Dragon Plagued: Chronicles of Dragon Aerie Young Adult Fantasy Fiction (Plague Born Book 2)

by Travis Simmons

  She reached for him as he passed, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t precisely brush her off, she hadn’t actually touched him, but he didn’t stop either. He made his way toward camp.

  “Tell Millie I’m going to take a walk,” Wylan said.

  “We’ve been walking all day, you crazy wyrm,” Josef shot over his shoulder. “There’s just miles and miles of sand!”

  Wylan laughed. “Yea, I just want to stretch my legs.”

  “Have it your way.” Josef waved over his shoulder. “As long as it’s not a walk like the other night where you don’t plan on coming back. I will have dinner waiting when you get back.”

  The truth was, Wylan’s mind was too overloaded to go back to camp right then. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Was Josef just supposed to forget what had happened between them the night before? What had gotten into her? Why had she reacted that way? She’d had a lot of crushes on the characters in the books she read, but she’d never had thoughts that took over her control and made her act without thinking. Was that the difference between stories and real men, or was it the wyvern? Was the red soul within her apt to make her lustful? She knew that Lissandra could influence her anger, but was she influencing other things?

  And what did Josef expect? She liked him—he was nice, he was attractive, and she couldn’t deny that she felt something. She just didn’t know what that something was. Not yet. For him to try to rush things made her heart race, and not in a good way. She didn’t want that, at least not yet. She barely knew the man, and he barely knew her. She’d read a few romance novels when she’d been able to get her hands on them, and she knew a lot about love at first sight, but she didn’t really believe it. It alarmed her that he was able to jump right into things just because being together felt good and their bodies had strange reactions to one another.

  Deep down there was more to fear than just rushing into things with Josef. She had a strange life. Sure, there were a lot of people that could change into wyverns, but she was different—she knew that. She was born with dragon eyes the night dragons returned to the long desert. To deny that she had some connection with dragons was stupid.

  She also intended on hunting down the blue dragon, and Wylan knew what kind of end that was likely to result in. Thoughts of her parents, burning and dismembered, swam to the forefront of her brain. She feared losing another person to dragons. More than that, she feared leaving someone as achingly alone because of dragons as she felt without her parents.

  She sat on a dune and let out a long sigh. The Great Above was especially bright that evening, bathing the dunes and her in violet relief. The moon was nearly dark, so the only light that came to her was that of the stars and the purple nimbus of the afterlife high in the sky.

  Was she destined to leave someone the same way her parents left her? Alone, sitting on some dune, staring up at the Great Above and wondering if she were there, waiting for them?

  Her mind was made up. She couldn’t get involved with Josef—with anyone—until the blue dragon was dead.

  Except for the constant trumpet of dragons that swarmed overhead and called from behind them, the following days passed in near silence. There were times the dragons would leave, but those moments were few and far between. Whenever Millie thought that maybe she could shift and take the baby ahead to Darubai, the dragons returned as if they knew her plan, but were unable to locate them.

  Wylan began to wonder if the baby was cloaking them from the dragons’ sight.

  Josef was silent with her, though not unkindly, he just didn’t speak to her mentally or otherwise, unless she initiated conversation first. It frustrated Wylan and made her slightly resentful of him. Because she’d denied his advances he was going to act like she didn’t exist?

  There were times, when they sword practiced, that he joked with her, but Wylan wondered if that was just to ease the tension she felt building between them.

  He’d started wearing his shirt during sword practice.

  Millie had started to warm to her again, but she seemed lost to her own thoughts most of the time, watching the dragons glide overhead while she cradled Kira protectively to her chest.

  Around midday, the dragons cleared from the sky, and with them went all the tension Wylan was feeling. She felt she could breathe for the first time all day without worrying that the dragons might spot them. She was growing more certain that Kira had a hand in keeping them hidden from the dragons. Wylan would have found the notion absurd, if she hadn’t felt the might of the baby in the ghost town.

  “Wait,” Josef said, holding his hand out behind him to stop Wylan.

  “What is it?” Millie asked.

