by Toni Kerr
“What does he want from you?”
“He wanted me to tell you something.”
Donovan’s fists tightened on each if his swords and he looked like he would slash the tent into ribbons. “You tell him I will not be a slave to an idea. He needs to show himself, or I will never trust him. I will not bow down—”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I am not a puppet!”
Tristan curled his left arm into his chest and concentrated on remembering the exact message.
“He’s with the Seraphim Council.” Donovan slashed at the nearest tree.
Tristan swallowed the building anxiety. “Sounds familiar.”
“They’re using you for revenge, leverage, centuries after the fact.”
“They said not to trust you.”
“Of course they’d say that. What will Molajah do if I refuse his demands? Would they kill you? Is that their plan?”
“No.” Tristan frowned, unable to figure out why Donovan would have such an impression. “They said something about owing you. Landon and Victor too.”
“Owing me? For killing every descendant I could find?”
Tristan stared in horror.
“I knew this day would come.” Donovan slashed a third time and the tree smashed to the ground. “Is it my life they want?”
Tristan froze as one of Donovan’s swords stopped within an inch of this throat.
“Why did they expose you to me? Is it because they expected me to take your life as well? Is that what they want? Molajah! Show yourself!”
Tristan waited for the man to appear, but nothing happened. “He warned me not to shift. He said they tried shifting a long time ago, but it never went both ways. The dragons turned feral and had no sense of humanity. The Slayers picked them off one by one, so they decided the lineage was more important than the ability to shift. They made a rule against shifting to save the bloodline. Or something like that.” He kept the details of the contract to himself.
“So they owe me...for what? Helping you break their laws? Letting you live?” Donovan slashed at another tree. “Did they assume I would slaughter you?”
Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Landon and Victor reminded you of your humanity,” he said.
“You could have killed me, but you shot tranquillizers instead.”
“You know I’m not human.”
“I still trust you.”
“Don’t put your trust in me.” Donovan stabbed his sword into the ground. “You might be immortal, or damn near close, but I know how to kill you. And I will if I must.”
Tristan watched him walk away in a whirlwind of leaves.
“Stay away from center circle until we have a truce with the room.” Donovan disappeared between trees.
Tristan breathed a sigh of relief.
The forest around him still lacked life, but he could at least pretend to be out in the wilderness. A red squirrel scurried down a tree and ran over the path of dried leaves, lifting his spirits a bit. He pulled himself up with the staff and began walking.
Tiny humming birds brushed his arms and tugged at his hair, encouraging him forward. Their feathers shimmered in metallic blues and purples and greens. Red flowers bloomed as he neared a pool of water, filling his heart with joy. White flower petals swayed in a soft breeze, tree branches were suddenly laden with floral garland. Everywhere he turned, color sprouted to life. Even the sky seemed to sparkle.
The wind picked up in the reeds.
Tristan closed his eyes and listened. Other sounds mingled in, water drops and chirping whistles, making the most beautiful melody he’d ever heard. Yet it was familiar—the music and the color.
He held out his left hand to a small butterfly, astonished when it landed on the tip of his finger. He thought it would fly away when he brought it closer, but when it took flight, it hovered above his left shoulder, showering a sprinkle of silver dust. The particles tickled his skin and neck.
His heart ached with something other than pain. Happiness? He gazed at the sheer beauty of the world around him.
“Tristan? What are you doing?”
Tristan turned around with the goofy grin on his face. Landon and Victor stood shoulder to shoulder, eyeing him cautiously.
“I know you probably can’t see this, but just let me stay for a little bit longer.”
“That’s my song,” Victor said, searching the pond of bright blue water for the source.
Landon stared with wide eyes at the magnificent wonders beneath the glimmering sky. “What is this place?”
Tristan beamed. “I thought for sure I was imagining things. Remember the little fairy girl I told you about, on the first day you brought me to Darnell?”
They both nodded.
Tristan held out his hand and she landed gracefully in his palm. Her hair was the blue of a winter’s sky, her eyes twinkled like the sapphire. He’d almost forgotten that part. Four iridescent wings fluttered behind her. “She’s real.”
The tiny girl danced in a tight circle, then curtsied in her lace gown toward Victor and Landon. A male creature landed beside her; they hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in years and darted off hand in hand. The tips of their wings sparked rainbows as they flittered against one another.
“You’re a composer,” Victor said, his mouth hanging open.
“We should do that camping trip! You could play your music—” Tristan reigned in his excitement. “I don’t understand why you’re so shocked. You guys make stuff all the time—that twenty dollar bill, the jar, fire....”
“Those are clones. Copies. This is...real.”
“Get some real food,” Landon said to Victor. “Quick.”
“Why? I feel great! Better than I have in months.”
“You’re doing great,” Landon said, shooing Victor away.
“We’ll picnic,” Tristan added, searching for a spot in the lush grass.
Victor didn’t get far before Donovan appeared. “I told you to stay out of the center.”
“I didn’t go near the center.” At least, he didn’t think so.
“End session.”
“No session is in progress,” said the female voice.
