Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3)

by Toni Kerr

  “Do not fear for my safety. I cannot be harmed so easily. If so, I would have been dead centuries ago.”

  Maybe she could handle the power, but what if he shifted into a dragon? Tristan tried to pull away again but the woman held firm. And as the horrible scenario played out in his head, he realized he wouldn’t crush her—she’d simply stop occupying the space in her current form. Simple.

  With one less concern fueling his panic, Tristan focused on accepting the truth. This would kill him, or it wouldn’t. Either way was out of his control. “I’ll want a cave with enough room to close off an entrance.”

  “I understand.”

  The colors returned to the world she’d created. The sky was still lightening to a faint purple with the approach of dawn. Tears came to his eyes. Tears of relief, tears of shame. Samara smiled sympathetically, completely unaffected by all the things that worried him so much.

  “I didn’t ask for any of this to happen. I can’t be a dragon.” He found himself clinging to her, grateful to have a friend he couldn’t kill, even if she was just an illusion. “I’ll never be able to keep this much power contained.”

  “Well, the last one is easy enough to handle.”

  “How?” Every muscle buzzed with tension, yet he could barely stand. “How do I cope with this?”

  Samara released her hold and took a step back. “When you find yourself in abundance, share with those in need.”

  “But, there’s no one in need here. You’re not saying you need more power, are you?”

  “No. My power is limited only by my ability to concentrate. You can simply let it go if you wish. Use the staff if it serves you.”

  Tristan studied the swirls of aged wood in the staff Samara had made for him.

  “Use it to channel your power elsewhere.”

  Tristan gripped the staff with both hands. Before he could ask what to do next, Samara vanished in a swirl of mist.

  “Wait!”

  Behind him, he sensed the door to the spiral staircase opening and made a feeble attempt to run to his cabin. Three people entered the cavern, and before he could gain any sort of forward momentum, Landon and Victor were beside him, with Donovan warning them to stay back. “Room, daylight.”

  Tristan shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness saturating the area. At least it made for a good excuse to not look at anyone. “You shouldn’t be here—it isn’t safe.”

  A tiny pixie with bright blue hair and iridescent wings fluttered from Landon’s long hair. The tips of her wings had grown more spindly since he’d seen her last, and they seemed less transparent.

  “No, Pink!” Landon shouted, reaching to catch her but not daring to step forward.

  Pink somersaulted through his outstretched fingers and landed gracefully on the top end of the staff.

  “Fly away, Pink,” Tristan begged. The condition of her wings was the least of his worries. “Please!”

  “I know what’s wrong with you,” she sang with a childlike glee. “Landon wouldn’t let me in before, to see for myself, but I can be a sneaky spark. I remember once upon a time, my brother and I were traveling to a high castle in the Isle of Floras to celebrate the first royal son—”

  “Pink.” Tristan glanced at Donovan, unsure if anyone was catching on to how odd Pink’s story was. Her entire existence was nothing more than a living rendition of his overpowered imagination. “How can you remember something like that?”

  “I remember a few things.” She crossed tiny arms over her chest. “Such as my mother—” Pink combed her fingers through her long blue hair with a distant sadness in her bright eyes. “She hated it when I got pollen in my hair. And honey. And tree pitch. And then there was the time we tried to store maple sap—”

  “How can you have any memories at all?” Tristan could barely breathe, holding back the explosion of power threatening to burst from his fingertips. “I made you. You have no history.”

  Pink shrugged.

  Tristan took a step back. His arms ached and his head spun. Somehow the staff had fallen from his grip. “Get out—” He dropped to his knees and clutched the sides of his head.

  Pink shook her tiny finger and added a raspy tone to her bell-like voice, dropping it several octaves. “‘You’re an earthquake waiting to happen. Go outside and move a mountain!’ That’s what our warrior told us when we’d been inside for too long.”

  “I can’t go outside,” Tristan said, struck by the intense brightness glowing from his fingertips.

