Legends of the War (War of the Magi Book 3)

by Stephen Allan

  He looked at his hands and his feet. He wore the same garments that he had embarked on his journey with. But his hands looked so clean and so free of callouses, it was as if he had lived a life as a librarian, not a dragon hunter. He bore no scratches, no red marks, not even wrinkles that would’ve formed from making a fist so much.

  With everything he knew that had happened against Ragnor and with Artemia, combined with his observations, only one question made sense.

  “Am I dead?”

  He didn’t really mean to ask Rey. How could his sister, deceased for the past six years, possibly know the answer? He just couldn’t think of anything to ask or say other than the obvious. He had asked the question to himself as much as his sister.

  “You could be,” Rey said. “You could not be. You get to decide what your future is going to be. Isn’t that exciting?”

  Eric frowned. This was unlike Rey. Rey didn’t play ambiguous games with hypothetical questions.

  But, then again, who in the name of Hydor would this be like? Even the craziest of homeless people, even the most zealous of soldiers didn’t talk like this. To say nothing of wherever I am. If this even counts as a “place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll figure it out in time,” Rey said. “Or should I say within the time here. But there really isn’t time here. It’s a different place you’re in.”

  That’s not helping.

  “I’m so confused,” Eric said.

  “You should be!” Rey said with a giggle. “This is not a place you want to come to unless you’re prepared to die. But there are greater fights going on in your world. I don’t think you’re ready to come here! You shouldn’t be here if you want to help Hydor.”

  “I wasn’t planning on leaving,” Eric said. “But I didn’t feel like I had much choice. Let her kill me or die cursing her name.”

  “With Artemia?”

  “Your killer.”

  Rey nodded, the smile fading on her face.

  “Yes,” she said, though she quickly returned to a cheerful, almost naive demeanor. “If you want to live, Eric, you’re going to have to explore moments like that. It might hurt really bad. But you have to figure some things out before you can leave here. You’re going to have to face the past that you block out with vengeance.”

  Nothing about this made sense to Eric. Was he dreaming again? Unlikely, he figured, for how aware he was of his surroundings, his presence, and his thoughts. His dreams also had a tendency to bounce around from moment to moment, and that had not yet happened here.

  I really wish I’d studied the afterlife a little bit more. This must be what I’m experiencing. It’s not as peaceful or violent as I’d thought it’d be.

  “Come!” Rey said, motioning him over to the front of the house. “Mom’s inside.”

  Eric paused, looked around as if hoping for something more grounded to call to him, and gave up. It wasn’t like Rey would turn into Ragnor—or Bahamut at this point. But could Rey at least act like Rey? He shrugged and walked over.

  “Do you remember this place?” Rey said. “This is us about ten years ago.”

  Eric peered into the window. He gasped at what he saw.

  “Mom! Mom!” a little boy shouted.

  Me.

  “Yes, Eric, what is it?” his mother said.

  “Do you know what I want to be when I grow up?”

  “No, Eric, I don’t,” she said, making it clear that she knew the answer but wanted to humor young Eric. He looked no older than about three years old. “What do you want to be?”

  “I want to hunt big mean dragons like you!”

  His mother laughed and hugged Eric tightly, lifting him up off the ground. The sight of his mother’s embrace tore at Eric’s heart. He felt Rey’s hand grasp his and he squeezed it, trying not to cry at the sight. Nothing, not even his dreams before Ragnor, had felt this real.

  “I hope that you can pick a path different than that,” his mother said. “Your father and I have a very difficult challenge. Dragons are scary and very dangerous. Every day that your father comes home, it is a day to give thanks.”

  My father. Eric hadn’t thought of his father in forever. In a twisted way, the deaths of Rey and his mother had shielded him from thinking about his father.

  “I know, but I want to hunt dragons and keep you and daddy safe!”

  His mother smiled, her eyes watering as young Eric leaned over her shoulder. Eric tried to look away, but Rey tugged at his arm.

  “Keep watching,” she said, but Eric swore her lips didn’t move—he had just heard the words somehow.

