by L. P. Dover
The sandstone rocks loomed over the desert as if they were doorways built into ancient ruins long forgotten. There was no breeze. The air was stifling, stale.
“I will be forgotten.”
There was nowhere for the words to go. No rush of breeze to snatch them away. The words hung there, resigned. The only thing worse than a place, a world even, abandoned is being forgotten. I don’t know why it mattered. I shouldn’t care if anyone remembered me, but if I were forgotten then Aigneis would be as well. Raising me had been her mission. If I died now, she failed.
I reached the sandstone, and I crouched under the minuscule shade provided by the craggy stones, my back burning.
A shadow moved overhead. The wyvers watched.
“You tempt them, you know,” a voice said.
The voice did not belong to Oran or the trees. This voice was deep, but different, almost melodic. It was male.
I hit the crown of my head against the sandstone as I stood, my heart pounding wildly. I didn't turn around. If it was a soldier, I was dead anyway. I raised my hands, placing one on the rocks next to me and the other just far enough from my body it was obvious I had no weapons. My water skin fell to the sand. The man behind me laughed.
“You think I will harm you, human?”
I paused, my eyes on the sky. He called me human. Did that mean he wasn’t? Not a soldier then?
“Won't you?” I asked.
There was a hand on my shoulder before I even had a chance to react. I stood up straighter, my knees locked to keep from trembling. I would not shake. I would not feel fear. Bravery was all I had left.
“Daughter of Soren, I would not see you dead.”
Soren? He knew my birth mother's name.
The hand fell away, and I looked over my shoulder, my eyes wide. A young man stood in the sand. He was lanky, but tall, his russet hair long enough it swept his shoulders. Strange, reptilian eyes narrowed on my face. I knew what he saw, but I didn't shy away from him. I had been on the run for days now. The blue gown Aigneis had put me in was in bad shape, ripped in places, the grungy petticoats beneath obvious. Dirt was smeared on my tanned skin and crusted under bitten nails, and my dark brown hair was streaked with blonde and red highlights I’d had since I was a child. My hair was an odd mix of colors for a Medeisian. It was also now wildly tangled.
“Who are you?” I asked him. His eyes were definitely not human. “What are you?”
“Same as you I'm guessing,” the boy said, his hand gesturing at the sky.“The wyvers’ senses are very keen. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of one of their barbs, you best follow me.”
The stranger’s words almost mimicked Oran’s. I didn't move.
“Who are you?” I asked again.
It bothered me that I had not heard him approach. It bothered me even more that he must have been near when Oran was here, that he must have heard our conversation. And yet the wolf had not seemed aware of the boy’s presence. Or maybe Oran had been aware. Maybe the wolf hadn’t wanted me to know.
The boy sighed, his hollowed cheeks sucking in as he blew hair out of his face before lifting his arm. The mark on his wrist was stark against calloused skin. A mage.
The boy sported brown pants made out of a strange hide I'd never seen before, and the loose, blue tunic he wore was almost the same color as the sky. His sleeve almost covered the mark, but it was there all the same.
“Girl, I am not a patient creature. Never have been. Never will be.”
His voice was harsh when he spoke, but my eyes were still on the mark. A burning star.
“Rebel?” I asked.
In a blur, the boy crouched, his hand suddenly a vise around my wrist, forcing me down next to him. His eyes were slits now, searching the skies earnestly.
“You have a death wish, girl? Is that what it is? The wyvers have claimed the desert. Choose wisely. Death at the hands of man? Or painful death by poison? If you fear me, fear me. But death by my hand would be much more peaceful than the one you bring on yourself now.”
I twisted my arm, pulling my wrist from his grasp before rubbing it gently.
“They will not harm me.”
My words were confident. And foolish. I was extremely weary of strange creatures and their demands, their crazy prophecies.
The boy looked down at me, his yellow eyes dilated. He was not human. No way was he human, and he had the mark of the mage. I had every reason to fear him.