  “We should go now.” Pink darted to the base of Landon’s neck, where she slipped into hiding just above the band holding his hair back. “My brother did this once. Mother said, ‘Out the window next time!’ and then we moved to a new tree.”

  Tristan pressed his forehead against the cool ground and dug his fingers into the soil. He could see Landon, Victor, and Donovan retreating to what they must have considered a safe distance. At least they weren’t thermal blobs of color. That had to be a plus.

  A clear barrier, several feet thick, surrounded him. He glanced up to make sure it had a ceiling. “Samara?”

  “Do it. Aim down, just in case.”

  Tristan nodded, understanding a bit more about what he was supposed to do. His stomach rolled and for the first time, he paid close attention to the tornado of energy brewing inside his core. His skin burned as he drew the air in tighter, trying to breathe at the same time.

  Pure light engulfed him, spinning him off the ground in a whirlwind force. He’d seen lights like this before. Molajah?

  Samara’s voice echoed in his head. Down, Tristan. Channel it down.

  But he’d lost his bearings in the spinning brightness and couldn’t tell which direction was up or down. He pulled it in and felt his knees slam against the solid ground, then clawed his fingers into the soil and channeled all his strength downward.

  The power pooled at his fingertips, reverberating back at him from beneath the soil. He gave the next wave of energy teeth—enough to bite through the solid stone base of the cave.

  The ground split open and Samara’s protective enclosure vanished.

  3

  STORIES IN THE DARK

  DONOVAN, LANDON, AND VICTOR retreated into the outer limits of the darkness, blocked by the solid rock walls of the cavern. The simulated daylight was gone, the only light now coming from the stream of power rushing through his hands. He pushed harder, directing every ounce of energy straight through the crevasse in the ground until he found a sandy vein traveling sideways, possibly twenty feet, and narrowed to a dead end. He etched away at the walls to make pockets, sensing all aspects of where and what the power was doing.

  But what would the energy do if he disconnected himself from it? Would it fizzle out or take on a life of its own in a new direction?

  It didn’t matter. For now, the only thing on his mind was to stuff power into every possible nook and cranny until it was out of his system completely. Every last bit.

  Light pinpricks tickled his ear and the side of his nose.

  “Enough,” said a distant, calm voice. Donovan.

  Tristan caught sight of Pink hovering above him, sprinkling bits of glittery dust on his face. She squeaked and dashed away, leaving a faint trail of purple mist in her wake.

  He couldn’t speak, lying on his side at the bottom of a shallow, bowl-shaped pit. The ground had melted into a shiny black surface, like opaque glass smoothed to perfection—all but for a small crack, a few inches wide, spanning before him.

  A small stream of energy still flowed from his fingertips, seeping into the crack with undulating waves in rhythm with his pulse. The vibration of it continued to spread outward, bleeding every ounce of strength from him.

  “Tristan,” Donovan stood at the edge of the pit. “Stop.”

  “The cabin’s gone too.” Landon stepped in beside Donovan, holding out a gas lantern. Victor was only a step behind. The lantern sent sharp shadows and gold highlights across their concerned faces, blending in flicke
rs with the eerie blue light radiating from the crack.

  “No more, Tristan,” continued Donovan. “Seal the hole. Now.”

  Tristan pulled his hand away from the crack and watched the ground melt around it, letting the surface ooze like lava until the hole became as smooth as the walls.

  Donovan scanned the dark cavern with his lips pinched tight. Landon and Victor walked away with the lantern, saying something about finding level ground. “Room. Daylight.”

  “Her name is Samara,” Tristan mumbled, dozing off to sleep. With the realization came a warming sense of calmness. He hadn’t felt relaxed in...he wasn’t sure how long. Shifting shadows drew his attention to Landon and Victor placing lamps along the lip of the small crater. “What happened?”

  “The room is down,” Landon said. “We have no power and no door to get above ground.”

