by K.N. Lee
She pushed herself up from the dirt and looked to him, panting.
Brother Dagan came to her, while the other monks began preparing to leave their camp. The sun began to rise and warm the desert of Tir.
She was back, but the fear of what had occurred in her dream lingered and clung to her like a web she couldn’t free herself from.
“Are you well?” Brother Dagan asked, kneeling before her.
She frowned at him. “What did you do to me?”
He placed a finger to his lips, shushing her. “I simply wanted you to see. It appears that you have,” he said, perplexing her. “This is good. You will begin to see much more.”
“Get them up,” Father Marduk commanded, his voice harsh after Brother Dagan’s soft, soothing tone.
Amalia was helped to her feet by the brother, and he gave her arm a squeeze.
“Now you can see. Be strong,” he said, and turned away.
She stared after him, bewildered. Kylan stood beside her.
“What happened?”
“I saw things. The past, I believe,” she whispered and she and Kylan shared a look, his amber eyes filled with wonder. “I dare say he may somehow be an ally.”
12
The massive temple stood on a cliff that faced the sea. It reached high into the clouds, with pillars and tiers stacked onto one another. Behind it was a blue-green sea with waves that crashed onto the side of the rocky shore. Her eyes went up to the top of the temple, where the clouds hovered and floated about, marveling at how the sun reflected off the golden siding.
Such impressive architecture for a tomb.
Kylan pressed against her back. “The Temple of the Sky Brotherhood,” he said. “No one who goes inside in chains ever comes out alive.”
She sucked in a breath and looked to the bodies hanging outside, along the perimeter and up the stairs. The stone was stained red with the blood of countless Mages.
The realization that she could be one of those unfortunate souls hit her and her feet stopped working.
She swallowed, frozen in place. “I can’t go in there.”
“Be strong,” he said. “You will survive this. Until we unlock Kjos, they need you.”
She nodded, though the fear of the structure before her left her heart racing in her chest. Father Marduk lowered his firedrake at the bottom of the steps, and leaped off with agility and grace.
She watched him, noting every tiny detail of his face and demeanor. He had to have a weakness they could exploit. But, when she was pushed forward and Kylan was ripped away, panic struck her like lightning.
“Take him to the outpost with the other firedrakes,” Father Marduk said. Then, his eyes rested on Amalia's. “Take her to the Shi’Syn Cleric. I want her kept safe.”
Amalia’s jaw hung as she was taken into the temple and led into the lower levels.
There was much more to the structure than what was seen from the outside. It was unlike anything Amalia had ever seen. Underground and encased in the mountainous cavern there with lights strung all along the walls. The other monks, young and old, stood by watching her with curious eyes.
If only Aros could see this.
She frowned at the thought. Why should she care about him anymore? She continued to ask herself that question, but thoughts of Aros kept invading her moments of quiet. His blue eyes and soft golden hair—his lips pressed against hers.
Amalia wrapped her arms around her as if his ghost had touched her, and they descended deeper underground.
“This way, I will show you to your quarters, Empress,” Brother Dagan said.
She nodded, following them. Having anyone call her Empress left her feeling awkward. It was a stark change from being called girl or lass.
As they walked though the temple, she reflected on what she’d heard. Father Marduk said that he wanted her kept with a Shi’Syn Cleric. All she knew about Clerics were that they were of the dark elf race.
Her mother and father had told her stories about the dark elves—how they had once been friends to their people in Kjos before everything was destroyed.
Brother Dagan led the way, his long hair reaching his ankles behind him. She could tell that he was wiry under that heavy purple cloak, and he seemed to float down the stairs that descended so far and so deep that all Amalia could see at the bottom was darkness, and she still wasn’t sure that it even had an end. They could have dug their way to the center, or to another world for all Amalia knew.
Her imagination began to run away as the time passed in silence.
Once they reached her quarters, Brother Dagan turned and looked past her. He was entrusted with her safety and they were alone, but something in his eyes worried her. He took her by the hand, and held it tightly to his chest.
“Is Kylan truly the Keeper?”
She pursed her lips, unsure if she should tell him.
“Is this a trick?”
He smiled, and she believed its authenticity.
“I would never do anything to cause you harm. You are far too special for such games. No, I will take you there to show you the truth. Now, hurry before Father Marduk seeks you out and stops us.”
“Who are you?” Amalia asked, lifting her brows.
He squared his shoulders, tilting his chin upward with pride. “I am Brother Dagan, a monk of the first order,” he said.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I already know your name. Who are you really?”
He smiled again, and leaned toward her, lowering his voice despite the fact that they were utterly alone in the stairwell. “An Erani.”
Her heart skipped a beat and the color drained from her cheeks. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I will have you returned to your former glory, my Empress.”
She had no words. Her mouth went dry and her heart continued to race.
“Come,” he said. “Now that you can see—truly see—I need to show you something.”
13
They descended deeper, so deep that she feared the silence and darkness below. It couldn’t be natural to dig so far into the earth. What lurked down there that he wanted her to see?