“The wyvers know you are here.”
I didn't flinch.
“But they will not harm me,” I repeated.
A kek, kek filtered down to me from the sky, and I looked away from the boy. Ari. Her calls were low, trusting. Falcons could sense danger, predators. She circled low, away from the wyvers, but she didn’t seem to be avoiding the boy. There was no unease in her call. The boy was not my enemy.
“Were you planning to cross the desert?” the boy asked.
He was ignoring the falcon's call. I peered across the golden sands at the mountains of dunes that separated me from the land I knew lay beyond. Sadeemia. Refuge. Sweat beaded along my hairline as more sweat dripped down my back and between my breasts.
My eyes finally moved to the boy's, and I knew the answer was in my gaze.
He shook his head. “You wouldn't make it. Even with your power.”
We were close, close enough I could see my reflection in his strange eyes.
“Who are you? What would you know about my power?” I asked.
The corner of the boy's mouth lifted, his eyes twinkling.
“Lochlen. I'm called Lochlen.”
And with that, he stood and moved away from the desert's edge toward the dense forests of Medeisia. He paused a few feet away from me. In the sky, Ari mimicked his moves.
“I am safer than your desert, girl,” he said.
With his back to me, he kept walking, and I sighed before following.
In the desert, I might die, forgotten. In the forest, I may die as well. But Aigneis had taught me I would one day inherit a power that would call to the forest. It had come to me now, in a time of need, following Aigneis’ death. I was a stubborn girl, even foolhardy at times, but I was not stupid enough to keep ignoring signs thrust at me. Talking trees and wolves. A strange boy with reptilian eyes. The forest wasn’t just calling to me, it seemed to be begging me to stay.
And so I followed Lochlen warily, keeping my distance, my weak legs stumbling over sand and rocks before I finally fell to my knees on the grass and prickly seeds of the forest beyond.
“Up, girl! I have no desire to hold you.”
I made a face at the boy’s back as I pushed myself up. If I had any say, he would not be coming anywhere near me much less carrying me.
“You live in these forests?” I asked as I followed him.
He didn’t seem as patient as the trees or Oran, and he moved quickly. Almost too quickly. I kept stumbling, my palms reaching out to steady me. It wasn’t long before my hands were scraped, some of the scratches bleeding, others just raw abrasions.
“I rule these forests,” Lochlen answered.
I stumbled again. Ruled it? No one ruled it except King Raemon.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“What am I, you mean?” he asked in return.
“Riddles are not becoming,” I snapped crossly.
The boy laughed. It was a sweet sound. “No? And here I thought scribes liked riddles.”
My heart felt heavy. “I am not a scribe. Not a licensed one."
Lochlen didn’t slow even as he talked.
“Ah, and you have magic in your blood. A predicament that.”
I narrowed my eyes.“You bear the mark,” I pointed out. “You have magic in your blood as well.”
Lochlen laughed again, the sound as confident as it was amused.
“Of course I do. The mark is an illusion, as is this body. All dragons have magic in their blood. Magic beyond what you could possibly imagine.”
And j
ust like that I froze, the late afternoon light beginning to blanket the forest causing the boy ahead of me to appear as scary as his words, covered in the orange glow of a late day sun. Like fire.
A dragon. He was a dragon.
Chapter 10
I didn’t know much about dragons. The Archives said little. They were large creatures, intelligent, with a ruling king. Most people believed they didn’t exist anymore. There was certainly nothing that said they could shift into human shape.
“Are you going to kill me?” I asked.
My voice was calm, uncharacteristically so. I think fear like anything else had its limits. I had been in fear for days, and there was none left in me.
Lochlen paused, his yellow-green eyes on the trees ahead.
“Despite popular belief, you humans taste impossibly bad. Even if I was hungry, I wouldn’t stoop so low.”
I exhaled. That was good news.
“How are you doing this?” I asked. He turned to look at me, and I pointed at his body. “The human thing?”