  “No.” Tristan got to his knees and waited a moment for his head to clear. “She said I couldn’t hurt her.”

  “It’s not a her,” Donovan said irritably. He slipped off his shoes and sat cross-legged on a mat between lanterns. “I’m sure it’s a simple matter of recalibrating the systems.”

  “The room isn’t some computer and you know it.” Tristan reached for the long staff and drew it close.

  “It isn’t wise to rely on an object for security.”

  “Who cares?” Tristan gripped the staff protectively. His shoulders tightened and his nostrils flared as he used it to get to his feet. “I need all the security I can get. Secondly, Samara is—”

  A green shadow superimposed itself over Donovan, immediately alert to the sense of danger.

  “Samar—” Tristan couldn’t remember what he was trying to say and turned to Landon and Victor—bright yellowish-orange blobs in the gray darkness. He turned his back on them all and climbed out of the smooth crater, glad his bare feet had enough traction to make it up the steep walls. “How can this be?” He kept his back toward them, hoping they’d have a head start if he suddenly shifted. He fought to breathe. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.” He’d been certain that if he could rid himself of all the power, even for just a temporary amount of time, he would have more control over shifting.

  “No one runs. Tristan, sit,” Donavon ordered.

  Tristan dropped to the ground, keeping his back to the people and the staff held tight in his lap.

  The darkness of the cavern wasn’t so dark anymore; a webbing of cracks in the stone walls jutted outward from a weakened spot, where the doorway could be, and a black hollow tunnel led upward just beyond. As if the walls of Samara’s prison were semi-transparent to him.

  He could make a run for it, and be outside before the change. He’d be free, or he’d die trying. But then his body would block the passage and everyone would be trapped behind him. As desperate as he was, he wouldn’t put himself ahead of the others. Besides, he belonged on this side of civilization. “I can see the stairwell. You should go.”

  “Nobody moves,” Donovan said quickly. “Send Pink.”

  Tristan didn’t need to turn around to see the tiny creature—he sensed her flying cautiously toward the nearest wall of the cavern, casting her own sort of light. “Left.”

  She paused, glancing at Landon who pointed her in the right direction, then took off again.

  “There,” Tristan said. “The wall is only about a foot thick, maybe less. You’ll have to break through.”

  A lantern appeared at the base of the wall and Pink dashed back to the group.

  “Breaking through might inflict more damage to the room,” Landon said, raising his hand to catch the pixie.

  “I’m so sorry if I—” ‘kill you or eat you,’ didn’t sound very hopeful. Tristan gulped back the words.

  “Perhaps some music will help pass the time,” suggested Donovan.

  Victor complied, conjuring an acoustic guitar. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to relax. Victor’s music echoed throughout the cave, upbeat and soothing at the same time.

  He was about to tell them they were crazy for staying anywhere near him, and for coming down into the room in the first place, when Donovan spoke up. His voice blended with the tones of the music. “If you happen to shift, I have no doubt you can change back to a human form at will. You’ve already done it, so don’t let that worry you. I also believe you would be more likely to recognize us if you would turn around and see us with your dragon vision.”

  Tristan did his best not to argue, but he hadn’t changed back to human deliberately the first time. And if he changed in this underground grave, he would never see the light of day again. “I see you from here.” Though it was more of a mental impression than visibility. Landon was taller than Victor, Victor wider. Donovan stood out as the green oddball—he’d be identifiable so long as nothing else was green.

  But what if his dragon brain didn’t want to identify anyone? He turned to face the trio unenthused, to be polite while he still could.

  “I want access to your mind.”

  Tristan glanced up in horror. “Are you kidding me?” Although, it was a relief to know Donovan didn’t have immediate access. “Why?”

  “I want access to this...other side of you.”

  Tristan shook his head, scooting backwards as Donovan continued.

  “I need to know what level of intelligence we’re dealing with, what your instinctual powers are, and what force drives your thoughts. To put it bluntly, I need to know how to tame you.”