  He heard a door opening and looked over. A man in his early thirties appeared, featuring brown eyes, black hair, and an expression that didn’t change much. Father.

  “Daddy!” the younger version of Eric exclaimed as he ran over.

  “Hello, Eric,” his father said. I don’t remember him. Ever. This is the first time I’m seeing him. How can Rey know about this? She wasn’t even alive…

  “Auron,” his mother said as she went over to kiss him. “It’s good to see you home safe.”

  “It’s always great to be home, Reah,” his father said. I can see where I get my lack of expressed emotions from. It’s certainly not Mom.

  More words came from the conversation in the house, but they became muddled as the vision faded to blackness. Rey still stayed by his side.

  “How did you know about Dad?” Eric asked. “You were barely in the womb at that time.”

  Rey just smiled, shrugged her shoulders innocently, and then pointed toward another vision, this time out in the memory of an empty, barren fields.

  Eric recognized it immediately. The cracked tombs. The deserted fields. The lack of anyone else present.

  It was where his mother and sister were buried, a site that he had visited every day when he became a dragon hunter.

  “Auron,” his mother said, holding young Eric in her left arm. She wore a black dress and a black hat. Her belly had protruded, the first signs of Rey’s arrival into the world. Eric wanted to reach out, put his arms around her, comfort her. But he found himself immobilized. “Auron, why? Why? Why did this have to happen to you?”

  Eric tried to reach into the deepest recesses of his memory. Had he forgotten about his father’s death and burial? How could he remember when he didn’t even remember who his father was until seeing it just now?

  He had nothing. For all he knew, this was one massive hallucination from being so close to the edge of death. You know that’s not it, though. You know this is real.

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Rey said to the side. “I wish I’d known our father.”

  Eric just nodded silently. He, too, wished he’d known his father, now that he had seen this unfold. He felt guilt that he didn’t remember this. What else had he forgotten, his mind so consumed by vengeance that he hadn’t kept any pleasant memories?

  “It’s going to get worse, Eric,” Rey said. “You have to prepare for this.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Eric said dismissively.

  “No, Eric,” Rey begged. “Please.”

  He knew what she meant. Even as he tried to rationalize ways it couldn’t be those particular moments, he knew what would come.

  Eric nodded to his sister, preparing for the worst. Only two possible visions could make him hurt so bad that he would cry.

  And as soon as the vision muddled from the graveyard back to the plains south of Dabira, Eric knew what was happening.

  He saw his mother confronting Artemia, who stood with arms crossed. The guild master looked much younger, but her eyes still lacked the soul that his mother’s did. The contrast in the two women was startling to see, even when he already knew how drastically different their souls were.

  “Why?” his mother asked. She sounded grief-stricken, as if she could literally not comprehend whatever they had spoken about moments before.

  “Why?” Artemia asked, mocking his mother’s voice. Eric wanted
to cross over and stab Artemia. But when he took a step forward, having regained control of his legs, the memory moved back, making it impossible for him to reach it. I swear I’ll kill you somehow. “Because Auron was a threat to my leadership, Reah. I think you could see that.”

  “He was your brother!”

  Her brother. My father…

  “Yes, and ask me how little I care. Ask me what it was like to grow up always ignored and unappreciated, the constant recipient of his bullying. Ask me what it was like to always be told by my parents and teachers that I would never be as good as him. Ask me what it was like to hear everyone say that I could never be the guild master so long as Auron lived. His death is a punishment decades in the making.”

  “He changed, Artemia! He was a good leader.”

  “Was. I don’t care for what was. I care for what is. And right now, I am the guild master. Not him.”

  His mother went silent. Eric stood with a gaping jaw.

  Artemia wasn’t just the guild master of the Dragon Hunter’s Guild. She wasn’t just his superior.

  She was his aunt.

  Does she know? Did she ever figure it out?

