Chronicles of the Half-Emrys Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Lisa Rector

  The rift was impossible to enter without opening farther. This was Gorlassar’s protection. The thriving dragons could stay safe if the rift remained untouched. Cysgod wouldn’t be able to enter and begin his war and destroy all the dragons. Catrin wouldn’t be able to enter either. How was the rift formed in the first place? Why did Deian allow such a crack to exist, placing his beloved creations in danger?

  But the rift in her time was an open portal. The dragons had perished. That was the past—this past. Had she a hand in these events?

  She didn’t think events could change. The dragons were as good as dead. Would it be her fault if she entered Gorlassar in this time? She only wanted to go home. Beli told her to come there. Why couldn’t he have been more specific?

  Cysgod answered her. I delight in your deliberation. Should I, or shouldn’t I? Is it my fault? The only way to know would be to open the rift.

  The choice is not that easy.

  You have to make a decision. If the way were straightforward, life would be predictable.

  You mean you’d be bored.

  The Dark Master laughed. Don’t think for one second, Catrin, that my pleasure is based solely on your decision in this moment. I have other venues and other interests. If you don’t open this portal, I’ll simply leave you and pursue another amusement.

  You’re cruel.

  And you’re staring at death. Don’t you realize I’ve effectively stuck you here, unable to leave this ledge without aid? Face death, or you can enter Gorlassar. Are you afraid to die? Do you know what lies beyond? Are you ready to find out?

  Silence! Catrin placed her hands over her ears, knowing full well the action wouldn’t drown out his voice. Leave me alone!

  You’ve already made your choice. Don’t draw out your guilt.

  The wind picked up, and the world around Catrin became so choked with snow she couldn’t see. Pure, unholy whiteness bit at her face and hands. Tears dripped from Catrin’s face as she hooked two fingertips in the rift. She didn’t know how to open the rift farther, but Catrin used her light, just as she did with everything else. She envisioned the sliver lengthening as she pulled downward. With each inch, Catrin felt as though she were wrenching her own heart-center wider. She grabbed the edges of the rift with her hands and pulled them apart, as if opening two sliding doors.

  It was done.

  Feeling soulless, Catrin stepped through into soothing, tranquil air.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  GORLASSAR

  Light broke, and the frigid environment tore through Meuric. Blinding snow whirled around him in an encompassing blizzard he’d never experienced.

  Tears froze to his face.

  He hadn’t realized he was crying.

  An onslaught of images flooded Meuric’s mind—memory after memory of his daughter.

  She’s alive.

  Pain and happiness greeted him at once. He saw her creamy, chocolaty skin, wrinkled and peeling, and her curling hair after her first bath. Meuric had hugged her tightly, holding on to the only tangible hope he could.

  His wife was dead, but his daughter was not.

  He had succeeded. He had saved her.

  She grew. A laughing child danced in circles in the sunlight on the room’s thick rug. Her hair, black as night, swung around her, reaching past her shoulders. Much like her mother. Meuric laughed when she jumped into his arms. “Tad!” She kissed him on the cheek while wrapping her slender arms around him.

  Meuric fell into the icy snow, curling into a ball as he succumbed to the images. “Yasbail,” he cried.

  He knew her name as well as his own. Yasbail, meaning, master is my oath, because the Master of Light had heard his pleas and saved her life.

  They flew on Derog, together. Father and daughter. Meuric still felt his arms around her as if it were yesterday.

  It was only yesterday. No, it was only moments ago. The memories flew faster along with a lifetime of emotions. Meuric couldn’t stop them. He didn’t want to. He wanted to see them all—

  Even as he groaned and trembled from the assault.

  Rowdy and defiant, a mature Yasbail flirted with men in a tavern. She was so desirable, with her bold facial features and defined curves, that most eyes fell to her when she entered a room.

  She takes after me. Is this how I raised her?

  Always the protective father, Meuric stormed in, yanked a man’s roaming hand off Yasbail’s thigh, and punched the offender in the jaw. Meuric earned a crimson handprint across his cheek for this chivalrous display.

  Meuric only smiled as he lay in the snow. Yasbail was alive and healthy and his own daughter. If only she knew what he’d suffered for her.