Once they reached the bottom, he unlocked a heavy gate and opened them for her.
“My goodness,” she said, her lips parted as a gasp of bewilderment escaped them. Her eyes lifted to the white temple in the center of strange glowing flowers that covered it like vines of light. A mote of translucent silver water encircled the stone structure whose walls rippled like waves.
“What is this place?” Amalia asked, bending to touch the ground, which reflected her face back to her.
She smoothed her cheek. It had been ages since she’d seen her own face. Her skin was dirty and her hair ragged and tangled. Mother would have ordered her to scrub her body and soiled clothes. She’d comb her hair and braid it so that by morning her black hair would fall in soft waves once the braids were taken out.
Even though she looked at her own face, it was her mother’s she saw—her mother’s smile she craved.
She closed her eyes, stopping tears from falling. Her throat tightened and her cheeks grew hot.
Brother Dagan gave her a moment, smoothing her back, gently with his hand.
“You’ve had a hard journey,” he said. “I wish I could assure you that the worst is in the past, but, things will only get harder.”
“It’s the Oasis. It was built in the beginning of time by the first monks. They worked side-by-side with the gods to make this place. You see, the Brotherhood hasn’t always been full of fanatics. They were once justified in their ideals. The gods truly led us.”
She stood, wiping her eyes. “What happened?”
He let out a slow sigh, shrugging his shoulders.
“They were betrayed.”
She looked to the temple. “The monks?”
“No,” Dagan said, shaking his head. His white brows were knitted together. “The gods.”
He walked ahead, leaving her baffled by his statement. She fol
lowed him along the mirror-like floor and inside the temple.
Her head tilted upward as she looked up to the ceiling. It rippled like its walls outside. The sound of her boots echoed throughout the open space. White pillars held up the ceiling and walls, and the slick stone floor changed colors with every step they took.
“This place is incredible,” Amalia said.
“As I said, the gods created it.”
As they went farther into the temple, Amalia’s eyes were drawn to a series of statues. She paused, narrowing her eyes as she looked them over. They were familiar structures. Eris, Enit, and a third god she vaguely recognized. There was something about his high cheekbones and eyes that reminded her of someone else. She just couldn’t figure out whom that might be.
Brother Dagan stopped by her side, folding his arms behind her and rocking on his heels.
“See something that interests you?”
She took a step closer, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
“Who is that?” Amalia asked, pointing to the third god—the one with the eyes that seemed to watch her no matter where she moved.
“Who does it look like?”
Her blood turned cold, and she froze, swallowing a lump in her throat as realization shot into her soul.
Horrified, she looked back at Brother Dagan.
Her hands shook as she covered her mouth. “Father Marduk,” she said, her lips trembling. “Is a god?”
Brother Dagan stared at the statue. The tension in the room could be felt and heard by the loud beating of Amalia’s heart.
“I told you that I wanted you to see—truly see,” he said. “Not many can, unless they’ve been awakened. My special potion has given you clarity.”
She crossed the distance between them. “Is he truly a god?”
His eyes lowered to hers, a haunted look within them. “He was,” he replied, nodding solemnly. “And, in those days, he was called Einar, the brother of Enit and Eris. Before they killed him.”
Amalia’s face blanched at those words.
“They killed him?”
Brother Dagan nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It was out of necessity. Einar had gone mad. His creations started to cause chaos throughout all of the realms.”
Her eyes widened, and he led her to a bench at the foot of the statues of the gods.
“The monsters,” she breathed. “He created them?”
“He became obsessed with creating the most vicious and evil of creatures, and he set them loose on Enit and Eris’s precious humans. After Kjos was destroyed, they had no choice but to stop him—for good.”
Amalia tugged her hair back, taking in a long, deep breath. “But, how is he here now?”
“A god is never truly dead,” he said. “He rose again, as Father Marduk. He took over the temples, asserted himself as the supreme ruler, and passed his gift of resurrection on to his closest disciples.”
Amalia nodded. “The Mark of Cannan,” she said. “He is the one who created it.”
She’d heard tales of monks who could come back to life after death, and never believed them. Now, she began to rethink everything she ever knew.
“Yes, but, that’s not all, Amalia,” Brother Dagan told her. “I brought you here to show you the truth. Father Marduk will not stop until his creations rise again and kill ever living being his brother and sister loves.”
She turned to him. “What am I supposed to do about any of that? What can I do?”
He stroked her cheek, gently, and she closed her eyes wishing it was her father who sat across from her.
“Where do you think the power of the Erani people came from, Amalia?”
Her eyes snapped open. “No.”
Brother Dagan dropped his hand into his lap and glanced up to the statue of Einar. “He gave it to them—he gave it to you.”
14
The outpost was quiet. The other firedrakes were sleeping in their stall, and Kylan sat there, back pressed against the wooden wall, desperate for a plan. He was locked in the stable like an animal.
At least his hands were no longer bound. He raked his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as he thought of what Father Marduk had planned.