  Josef didn’t answer. Wylan listened harder to see if she could hear what Josef was hearing, but she didn’t have to wait long. The sand before them rippled and churned before exploding outward. A creature like she’d never seen shot up out of the ground, golden wings snapping open in the morning sun.

  At first Wylan thought it was a dragon. Its body was covered with golden scales; its body was long and sinuous, more like a snake than a dragon. It had four clawed feet, feathered like a bird’s, and upon its shoulders rested the strangest head Wylan had ever seen. Feathered and white with a large red crest and a red beard. Its beak was as golden as the scales and Wylan knew that one bite from the beak could tear through flesh.

  She stepped away from the beast, her heart hammering in her ears.

  “Can we run?” Wylan asked.

  “It would catch us,” Millie said, drawing her sword. “And I thought you were about facing dragons, this gives you pause?”

  But if I die against this, how am I to face the dragon? She thought, but she said nothing as Millie sat Kira down some distance away.

  Josef’s sword was already out, and he circled around the beast, slapping at it with his sword and making loud noises to draw its attention to him and away from the girls.

  “I don’t know how to use my sword well!” Wylan said, drawing her weapon. It felt clumsy in her hand and all of her training seemed to evade her then.

  “You have your fire,” Millie said. “Be creative.” Millie held her sword in her right hand; her left hand already glowing green and trailing whispers of putrid energy around her wrist.

  “What is it?” Wylan asked.

  “A cockatrice. Don’t look into its eyes!” Josef warned.

  A cockatrice…every legend she’d ever read seemed to be coming to life around her. She knew better than to look into its eyes. The gaze of the cockatrice was said to kill any who met its eye.

  Wylan followed their lead. She stepped back and reached for the wyvern soul like Millie had taught her and circled the cockatrice. Josef was holding its attention so Millie and she could attack the creature while he was keeping it focused on him.

  Josef let out a yell and the cockatrice responded with a high-pitched screech of its own. It struck at him, its cruel beak glinting in the sun. Josef dodged out of the way moments before the cockatrice struck him. The beast lanced out to the side, toward Josef, its beak snapping at the man’s face. There was no way for Josef to dodge the attack. With a grunt he brought his sword up and caught the beast in the side of the head, breaking its momentum and knocking its head away from the attack.

  Wylan felt the fire swim through her body and bloom in her hand. She didn’t have to look to know a large ball of flame coalesced in her palm. The cockatrice reared back, its wings snapping open, a talon coming startling close to Wylan’s face. She reacted, stabbing out at the wing before the beast could fully open them and take flight. Her sword cut through the membranous wing like she was slicing fabric. Blood sluiced down the leathery appendage. She’d expected there would be more blood, but there wasn’t.

  The cockatrice screamed again, and it started turning toward her. She let loose a volley of fire at its face. It flapped its wings and stumbled away from the attack, its talons kicking up sand as it shuffled away. It jumped, tried to catch the air with its wings, but one was da
maged. It gained some ground with the air, its scales glimmered as it rose higher before it listed to the side. The long cut Wylan had made wouldn’t allow the beast to fly. It fumbled to the side, landed hard, and nearly crushed Millie.

  The healer jumped back, rolled away, and when she stood, she let her plague fly. The plague shot out of her like a noxious ball of bog water. It collided with the cockatrice and popped. Thick slime oozed from the ball and slipped over the beast’s beak. Wylan could only hope that some had made it down its throat.

  She shot another stream of fire at the face, hoping that the slime would catch fire, but it didn’t. Noxious smoke billowed up from where the fire collided, drifting up into the sky.

  The three of them backed away from the cloud. The poison wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from friend or foe, and Wylan didn’t want to take the chance that it would make her sick.

  The cockatrice flailed on the ground. Attacking when the beast was disorientated was best, but its frantic movements made attacking dangerous. They backed up until they were out of reach of its grasping talons. The cockatrice ambled to its feet and before it could orientate itself, Josef charged back in. He stabbed at the creature’s underside, not bothering to jam his sword between scales and actually damage the beast, just trying to draw its attention from the other two. It worked. The cockatrice lanced its head down at him, nicking his shoulder before Josef could make it out of the way.