  As the memories subsided, Meuric knew they were real.

  Still collapsed in the snow, Meuric looked around. Where in all the mortal and immortal realms was he now? He couldn’t see two feet. He was freezing, so he called on his light.

  She’s alive. My daughter’s alive. Repeating this to himself spread heat farther throughout his body.

  Meuric groped to his feet and held his arm over his eyes to see through the storm. He came here only one way. Meuric was sure of it. He had a connection—but what sort and to whom or where?

  He sensed an unusual force nearby. It might be a couple of yards away, but Meuric couldn’t see through the storm. Pressing his way forward, he stumbled and fell into a vibration of energy, which tickled his flesh.

  After the sensation passed, a gentle breeze caressed his face. His knees buckled with relief, and he fell on soft green grass. This was Gorlassar—it had to be. He had passed through the portal. The valley, the weather, was exactly as Catrin had described, complete with crisp blue skies and green trees.

  A woman’s back was to him. Meuric blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright sun after such a harrowing storm. Catrin—her blonde hair was unmistakable in its trademark braid.

  Catrin!

  She was surveying a valley with fields of dragons. Some were romping like a litter of pups, some were sleeping, and others were eating, tearing into the flesh of fresh deer or goats. Meuric had never seen so many dragons in one area, not even in Morvith.

  A huge gray dragon was flying, with purpose, directly toward Catrin. His eyes were red gems, and his spiked face held a menacing grin. Pointed, yellow teeth protruded past a parting lip, as a forked tongue flicked from an open mouth. The dragon was going to flame.

  Catrin was right in his path.

  Meuric scrambled up, pushing Catrin out of the way.

  She yelped at the same time Meuric threw a shield in front of them.

  “Meuric! What’re you doing?” Catrin yelled.

  In his haste, Meuric had used his dark power. The distortion, a filmy sheen of gray, hovered before them, rippling slightly.

  The dragon closed in.

  Catrin tackled Meuric to the ground, and his shield dropped. “You bastard! You promised not to use the dark power. What have you done?”

  She leaned her arm against his throat, cutting off his air supply.

  He grabbed Catrin’s shoulders, rolled her over, and straddled her. Until he was on top of her, he didn’t realize flipping her had been way too easy. Meuric growled in her ear. “Hush, Catrin! I made a mistake!”

  “Let go of me!” Her fingers raked across his cheeks in a quick flash.

  Meuric cursed, feeling the sting of torn skin. He grappled with her flailing limbs before pinning her hands on either side of her head.

  The dragon was upon them. Meuric stretched himself over Catrin, immobilizing her. With his cheek to hers, he huffed. “I’m not the enemy here, Cat.”

  With a whimper, Catrin turned her head away. Meuric’s heart broke. She was confused and frightened. Worse than that, she felt betrayed.

  Bracing for attack, Meuric threw a shield around them as the dragon landed. The beast didn’t burn them up. He hovered over them with his breath hot on Meuric’s neck.

  “Well, what sort of strange creatures have we here?�
� a gravelly voice asked. “Are you good for eating? The pale one doesn’t look as though she has much meat on her, but the dark one looks tasty.”

  Catrin squirmed underneath Meuric. He studied her eyes, noting the dark, sallow circles under them. “I’ll let go if you stay calm. This dragon doesn’t know man. Don’t make any sudden movements.”

  Catrin glared at him. “I’m not a fool, Meuric.”

  He sighed, but rolled off Catrin.

  “Oh ho, they speak. Tell me a tale fitting enough to spare your life.” The dragon flexed his foreclaws, scratching patterns in the dirt.

  Meuric climbed to his feet. “What’s your name, O Mighty Dragon? I’m Meuric, half-emrys, and this is Catrin, daughter of the High Emrys.”

  “Oooo, such titles. I’ve never heard of such things. You may call me Urbgen.”

  Catrin rose to her feet, shooting Meuric a testy glare. “We’re from another time. In our time, this is my homeland. We call it Gorlassar.”

  “In the old dragon tongue it means higher than the sky. Interesting. What makes this valley higher than the sky?” Urbgen asked.