  Tristan couldn’t breathe. The last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge the monster beneath his skin. If Donovan went digging for it...who knows what would happen. The beast could override his thinking mind and body. He turned away from the faces and focused on Victor’s music instead, and on finding a more distant place to hide in the cavern.

  “I remember a dragon,” Pink said, drawing everyone’s attention. Iridescent wings propelled her upwards a few feet, leaving an arc of glowing mist in the air. She settled on Landon’s knee. “I never thought I would ever feel as lonely.”

  “You’re lonely?” Landon interrupted, ever the empath. “Is that why you seem so sad? We’ve been worried—”

  They had? Tristan found a concaved place in the cave wall to sit, strategic in that he would only need to be wary of one direction.

  “Oh, no, I’m not that kind of sad. You and Victor and Alvi have been delightful. But I’ve never had to sleep alone in my own bed, in my own house, and I’ve never had to fly by myself for so long. The world is so very big. And so empty. Even the plants have changed. I miss my kin. We were never without each other…until now.”

  “I’m so sorry, Pink,” Tristan relaxed his shoulders when his vision darkened to normal. The cavern walls disappeared in blackness and the intensely bright lanterns bathed the group in soothing gold. “I—” He had no idea he would be creating a living being with all her memories intact. It made the destruction of everything else he’d created all the more painful. One big mass of murder.

  Should he play God and do it again, just so the tiny pixie could have a friend from her own species?

  She twirled locks of hair around her fingers like ribbon. “I am of age to produce little ones, but I can’t find the proper plants on this mountain.”

  Tristan blinked. Surely Dorian could help in that department.

  “You don’t require a male?” asked Donovan, equally stunned by her statement.

  “Of course we require males, you silly giant.” She scowled and crossed her arms. Everyone tried not to laugh, even Donovan. “They protect us from the humans and mountain trolls. They make sure we are clothed and fed, that we have shelter for our young, and music for our elderly. We would not do well without our warriors.”

  “But you don’t need a male to...grow as a species?” Tristan asked.

  “Landon and Victor provide for me and keep me safe.”

  At some point in the conversation, Victor had stopped playing. “You just need a certain flower?”

  “An
d a bit of magic. But the plants outside—they don’t remember a time of magic. Perhaps they have evolved away from their true nature—they seem as lost and confused as I am. But they say much of the world is far worse than it is here. The earth’s surface magic is simply...not around anymore. They say some are blaming the humans.”

  “Do you remember where you used to live?” asked Landon.

  “We lived in a lovely meadow, full of fresh water and pollen and fruit and wonderful trees that could hide us from others.”

  “Tell us about the pact with the dragons,” said Donovan.

  “I was never part of the senior discussions, so young was I.” She flew from Landon’s knee and performed several acrobatic spins and flips, landing back where she’d started. “The dragons were in less danger than we were, since they don’t rely on the earth magic. But I remember they have abilities that allow them to stay safely hidden at all times, whether they be sheltered underground or out in the open. They have the gift of tongues and a sense of loyalty to every tribe’s wellbeing—even the Ogres. Well, the invading humans didn’t always fair well, but that was their own fault.” Pink paused for a moment, biting her lip as everyone soaked in the information. “When it became clear we would never survive or outrun the humans, the dragons vowed to keep us protected. And so we agreed to combine our magics and wait for the humans to run their course. It wouldn’t take long the way they were going.”

  “So when the humans are gone, I’m supposed to set you all free?” Was that what Molajah would be telling him to do?

  “Sounds about right.”

  “But—I don’t know where the gems are. And how were the dragons supposed to stay safe from the humans, and live long enough to free you all?” No one could have known back then that he’d become immortal.

  “By each generation being bound by the vow.”

  “What was the vow?” And where was Molajah?

  Pink shrugged. “I was never part of the official meetings. I was told that someday, the world would be right and the magic would return. And at that time, we would all be free to fly again.”