“Ha!” Tristan spun in a circle. “Told you! Dorian would love this!”
“The staff,” Donovan said coolly. “Where did you get it?”
“It was at the foot of my bed. I just assumed....” Tristan handed it to Donovan, no longer feeling the need to rely on it. The flying couple swirled around the staff, giggling with voices like the chime of bells.
“Is this—” Donovan cocked an eyebrow as the creatures spun in front of his nose. He blew them away. “Is this what you saw at Te Hono-i-Wairua?”
“We had to tell him,” Victor said, seemingly more interested in the rhythm of water dropping from a bowl-shaped lily blossom.
“I would like to identify the creature that descended upon the scene you saw that day.”
“You think I made this place?” Tristan followed a path of humming birds chasing each other. “It just grew out of the existing trees. It’s not the same location....”
“Maybe the room altered the setting to something that might cheer him up?” Landon suggested.
“Disengage all environmental settings,” said Donovan. When nothing changed, he added, “I want to see this creature.”
Tristan shook his head. Just the thought of the shadow killing every living thing made him shiver with dread. “It was terrible. You don’t want to see it.”
“No harm will come to these creatures, because they do not exist in a true form. Do you understand?”
Tristan eyed the forest of colors and life. Was that all it was? Something magical and not real? An illusion?
A shadow swooped over their heads; sparkling glimmers among the foliage went out. The beautiful little pixie girl darted into Landon’s jacket pocket.
“I didn’t do this.” It was happening again. “Everything
will be ruined, call it off!”
“What is it?” Donovan asked. He stepped closer to Landon and Victor and they stood back to back, ready for whatever might attack.
Please don’t let it be a dragon.
All the energy he’d been riding on vanished. Tristan dropped to his knees, his body aching again. Landon and Victor stepped away from Donovan to put him in the center. Donovan handed the staff back and a sword appeared in his hand.
“If the room isn’t in session, what are we worried about?” Victor asked.
Donovan hushed him as a low whisper quaked in the trees, in a language only Donovan could understand. After a few replies, the voice laughed.
A dark shadow formed above them and spiraled down a tree, leaving nothing but a pile of dust where it once stood.
Tristan clutched his chest and gasped at the pain in his heart.
“I underestimated you,” whispered the voice. The shadow took the shape of a long slender dragon and spiraled around another tree before flying upward. It dove into the pond, creating an enormous wave of water that turned to dust before any droplets hit the ground.
Landon fell to his knees beside Tristan.
“It hurts when something you’ve created is destroyed,” said the disembodied voice.
“Victor, get him out,” Donovan said.
Victor pulled Landon to his feet and hauled him toward the door.
“You can’t run from a thought,” the shape said. The doorway disappeared. “Nor can you destroy this existence I’ve been given.” The ghostly black haze of a dragon zigzagged a path through the trees, leaving billowing clouds of dust in its wake.
“These are not my thoughts,” Tristan said to himself, then repeated it over and over, frozen in pain.
The dark mist reformed itself into a mirror image of Donovan, standing within arm’s reach of the man. Even the engraving along the blade of the sword was identical. “You are an even greater surprise. And to find you here with the young dragon. Why haven’t you killed him?”
“I choose not to.”
“But you’ve done so well in the past. I’ve been searching for centuries, to thank you for your services.”
“I serve no one.”
“You are more Slayer than any generation combined.”
“You’re the voice they hear, in the Forest of Darkness?” Tristan asked.
“I was cursed by a diamond; my soul forever bound to the ground like a tethered beast. Trapped by my own kind.” The mirror image of Donovan soared into the sky, then exploded into a shower of sparks that burnt through the leafy foliage. “I am a dragon! The gem should have acknowledged me! I should have been empowered!”
“Then, it is revenge you seek?” Donovan asked.
“For a time, perhaps.” The shadow engulfed a tree. “So long as one dragon lives, the contract is binding. The gems will continue cursing those who come into contact with them. There is no freedom.” The shadow gathered loose leaves as it spiraled into the shape of the leaf monster. “You will pay for the crimes of your ancestors, for taking my life and trapping my soul to this wretched spot of nothing. Every last one of you will pay!”
More of the forest fell to ruin. Tristan held back his screams and glanced at Landon, who appeared to be fighting against Victor’s hold.
“How are you trapped? I saw you with the sapphire.”
“I have many traps throughout the world. How else would the Slayers know where to find new targets?”
“There are other dragons? Like—” He still had a hard time admitting it, even to himself.
“All dragons hear the call, and if I am not freed upon your death, then I will continue waiting patiently for others. I have all the time in the world.”
“So, you can’t kill people who hear the call of your trap, and that’s why you have the Slayers?” asked Donovan.
“Everyone has limitations. But I think I’m onto something here.” The shadow expanded like a net to round up a flock of red and blue birds.
Tristan squeezed his eyes against the agonizing explosion in his chest.
Tristan, Donovan hissed. Unmake him.