  “I climbed a mountain, above the clouds, scaling icy cliffs to reach this place. I entered through a rift between worlds,” Catrin said.

  “If you say so. What of the creature beside you? You bear him malice.” Urbgen squinted at Meuric.

  Catrin gritted her teeth, but Meuric interrupted her loathing. “I followed her through. Catrin’s angry with me. We had a tiff.”

  “I should be! You’ve been gone for over a month!” Catrin cried out.

  Meuric rubbed his injured cheek and examined the blood left on his fingers. “A month? Catrin, I had no idea. I swore I wouldn’t leave you. That was not my intention.”

  “Why don’t you explain what happened?” Catrin asked.

  Meuric considered the dragon, who was eyeing them curiously. “I don’t think this is the time.”

  Urbgen leaned toward Meuric, sniffed his face, and licked his teeth. “But ho, young master, now is the very time. You’ve piqued my interest. If you don’t want me to turn you over to the herd for dinner, explain yourself to this dashing creature.” Urbgen sniffed Catrin. “I’m unfamiliar with your scent. It’s enticing, yet I don’t think you’re quite for eating.”

  “That’s because in our time you don’t eat emrys,” Catrin said. “Emrys are the protectors of the dragons. We are one in heart and mind. See the stones we wear around our necks? When the new race of dragons hatch, they’ll carry these stones. The stones forge a connection to our dragons.”

  “New race of dragons? This sounds suspicious.” Urbgen huffed, and smoke rose from his nostrils.

  “This might take a long time to explain,” Meuric said. “We can offer one proof. Though you can’t see the portal we passed through, you can find it yourself. It’s right behind us.” Meuric stepped back and felt toward the energy. He placed his hand on it and pushed through. His hand disappeared. He stuck his whole arm in until it reached the cold air on the other side. “There, you see—an entrance.”

  “An amusement. I must hear the whole story. So you can be spared from telling it more than once, I shall take you to the head dragoness. I promise we won’t eat you until we hear the full tale.”

  “That’s very promising,” Meuric said.

  He gave Catrin a look, but she didn’t see it. She was trying her hardest to avoid staring at him and to hide her emotions. Her control was slack, due to her lack of strength, and obviously she was completely broken—torn up inside. How had a month gone by? It felt like days. He’d watched Mara starve, so his disappearance must have been longer, but when moving through time, did the exactness really matter? Hours could be days, and days could be weeks. What mattered was Catrin didn’t look like his Catrin, the same Catrin who fell into the ocean months ago, the same Catrin who smiled and laughed when the Eilian told stories or even when Beli touched her. Meuric wished for the day when she danced through the woods. He’d give his soul for that.

  Meuric frowned, but answered the dragon. “We shall follow you to your leader. Show us the way.”

  “I’m afraid I must carry you there. It’s quite a distance.” Urbgen reached for them with his giant dragon claws. One closed around Meuric and the other around Catrin, and he lifted them into the air. “Off we go, emrys.”

  As they flew, a group of dragons caught up with them.

  “Urbgen, share what you have,” a purple dragon begged.

  “No, they’re going to council. Get lost.”

  They didn’t leave but, instead, followed behind. Their lustrous scales bore the colors of marbled blueberries, rivulets of blood, freshly plowed soil, shiny coal, fuzzy moss, and on—every color imaginable.

  Meuric twisted his body for a better view, other than the underside of Urbgen. Wriggling in the dragon’s claw was difficult, but he managed. This breed of dragon was definitely different from Morvith’s dragons, whose long spikes covered their bodies, including their heads, spinal ridge, and tail. The scales were thicker and the talons long and curving. This ancient dragon species had short, fat necks and a compact wingspan, making them appear fierce and burly, and disgruntled. Deian must have done something to the last egg to change the species to the graceful necks and wide wingspans Meuric knew so well.

  Having never been to Gorlassar, Meuric enjoyed his first glimpse. They flew over a long winding river that parted the vast valley. The uncultivated landscape, dotted by the occasional field of wild flowers, hadn’t known man, and waist-high grasses and domineering trees were evidence of this. The valley cut between the ridges of two mountain ranges, and Meuric couldn’t see to the end.