Lochlen grinned. The smile was feral, too predatory to be human.
“Dragons can take many shapes. It is simple magic. You are more comfortable with a human, so I am a human. Would you prefer me in my original form?”
I shivered, shaking my head quickly. “No, let’s take this relationship slow."
Lochlen chuckled. “I'm going to like you.”
“Good to know,” I muttered as the dragon boy started walking again. I followed.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
Lochlen exhaled loudly, and I noticed smoke curling up into the air in front of him. It was gross. It was disgusting. It was fascinating. A boy. A dragon. A dragon in a boy’s body.
“What is it with humans, and the need to ask questions?” he asked.
I moved closer to him. Either he was slowing, or I was getting faster.
“I’m only preparing myself,” I answered.
Lochlen grunted. “There is nothing to prepare for. You are where you are. The forest surrounds you, and in the trees there are eyes.”
It was an obscure answer, but obscurity was something scribes reveled in. Eyes in the trees.
“Who watches us?” I asked.
Lochlen stopped again, a boyish grin on his face, his hand gesturing at the vegetation.
“I’m going to like you indeed. Welcome to a forest of outcasts.”
His words were punctuated by the sudden sound of feet hitting the ground. From the trees, people fell—men, women, and children in clothes the color of the forest. I stared because I wasn’t sure what else I was supposed to do. And the people stared back. Everyone wore breeches, even the women, the trousers tight against them with loose tunics in varying shades of green and brown. I was out of place in my ragged dress of blue.
But, despite our differences, one thing stood out. On every visible wrist, there was a mark, a brand, either a busted inkwell or a burning star. Rebels. The walking dead.
Someone spit on the ground, the spittle landing not far from my feet.
“Her kind is no’ welcome,” an older man with rotted teeth said.
I didn’t move, nor did I speak. In Medeisia, King Raemon had created a chasm between the classes. My dress, even ragged, was noble attire. I didn’t fault the man his remark, but it made me wary.
Lochlen merely lounged, leaning casually back against a nearby tree, an arm resting on a branch near his head. He was grinning.
“But an interesting specimen she is, no?” the dragon asked.
No one seemed to agree with him. The looks sent my way were not welcoming. They were cautious and skeptical.
“She looks weak,” said a girl not much older than I.
“She looks hungry,” a middle-aged woman added, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth. In one person at least, I had sympathy.
“She can’t be the girl we’re looking for. I say we leave her to the forest,” another male voice intoned. I couldn’t see the speaker’s face, and I was glad of it. The trees had been kinder.
I had taken a step backward when a hand took me gently by the elbow.
“She has suffered enough. There is fight in the girl,” a voice said from behind me.
This voice I knew. Anger coursed through my veins. My blood boiled. My back went rigid.
“I’ll leave now,” I said quietly.
The hand at my elbow tightened.
“She was willing to attempt the Ardus. I say that speaks for itself.”
The voice was cool, confident. I could stand it no more. I jerked my arm away from his grip, stumbling slightly from weakness before I turned to face him.
Kye. The voice belonged to Kye, the king’s soldier who had watched Aigneis burn, who had held me down while I was branded. The same soldier who had helped me escape.
“You!” I breathed.
Kye’s dark eyes were dull, his stance defensive. He no longer wore the king’s scarlet tunic. His attire, like most of the rebels, was green. He dipped his head, a gesture of respect, but I didn’t return the favor.
“A rebel?” I asked.
My eyes moved to Kye’s wrist. He bore no mark.
I turned away, my gaze moving to Lochlen. The dragon was still leaning against the tree, a smile on his face. I blinked to keep threatening tears at bay, swallowing hard against a sudden lump in my throat.
“I want to leave,” I said, my tone final.
Lochlen pushed away from the tree and shrugged.
“To run?” he asked. “Where would you go, girl? There is nothing beyond these forests but the desert and the mountains.”