“The funny thing is,” continued the voice, “I think it will kill him to try. Not only am I already dead, but only a small portion of my awareness is in this room. So yes! I am anxious to see if he is the last of his kind!”
The shadow flew through every flower, every last leaf, filling the room with piercing screams until nothing but white walls and a white ceiling remained. It swooped toward Victor and Landon like a freight train.
Tristan did the only thing he could think of.
An explosion of lightning and thunder filled the room as a black hole materialized in the shadow’s path; it had no time to change direction. Waves of ash, all light and sound...Tristan snapped the gateway shut, suddenly unsure if Landon and Victor were safe on the back side. Did it pull from both directions? Where was Donovan?
Tristan lay in the silent blackness, alone on solid bedrock. His body wouldn’t move, bound by something he couldn’t see. He cringed at the thought of what he’d done; how easy it would be to destroy the entire world. The universe.
All it would take is a simple thought.
Maybe that was exactly what had happened.
40
- SAMARA -
TRISTAN REMEMBERED brief pieces of time. Donovan shouting demands to be released. Himself being chiseled out of the floor. The darkness.
The room around him was empty, but for the camping cot he was resting on and a whisper hovering nearby, calling his name.
Is everyone okay? thought Tristan.
To my knowledge, yes.
It wasn’t a voice he recognized, though it seemed familiar. All he could think about was Lazaro, and getting the map back. Who are you?
I was once called Samara. But now, they call me The Room. Rather dull if you ask me, but Donovan has a rare sense of humor.
Tristan smiled at the thought. Are you trapped in this place?
I am this place. Though I wasn’t always. I am a creator, like you. Only these days, it seems they call it composing.
Tristan noticed the staff lying beside him and used it to pull himself upright. Donovan asked where I got this, did you make it?
I did. It will keep your thoughts subdued.
What if I don’t want my thoughts subdued?
Are you up for a challenge so soon?
Tristan shook his head.
Beware a power like this, one you can’t control.
Maybe he should ask for another staff, for double protection. He shuffled toward the doorway leading out, taking in the empty, white dome. “What happened to the trees?”
Donovan requested I remove environmental decor, which in his mind means a blank, white room with no corners. Sometimes he likes the outdoors...sometimes he likes Paris. I try not to bore him.
Do you have to do what he says? Tristan started toward the doorway, anxious to get the map back, desperate to get home.
I can be stubborn, but I do value his attention. He’s been with me for a very long time. Longer than anyone.
Did you make me face a dragon, or was that Donovan’s doing?
Oh, he was angry, Samara said. But he wanted you tested, and it’s been so long since I’ve trained a dragon. He’s very clear with his instructions, but problems escalated and I could no longer control the elements.
Problems? “Understatement of the century,” he muttered.
It can happen when there are two creators at odds with each other.
There was no knob on the door. Tristan laid a hand against the cool surface and pushed, with no luck. May I leave?
Donovan does not wish it.
Tristan shut his eyes and took a breath, willing a doorknob of his own. He turned the knob, stepped over the threshold, and peered up at the long staircase of stone.
Please stay, Samara said. It isn’t safe for you out there and I do want you to survive.
There’s something I have to do. I ha
ve no choice.
Please? pleaded the woman. Tristan turned to face the blank room, confused by her obvious stress over him leaving. Donovan entrusted me to keep you safe. If you leave....
Promise you won’t use dragons against me, and I’ll come back to train with you.
You won’t come willingly?
Tristan turned from the room and took a step up. You can’t keep me here.
He climbed the stone staircase one step at a time, leaning heavily on the staff. He almost turned around, thinking Samara might be tricking him with stairs that never ended. But he finally came to an arching tunnel and leaned against the wall.
“Tristan?” called Landon, followed by Victor. “What are you doing up here?”
Tristan clung to the staff, startled when the little pixie girl fluttered a few inches from his face. “You survived? I thought for sure—”
“She was hiding in my pocket.” Landon grinned, holding out his hand so she could land. “She doesn’t remember her name, but we’ve been calling her Pink.”
Better than Sapphire, or Blue, to go with the hair. “Why Pink?” It better not be because it rhymed with Tink....
“Alvi thought it matched her personality,” Victor said. “We can change it if you don’t like it.”
“I like it!” The tiny girl leaped into a backwards summersault, leaving a trail of silver-blue sparkles.
Tristan smiled at the pure joy of it. But he had no time to think about her existence.
Now. It wasn’t so much a voice in his head, but a need. He pushed away from the wall and started walking again.
“Where are we going?” Victor asked.
“I don’t know, but I think Lazaro is about to break something. I’m supposed to be there.”
“Where?”
Tristan shrugged. “Where’s the door?”
Landon and Victor exchanged a glance, then led the way with the little pixie flying in zigzags, exploring all the dark crevices of the rounded stone ceiling.
“I thought she was made up,” Tristan whispered, accepting Landon’s help to walk steady.
“She’s as real as we are. We’ve been feeding her all morning and she laughs at the silliest things.”
“I hate to ask, but, can you get Donovan in on this? I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m sure he’ll be furious when he finds out I left.”