  Josef cried out and stumbled to the side. Blood flowed down his arm, staining his dirty white tunic crimson. He fumbled out of the path of the beak, but the cockatrice was injured and angry. It stabbed at him again, and Josef managed to swing his sword out, deflect the blow.

  Wylan charged in, fire flashing at the creature’s head. Flames ate at the feathers and the beast stretched out its long neck, its head on fire. It coughed, swung its head about, blinded by flames. Its talons blindly stomped in the sand, its wings flailing out to its sides. One of the wings struck Millie, knocking her off balance and over a dune where she tumbled out of sight.

  Heartened that the feathers had caught fire so easily, Wylan aimed another fiery attack at its feet. The flames weren’t as powerful, even bolstered by Lissandra, she was losing strength. Still, the feet caught in a rush of fire and the cockatrice screamed out in rage and pain. The smell of burning feathers and roasting meat drifted in the air in a cloud of black smoke. The smell sickened Wylan, but the wyvern soul within her delighted in the smell, churned in hunger.

  Wylan pushed it down in revulsion. She dodged in as she saw Millie crest the dune, sword in one hand, her other hand glowing with green power. Wylan couldn’t wait. The feet hadn’t stopped stomping, and she was worried that it would crush Josef to death.

  The fire was already sizzling out on the beast’s head. The red beard was withered and blackened, the red crest nothing more than spikes of blackened feathers.

  And then a great orb of water surrounded the cockatrice’s head.

  The beast reared back, swinging its head to be free of the water, but the orb held fast like a child clinging to its mother in fright. Wylan could see through the orb. She could see the cockatrice gasping for air, but only breathing in water. Its eyes were charred from the fire and Wylan was happy for that. She didn’t think she could stand there and watch the beast drown if she could also see the fear in its eyes.

  She allowed herself a moment to relax. The beast stumbled, crashed to the ground in a flurry of wings and a cloud of disturbed sand. Millie dodged flailing wings and clawing feet. She stepped up to the head, the green fog vanishing from her left hand. With her right, she stabbed through the orb of water. The orb popped, showering them with water as her sword broke through the beast’s eye, puncturing its brain.

  The cockatrice fell still. All that Wylan could hear for a time was the whistling of the wind over the sand. Part of her mourned the loss of such a magnificent creature, but she was sure it was something she would have to get over. Some of the most dangerous creatures were lovely, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill her.

  How will you ever kill dragons if you can’t bear to see this creature die? She wondered.

  Millie rushed to Josef’s side. She crouched beside him and inspected the wound.

  “It’s not deep,” she said. “But it’s still going to need healing. Wounds from a cockatrice heal slow. Something to do with their beaks that won’t let the wound scab.”

  “It was a young one,” Josef said.

  Millie’s hands glowed green once more and she placed her hands on the wounds. “That’s what I thought too.”

  “How do you know?” Wylan asked.

  “Cockatrice and basilisks are very hard to kill.” Josef said. “Fully grown they are near impossible. This one had the size, but not the age apparently.”

  “So what can kill them?”

  “The crow of a rooster and staring into their own reflection,” Josef told her.

  “Too bad we didn’t have a reflective shield,” Wylan mused.

  “Or a cock laying around.” Millie smirked.

  “Is that a jab at my manhood?” Josef wondered.

  Millie chuckled.

  “We don’t see them often,” Josef said. “But where there’s one, there’s bound to be more.”

  Millie sat back from her work and inspected Josef’s shoulder. There wasn’t a trace of the wound except for the blood that stained his shirt. “Yes, one that young likely means there’s a nest nearby. Are you ready?”

  Wylan nodded.

  Wylan couldn’t sleep. They’d been on the road for several more days, and the monotony of it all was getting to her. One day bled into the other, and there was seemingly no end to it all. Josef still wasn’t acting toward her the way he once had. Not only did his shirt stay on during practice, but he also didn’t seek out conversation with her. He still talked, but the joking had all but ended, and the only time they spent alone was when they sparred.

