket. His broad shoulders nearly filled the walkway as he stomped toward them, pointing the gun at Tristan. The other two circled around.

  “You can’t shoot a gun in here,” Shaely said, raising her chin a notch.

  “It was my fault,” Tristan said. “I wanted to see—”

  “Shut up, dragon boy.”

  “We’re heading to his cell—”

  Tristan lunged when the man backhanded Shaely, gun still in hand, but couldn’t bring his hands forward by more than a few inches. He mentally shielded himself on the way down, seeing the pointed boot coming up at him, and wasn’t sure what got him first—the kick, something like a baseball bat from behind, or the electrified metal band on his head.

  29

  - WARFARE ADVANTAGE -

  A DRAGGING GROAN woke Tristan as his cell door opened, revealing someone’s silhouette.

  “Shaely?” His lips barely formed the word. Half his face felt numb. Or swollen. He wasn’t sure which.

  A cold blast of water hit him in the gut.

  Tristan recoiled, lying on his side, unable to pull his hands and feet in to protect himself. He didn’t dare construct a mental shield.

  The stinging stream of water hit every bruise on his body and he barely caught a breath before it reached his face. The figure stepped back and slammed the door, plunging the room into pitch-darkness again.

  When the air shifted inches from his head, Tristan shielded himself without thinking. Dim sparks reflected in the puddles of water and alighted Shaely’s smooth skin as pain shot down his spine.

  If he could stay conscious long enough to notice, maybe he could tough it out and do something useful. Like get himself home.

  “Tristan!”

  Something wiped at his eyes and he still couldn’t move.

  “I figured he’d have learned by now,” said a male voice.

  Only one of his eyes would open.

  “Tristan? Oh, thank God.” Shaely wiped at his forehead with the cloth.

  A naked bulb hung from the ceiling, but didn’t appear strong enough to reach the walls. Shaely dipped the blood-soaked washcloth into a bucket of water.

  A bulky figure stood behind her with his arms crossed. He had a mask over his face and a hood to match. “Let’s get on with it,” he said, dodging puddles as he walked out of sight.

  A series of hollow, metal clanks echoed in the darkness. Tristan’s arms lifted a few inches off the ground. He twisted to see what was happening.

  “I’ll round everyone up.” Light flooded the room for a brief instant as the man opened the door and left the room.

  Tristan focused on Shaely.

  “You’ll be okay,” she said, dabbing at the eye that wouldn’t open. “They’re wearing the hoods and masks so you can’t identify anyone. It’s a great sign!”

  “Great.”

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” she said.

  He doubted it, annoyed by her pleasant smiles that seemed so sincere. “How long have I been here?”

  “Not long at all. A few days maybe.”

  Tristan melted into the floor, devastated.

  Someone should have found him by now, if they were looking. He sucked in a breath when Shaely shook his ribcage. “Don’t pass out! They want to start the trial and the sooner you get through it, the sooner you can go home. Can you move your feet?”

  “No.” But even as he said it, he was able to bring his knees forward, dragging a chain across stone. “Do I have to walk?”

  “They’ll do it all right here, but they’ll want you to stand. I can help you up, but that’s it.” She lowered her lips next to his ear. “They need a unanimous vote to kill you, and they won’t get it.” She leaned back and grinned, then shook him as his eyes closed. “Stay awake!”

  “Do I get a lawyer?”

  “It’s not that kind of trial. And you shouldn’t want to put it off; the sooner you get out, the sooner you can get medical attention.”

  An amber light on a distant wall flickered on, exposing a parade of hooded people entering the room, well beyond the reaches of the light bulb above him.

  “Please stand,” said a deep voice.

  Shaely smiled with an encouraging nod and helped him to his knees, then to his feet.

  The clanking noise started up again, taking in the slack of chain until his hands were pulled level with his chest. His shoulders ached from the stretched-out position he had been in on the floor.

  Shaely tucked his hair behind his ears and dabbed playfully at the tip of his nose. “Hold onto the chain to keep the cuffs from weighing on your wrists.”

  Her cheeriness sickened his nerves. “My hands are numb, Shaely. How am I supposed to grip anything?”

  “I’ll bet we’re done in half an hour, okay? Just, hang in there. I mean—you know what I mean.”

  Tristan remained silent, flexing his fingers to get the circulation flowing.

  “You are accused of being a dragon.”

  Tristan barked a harsh laugh. �
�By who?” Something hit his ribs from behind, he couldn’t pull his elbows back far enough to protect himself and fought the urge to shield himself mentally.

  The second blow came to the back of his knees, making his legs go numb—he collapsed, yanked to a stop by the cuffs on his wrists. His knees hovered inches from the ground.

  He spun half a circle as water blasted his chest and neck. Blood seeped down his arms. Tristan stared at the dark ceiling, past the light. Waiting. Refusing to do anything that might trigger the band on his head.

  Get on your feet, young one.

  His feet were numb and he couldn’t lift his head. He couldn’t possibly stand. He could barely keep his eyes open.

  Shaely appeared from nowhere with something in her hands. “Oxygen,” she said, placing a clear rubber mask over his face.

  He took a breath, then another, then got his feet under himself to ease the stress on his arms. Shaely took the mask away and winked before she walked back to the cloaked crowd, taking her seat with the others.

  The hint of a light flickered on, the pale blue of a computer monitor coming to life behind a cubicle wall to the right.

  “How do you plea?”

  Tristan couldn’t determine who was speaking; there had to be at least fifteen people sitting along the far side of the room, though he couldn’t be sure. He’d even lost track of which one was Shaely.

  What was the computer for?

  He straightened himself and stood firm, especially if the trial was being recorded. “I am NOT a dragon!”

  A blow came to his other side; Tristan choked up blood, and would have thrown up if he’d had any breath. He couldn’t keep his knees locked and jerked to another sudden stop in a pit of blissful darkness.

  “They’re breaking for lunch.” Shaely had the oxygen mask on his face and smiled. “Try not to make them so mad, or you’ll be dead before they can decide anything.”

  It was all he could do to take one breath after another, but even that was becoming easier. The pain in his sides lessened, as did the pounding in his head. Even his shoulders seemed to get a second wind. “Water.”