“Let her go,” one of the rebels called out.
Lochlen’s daunting eyes moved to the person in question, his pupils growing thin, and the middle-aged stocky man who’d spoken looked down before taking a step backward. Beside him, a rosy-cheeked woman smiled. She was a short woman with dull brown hair plaited down her back. She had a full figure, and a kind smile. It was the same woman who’d pointed out my hunger only moments before.
“She’s just a child, Warwick,” the woman chided. She moved toward me. “I am Ena,” she said, dipping her head slowly. It was the customary greeting in Medeisia, and I nodded back at her. Ena’s eyes moved to my wrist.
“You bear a mark. Most of us do. We can help you here.”
There was no bite to her words, nothing to suggest her invitation wasn’t genuine, but all I could hear was Aigneis’ screams, all I could feel was the punishing metal against my skin as the inkwell was etched there. The design was still stiff and sore after three days, and I curled my fingers into my palm, my eyes moving back to Kye.
“You let her die. She bore a mark too, and you let her die.”
The words were strained, broken, but Kye’s shadowed gaze met mine and I knew he understood.
“We can’t save them all,” he said simply.
I stared, my mouth agape. “She bore a mark! I didn’t!”
My voice was rising now, hysterical even to my own ears. Ena had moved closer, and she lifted her hand as if she wanted to touch me, comfort me maybe. But here it was, the grief I hadn’t really let myself feel, the shock of that night wearing off. It left nothing but pain. Pure, unadulterated pain, and I needed someone to blame.
Kye didn’t flinch. He remained stoic, his shoulders back. The scar on his temple made him look dangerous.
“She may have bore a mark, but it was you they wanted to kill. Your maid knew that. It’s why she let them drag her away. If I had attempted to save her, it would have risked your life,” Kye said evenly.
I think I sobbed then. Fury overwhelmed me. My throat burned.
“Then you should have risked my life. They killed her. They killed her!”
I wanted to hit someone. I wanted to kick and scream and hit, but there was not enough energy in my body to do it. Ena’s hand finally rested on my shoulder, and I jerked.
“You’re the One,” the woman whispered.
My world
fell away with those words. It was the same thing the trees and Oran had said. I was the One, the phoenix. Aigneis was dead, and all these people cared about was a foolish idea I’d never heard of. My eyes stayed on Kye’s.
“I hate you,” I said, my voice low, deadly.
I looked away, my gaze moving over the people gathered in the forest, over the amused Lochlen.
“I am not your One!”
There were tears now. I could feel the coolness on my cheeks. They were tears of anger and of loss. Kye didn’t move. He simply stood, his gaze unreadable. It was Ena who turned me, who pointed at the underbrush beyond.
There, amongst the trees, sat a pack of wolves. One of them was Oran. Above him, on a low hanging limb, was Ari. Further back were eyes belonging to animals I could not make out.
Ena leaned over, her mouth near my ear.
“You may want to tell them that.”
Chapter 11
“You fight us even now, Child?” the trees’ abrasive voice asked. It filled my ears, and I flinched.
“She is grieving, Old Ones. Humans grieve differently than we do. See her now with her tears. We accept loss. Humans have to let it go,” the wolf, Oran, said to the animals gathered, to the trees rustling around us.
“And you are an expert on humans?”
The question came from behind Oran, but I didn’t look to see what it was that spoke. I covered my ears instead, backing up slowly.
“Stop. Just stop,” I whispered.
“She speaks with them,” one of the rebels said from behind me, the male voice full of awe.
I closed my eyes, and took another step backward. My back met a warm chest and hands went to my shoulders. I jerked away, stumbling forward again. When I looked up, Kye’s gaze followed me.
“No,” I said.
I wasn’t in denial, not really. I knew the forest was speaking to me. I even felt the connection with the trees, with the creatures hiding within the underbrush. I could feel their tension, the trees’ aggravation. But I needed understanding.