  He tried to parse Artemia’s words in the memories carefully and those of his own. He went through every conversation, every glance, every encounter he could think of with the guild master, but he had nothing. The thought that she might have killed everyone in the Garland family, including his father, had never occurred to him. That she might be his aunt was so remote Eric knew he could’ve lived a thousand years and never suspected the truth.

  She’s even more evil than I thought. Before she killed Mom and Rey, she killed her own brother. My father.

  Artemia. I swear if I return to Hydor I will seek nothing more than your death.

  “Swear allegiance to me now, Reah. Leave the death of Auron behind. Bow before me and I shall give you power in the guild unlike anything else you have.”

  To his shock, Reah nodded and bowed to her knees, her left knee raised and her right on the ground. Artemia smirked, chuckled, and walked over.

  Then, in one swift motion, his mother tried to ambush Artemia. Her upper body folded over enough to prevent Artemia from seeing her left hand reach for her sword. She yanked it out and swung it, trying to end the guild master’s life.

  She drew blood. For a moment, Eric forgot the truth and believed his mother would end Artemia’s life. His mother would—

  But just as she had easily parried Eric, she parried his mother. And his mother had nowhere to go. Within five chops, Artemia’s sword had pierced Reah’s heart.

  “You are foolish for ever thinking that you could defeat me, Reah,” Artemia sneered. “I know my brother better than anyone in this world. He never wanted any of you to succeed as hunters. He could never support anyone! He hated me! He hated you! I did you all a favor. I brought stability and fairness to the guild. And now, because you never recognized it, you’re paying for it with your life.”

  Eric had tried to look away when the sword cut through, but the memory followed him, like a painting encapsulating his entire field of vision. Even now, he felt tears as his mother gasped her last breaths.

  But something caught his mind. She isn’t saying that my mother loved him. She isn’t saying Auron loved her. She’s saying she didn’t support him. As in the guild.

  She doesn’t know.

  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. But she definitely doesn’t know I’m her nephew.

  She twisted the blade, drawing another cry of pain from his mother. Eric screamed, even as he felt the Rey beside him squeeze his hand.

  “But it is not just your life that ends here, Reah,” Artemia sneered. “Your children will join you in the afterlife. I can’t afford to let the descendants of a fool grow up to cause me trouble.”

  “No!” his mother gasped with her dying breaths. “Kill… me. Leave them. Please! They… I love them.”

  His mother said nothing more, falling to the ground, her life having left her. Eric didn’t bother to wipe the tears that came to his eyes. Her dying words professed her love for us. I knew she loved us.

  “Waste of a hunter,” Artemia said.

  “Artemia!” Eric roared, but the image faded. He knew what would come next, and if he saw it, it would shatter him.

  “Please don’t show me your death, Rey. I couldn’t take seeing it. I don’t—show me anything else. Anything but that, please. I beg of you.”

  He didn’t bother to try to fight his cracking voice. Rey’s hand squeezed tightly and she came in to hug him.

  “I am,” Rey said, her voice soothing.

  The vision appeared, showing multiple bodies being laid to rest. To the south, Eric could make out Dabira. He also recognized multiple faces—Romarus and Roland. They, too, looked younger, though not by much. After all, this had only taken place six years before.

  He could not imagine that this was the moment Rey died, but he remained on edge. They hadn’t left Dabira.

  “Death has struck this town in a terrible way,” Roland said. “My daughter… no, all who perished. I pray that these souls may find peace with Chrystos.”

  “Peace in the afterlife,” Romarus said bitterly. “A mother, two young children, and three men have perished. When will our kind see peace in this life, Roland? How much longer do we have to live before we can expect a girl to live past seven years without risking death? How long will you pray to your gods before you realize we must take matters into our own hands?”

  Roland said nothing. His eyes watered.

  “I do not wish to ask such questions when my daughter lies there,” Roland said.

  Romarus opened his mouth but bit his tongue at the last second. He took a beat before continuing.

  “Understandable,” Romarus said. “I do not think this was the work of the empire. I think a rogue agent did this. I cannot say why, but someone wicked has come and struck vengeance upon us. The empire may want us dead, but even Rufus would not be so callous as to kill a mother and two children but not their husbands or fathers.”