  By the time Urbgen plopped Meuric and Catrin before a gathering of dragons, night had fallen. The air thrummed as dragon after dragon landed. A fiery pit of burning logs lit the darkness. Meuric counted no fewer than two dozen dragons—all with sharp teeth protruding past taut lips. Some leered over them while others perched on rocks, overlooking the circle. The hungry glint in their eyes couldn’t be missed. The smoky air smelled of charred wood and, if Meuric wasn’t mistaken, flesh. Shifting wind blew smoke toward Meuric, forcing him to blink back tears.

  Catrin climbed to her feet and brushed off her clothes in a dignified manner. “Mighty dragons, I am Catrin, an emrys, a guardian of the dragons.”

  Meuric grabbed her hand, whispering quietly. “Cat, you don’t mean to tell them of their demise.”

  She snatched her hand away. “You must earn your forgiveness. Don’t think I’m ready to bestow it so easily.”

  “Catrin—”

  “SILENCE! Your high-pitched voices grate on my nerves. Urbgen, why did you bring these strangers here?” The dragon speaking was female and had chartreuse scales, which faded to mauve. Her voice was low and guttural.

  “Efa, these creatures appeared out of thin air,” Urbgen grumbled. “I saw this with my own eyes. I went to investigate and discovered they’re beings with some intelligence, and they have an interesting tale to delight us.”

  Efa blinked, and an opaque eyelid closed before her flesh-colored ones followed suit. “Ahh, Urbgen, I appreciate how you remember my fondness for stories. I’ve grown bored with the dribble of my kin. Guardian of the dragons, why don’t you regale us with your tale of delight? And do tell, what makes you guardian over ones such as I?”

  Catrin bowed. “O Gracious One, thank you for granting us an audience.”

  She came alive with the telling of their journey. Catrin started with her mother and the birth of the High Dragoness, Blodeuyn. Her eyes dampened with the mention of her mother Meinwen and her father Ithel. Catrin moved around the fire circle and addressed each dragon in turn, her voice loud above the crackling fire and raspy breathing of the dragons. She stood bold for one so worn down and disheartened. If the dragons noticed her condition, they didn’t react or care. They were held with rapt attention.

  Meuric ached with sadness. He itched with wanting to hold Catrin in his arms and to heal her, body
and spirit.

  He didn’t take his eyes off Catrin at first. A change had come over her since he’d been gone. What had happened to her? She was bruised—internally—her light no more than a fading crescent moon at dusk. How did she even project light at all? He wasn’t sure what happened to an emrys without light. Could she fall? Could her light be ripped from her, allowing darkness to enter? No, the Dark Master will never have her.

  Though he forsook the Master of Light, Meuric called out to him because he was Catrin’s master. Deian, help her. She’s your child. You’d better save her. Don’t stand by and force me to watch as she fades away. You owe me.

  All of a sudden, Meuric felt chagrinned. Didn’t he just receive payment of some sort? Wasn’t one of his worst anguishes made right? Yasbail was alive.

  Fine, you owe Catrin for dropping her here in this time.

  Even with his malice aimed toward his creator, Meuric knew he wasn’t guiltless. He knew he had to do something.

  I want to make this right. He studied Catrin’s weary face. You’re still beautiful to me. From deep inside, a gnawing hunger raked him. I want to be with you, alone, away from this distraction. She had to understand what he’d been through. He would’ve never left her, not to transcend time, nor to pass through a million realms.

  Although… his time travel had given him a daughter. He would never give up that experience.

  Meuric snickered when he realized Yasbail was older than Catrin. What would she think? He closed his eyes, feeling odd that he knew exactly what his daughter was doing. She’d developed her habits. Her fancies. Dark, smoke-filled salons. Suitors fawning over her. A taste for vengeance and blood. Yasbail was a warrior in her own right. She had no dragon, so she had never flown into battle with Meuric, but Rhianu relied on her to maintain the southern boundaries.

  Without having seen her in the flesh, he still knew this. Why’s this hard to wrap my brain around? I’ve seen my daughter. I’ve touched her, yet I haven’t.