On one hand, the monks needed he and Amalia to let them back into Kjos. That meant that they could be led directly to their goal. On the other hand, if they couldn’t get their collars off, they would be useless to stop the destruction of their birthright.
He stood, and paced the small, rectangular stall. Even if he transformed into a dragon, this stall would not be big enough to contain him. After the fateful night when Father Marduk had exhibited his ownership of him, he worried about the time he would return.
What if the monk made him do something to hurt Amalia? Would he be able to resist?
He liked to think that he would, but the power of the collar was too strong.
Kylan balled up his fist. He’d just have to figure out a way to be stronger.
The soft crunching of the hay that lined the floors of the stable alerted Kylan. He could smell him.
“Brother Dagan,” he said, before the older man stepped before the bars of his stall. He opened his arms wide. “If you’re somehow here to help Amalia and I, I’d really appreciate some assistance right about now.”
Brother Dagan stood there, his face unreadable. Then, he reached in the pocket of the bag at his hip, and handed Kylan a flask through the bars.
At first, he was hesitant, eyeing the metal container and lifting his confused gaze to the monks pale blue eyes. For a moment, he almost looked familiar.
Though his skin was aged and leathery, his hair long and white, there was something about him that reminded Kylan of his childhood. Something pleasant.
Those feelings alone gave him the courage to accept the flask.
Brother Dagan held onto Kylan’s wrist for a moment, searching his eyes. The silence was thick in the air, tense.
Then, the monk nodded, and let go.
With furrowed brows, Kylan watched him leave the stables without so much as a word.
Once alone, he examined the flask. When he opened the top, he could smell that it was the same brew he’d given Amalia back at their camp.
It gave her a gift of some sort. Maybe it would give him the strength to break free from his chains and collar.
He drank it down, surprised by the sweet flavor. It went down his throat like thick molasses, and filled his belly with a warm sensation.
Then, his arms grew heavy, eyes hooded, vision blurred. He stumbled backward and settled onto the hay. Like Amalia, he was swept away by such sweet sleep that when his eyes closed, he wondered if they would ever open again.
Kylan was awakened by the crackling of lightning. He lay in the middle of a vast field of white flowers that were soft beneath his body and his palms as her ran his hands along their petals.
The sky brightened as lightning struck again.
Fantastic, its going to storm.
He shuddered as a wave of cool air swept through the meadow and sat up, rubbing his exposed arms. He didn’t have on a shirt, and gasped when he realized that he was no longer collared. The chains on his ankles were gone.
It all was.
He stood, and pulled his hair back, in awe.
He was free.
Whatever Brother Dagan had given him was better than he’d imagined. But, how long would this last?
The question left his shoulders slumping. Then, he remembered that he could not stay here for too long. He had to return to the present to find an escape and rescue Amalia from those religious fanatics.
She was everything, and he would not rest until they were reunited once more. The thunder and lightning did little to ease his weary mind or the worry that flooded and remained in his veins. His spirit rune was gone.
But, that didn't mean that the beast inside was dead.
Not even close.
It roared within his soul, eager to be set free.
Kylan would not
ignore the call or disappoint the magic within. This was his chance to fly free again.
His eyes glowed and with all of his strength and might, he stomped onto the ground and leaped into the air, high above the heads of the monks who had led him out here to his death.
Ancient magic filled him, and soared through his skin and bones as it cracked and broke. The beast cried out with joy and Kylan embraced every second of pain and euphoria as he shed his human form and broke the binds that had made him prisoner.
The air was thick with humidity and cool, and as droplets of rain fell onto his black scales, he breathed in a deep breath.
As he flew above the majestic countryside, his heart was full of pride. He wasn’t a pet—non of his people or the firedrakes were. They were supreme creatures given the richest of powers—rulers of ancient civilizations and fallen empires.
And, Kylan was the supreme leader of them all.
He was born to protect and love the Erani heir, and as he blew a storm of flames into the sky, he vowed that nothing would stand in his way of saving her and the other enslaved firedrakes.
His heart raced as another dragon raced up to fly beside him.
With one large, orange eye, he gave the new dragon a sidelong glance.
They couldn’t talk in their dragon form, but members of the same clan could communicate with their minds.
Something told Kylan to try.
“Evening, brother,” he said. “Kylan, of Wregard.”
The dragon gave him a nod, and flew ahead. “Muri,” he said in a deep voice that reminded him of his father’s. “Of Erani.”
Those words sent chills up Kylan’s body, and he raced to catch up with Muri.
“You’re an ancestor of mine,” he said, overwhelmed with disbelief. He knew that name. He knew the stories of Saskia and Muri, the last of the Erani dragon rider, Mage pairings.
Muri gave him a look. “Ancestor?”
Kylan paused. How could he explain that he was from the future? He wasn’t even sure if this was a dream, or if he had indeed traveled to the past. He looked down at the stunning countryside and into the horizon of snowcapped mountains and towers jutting toward the sky.