  The vision faded. Eric would not see Rey’s death today. He prayed he would never have to see it.

  “Thank you,” Eric murmured. The last thing he needed to witness was his little sister falling as his mother had, a sight so terrible he would never forget it.

  “There’s one last thing you must see.”

  Don’t tell me—

  The scene showed Artemia coming to port in Mathos. Awaiting her was Abraham Wallace. OK. I will watch. It’s not Rey’s death.

  “Welcome home,” he said. Don’t you dare be friendly to her, Eric thought before realizing what he thought would have no affect on what he saw.

  “Abe,” she said with a curt bow. “Where is the Garland boy?”

  “He’s home,” Abe said. “Recovering.”

  “From what?”

  The way Artemia spoke, it registered as a question by her choice of words only. She had less interest in an answer than touching land once more.

  “I assumed you would have figured it out,” Abe said. “Word got back to him that his mother and sister perished while with you.”

  For one of the few times that Eric could ever remember, he saw a nervous twitch on Artemia’s face. It didn’t register for long, and it barely came across in the first place, but now that he had seen it, he could not forget it. She had once had some element of humanity in her, even if it barely stayed alive. Now, though, he couldn’t imagine that ever happening.

  “I see, that is unfortunate,” she said, her words slower than usual. “And how did word get back here? I do not recall sending any of my hunters back.”

  “Henry returned about two days ago, but he has not been seen since,” Abe said. “He looked particularly frazzled. I worry that he has lost his mind. Hunting great dragons like Ragnor can make healthy minds turn mad. But once he told me what had happened, I took it upon myself to tell the boy what had happened. Henry, I have not seen or heard since he returned.�
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  “Casualty of battle,” Artemia said with mock sorrow. “Do let me know when the youngest Garland son is recovered, Abe. I need to speak to him about his family.”

  “Understood,” Abe said. “It’s a shame, really. The boy went out on his own thinking a dragon had killed his family; that’s what Henry said, at least. Boy went looking for a dragon to kill, any dragon. I wanted to tell him that we suspected Ragnor but—”

  “Wait,” Artemia said, stopping dead in her tracks. “He’s ten, right? And he went out of the home looking for a dragon?”

  “Truly crazy. I had to knock him out, he kept running from me otherwise.”

  Eric, in the present day, could see what Artemia was thinking. She was evaluating his fearlessness, his lust for murder, his craving for revenge. She realized in that moment she could manipulate him into joining the Dragon Hunter’s Guild and mold him into a great hunter. She had to have known he inherited the skills of his mother and his father, both great hunters.

  “I see,” Artemia said, betraying nothing. “Still let me speak to him when he is ready.”

  With that, the vision faded, and the Rey in the present tugged on Eric’s arm until he looked at her.

  “Why do you show me this?”

  “Because I wanted you to know,” Rey said. “You need to know the truth. What Henry was referring to as a dragon wasn’t an actual dragon. He hadn’t lost his mind. He had a high degree of awareness, actually. The dragon was Artemia.”

  Slowly, the pieces of his past came together. Artemia had always said a dragon had killed his mother and sister. He’d never known his father and thus never bothered to ask about him, but it only made tragic sense that Artemia had killed him too. That he was the guild master’s brother only intensified the pain. He could’ve had a more nobler ruler, even if he had a ruthless streak like Artemia.

  “Artemia is so much worse and scarier than you can imagine, Eric,” Rey said. “The legendary dragons—Indica, Ragnor, Bahamut—they aren’t evil per se. They keep a check on the land, like three weights balancing each other out. But Artemia is evil. She has no feelings, no love for anyone else. Though Auron’s treatment of her in their youth contributed to her dark spirit, she came into this world without the ability to empathize. Humans and magi alike are mere tools for her to use and dispose with however she likes. She takes a nihilist approach to life, believing that she can rise to power by the elimination of everything. She is the dragon of Hydor. She must be stopped.”