  She was about to drift off to sleep when a shadowy figure glided overhead, close enough that Wylan could feel the wind of its passing.

  In the silvery light of the waxing moon, a cascade of blue light danced over the dunes. Her eyes shot open, her mind racing from the edge of sleep. She located the dragon…it was blue. Was it the one she sought? Wylan couldn’t be sure, but she had to find out. She bolted up from her bed, thankful that Millie and Josef weren’t snug against her as they usually were, and grabbed her sword.

  A flare of light shot into the sky from a couple dunes away, striking the dragon in the head. The blue dragon spiraled from the sky heading straight for the ground. In the light, Wylan thought she could see scales missing from the top of its tail, where Cuthburt had wounded the dragon moments before he’d been killed by it.

  The dragon was close this time, and it was alone. She could do it. If the countless, eventless days had taught her anything, it was how to use a sword. And her magic was there, waiting for her call. If luck was with her and it was injured, she could sneak off, kill him, and be back before either of them woke. If she wasn’t lucky…well then she wouldn’t have to deal with Millie’s anger anyway.

  She didn’t look at Josef as she slipped out from between her companions. She wouldn’t let herself think about him this time, or what might have been. There wasn’t time for that, and who knew if he even wanted anything now?

  :Unity,: Lissandra rumbled sleepily :Family.:

  :What are you going on about?: Wylan wondered, taking hesitant steps from the campsite, her eyes drifting back to Millie and Josef, who still appeared to be sleeping.

  She felt a stir lower in her body.

  :Good dragons,: Lissandra said.

  :You’re not making any sense,: she told the wyvern soul, making her way slowly over the dunes, following the path to where she’d seen the blue strike ground. :If you’re going to distract me with chatter, you could at least tell me what you want so we can finally shift.:

  But the wyvern soul was silent. Even if it wasn’t speaking any
longer, Wylan wondered at her words. Unity. Good dragons. Was Lissandra out of her mind? There were no such things as good dragons. The only good dragon was a dead dragon.

  :You want unity with dragons?: Wylan asked. Even as the wyvern soul stirred within her, opening as if it were accepting her words, or maybe even agreeing, Wylan knew she couldn’t deliver on uniting with dragons. Maybe after the blue was dead—if she lived through that—she could entertain the idea of finding some truce with dragons, if there really were any good ones. But she wasn’t about to make good with the blue dragon.

  :Bad dragon,: Lissandra agreed. Wylan wondered if the wyvern soul had some issue with speaking in complete sentences tonight. She shrugged the thought off.

  :Yes, the blue is a bad dragon, and it must be killed. Will you help me?:

  The wyvern soul tightened against her.

  “Didn’t think so,” she mumbled, and pushed the soul away, giving her space and rejecting her at the same time. Millie had told Wylan that she would have to learn to work with the wyvern soul if she ever wanted to shift, but she’d be damned if she would be making all the compromises. Lissandra would have to meet her halfway, and if she was worried about dying, then she should help so that didn’t happen.

  Wylan slowed down as she approached what she thought was the last dune the dragon had crested. She crept to the top, and peered over the peak of the dune. The blue dragon wasn’t there, but she saw where it had landed. A great indentation rested in the ground where the dragon had made impact. Around the pit, Wylan could see blue scales glittering in the light of the full moon. He was wounded, at least. Missing scales meant there would be more places she could strike and not have to worry about the armor the scales provided.

  She scanned the area, making sure there weren’t any surprises, and then she slid to the bottom of the other side of the dune. Wylan stood, dusting off her pants and knelt to pick up a scale nearby. It was weightless, like a feather. Worried that a stiff wind might blow it away, Wylan clutched it tighter. She could feel a thrum of power within the scale—a light that rested beneath the surface, as if every scale had a heart of its own, a heart of power. The scale was both cold and warm to the touch, and she wondered if the contradicting temperatures had anything to do with the dragon’s power.