It felt like a minecart ran into him. His head slammed against the desk. Bronson stumbled back around its corner and tripped over the dead Darkened lying on the floor. But he was not the only one who ended up on the floor. In front of him, Lord Rictor’s bare feet slipped in the newly-formed puddle of blood. Bronson quickly crawled away, searching for the knife he had dropped.
A small axe barely missed his foot as the Darkened, dragging his paralyzed legs across the floor, took a swing at him. The broken prince wrenched the weapon from his attacker’s hand and brought it down hard upon the man’s shaved head.
Shouts streamed in from the hallway. Bronson dragged himself back to his feet and saw the twins run through the door.
“Lord Rictor!” screamed one of them. Both women readied their weapons.
The Stone King did not react. He lunged at Bronson, intent on disposing of this insolent attempt on his life. The broken prince grabbed the only weapon within his reach. He pulled the sword from the desk’s edge and slashed at the tyrant’s face. It was an unbalanced slash; his teacher of old would roll over in his grave if he saw. But it stopped the Stone King’s furious charge. Bronson’s sword deflected off the stone arm, erupting in a fountain of sparks. The lamp oil was instantly set ablaze, engulfing the entire arm in flames.
Lord Rictor recoiled from the flames, trying to keep his arm away from his face. Bronson tried to get his bearings. He saw the window he came in through and decided to make a break for it. He was out before he knew it, greeted by the cool sea. Nobody had tried to stop him.
Inside, the twins pushed Lord Rictor to the ground and threw the blood-soaked blanket over his arm. A few of the Darkened put out the burning maps, set afire when the Stone King thrashed around.
With the flames extinguished, the furious ruler got back to his feet. He looked out the window and then at the burned maps on his desk.
“Do you want us to send out the boats, Lord Rictor?” asked Taimila.
One side of her hair was now significantly shorter, burned by the flames as she had pushed her leader down.
“Do not bother. He is long gone,” said the Stone King. He twisted his head around and stared into empty space. “And where were you during all this? I could have died!”
“We came as soon as you called,” Calissa said amiably.
But Lord Rictor did not hear her. Instead, he turned back toward the desk and brought down his stone fist.
“Useless!”
The dark wood split in two with a loud crack. Only then did he turn and look the twins in the eyes.
“Go ashore with a small force and rouse the city. Someone will pay for this. I do not care who.”
Air rushed past Trista’s face. She was falling, of that she was certain. Far below her, the ground stretched for miles in all directions. She tried to remember how she got there, but could only pull up a few hazy thoughts about the ceremony that morning. At least, she thought it was that morning.
The view was breathtaking, but the thunderous pounding of air rushing past her ears made it clear she was on her way down. Clouds quickly passed her as she tried to move her arms and legs. She felt strange; light and heavy at the same time, and as though she had no control over her limbs. Was she back on Duvessa’s table?
While she tried to figure out what was wrong, the ground charged toward her. The mountains no longer looked like anthills, the trees were starting to show their shape more clearly and the small puddle below her was growing into a tremendous lake. If she did not do something soon, she would get firsthand experience of gravity showing who was in charge. And she was certain the solid rock was less forgiving than these clouds she kept passing. She tried to scream, but no voice found its way out of her throat, only a low rumble. Her throat; another thing that felt different somehow.
Trista forced herself to tilt her head and look at her body, half expecting to see ropes wrapped around it. The swivel of her head felt strange as she tried to look down. The perspective was off, like it was nowhere near her body. She looked at her hands—only to be greeted by blue webbed claws. She let out a cry, which emerged as another grunting rumble followed by a panicked trumpet sound. Amongst the alarm, she felt something whip behind her.
A tail! I have a tail?
The ground was now getting up close and personal. She instinctively looked away, shielding her body with her arms. She arched her back and felt the snap of wings—her wings—as they unfolded and caught the stream of air. Leaning back, she felt her descent become less drastic. The airflow decreased as her wings carried her on the wind. She felt her stomach drop as she started to rise again, at which point she finally dared to look around properly. She beat her wings to gain altitude again, allowing her heart to slowly find its normal rhythm—at least, until the moment she realized: she was flying.
Chapter 26
Bonding
It was not every day a member of the waterclans—or Minai, for that matter—found herself miles above the ground she normally walked on. Trista tried to make sense of it all while her dragon body banked left. She had encountered a hot rising air flow which she now idly followed like she had seen Dalkeira so often do during their journey. Still, she was surprised at how relaxing it felt.
She felt her muscles move beneath her scaled skin. Everything felt like the first time—even blinking felt strange—but familiar at the same time. Was this really her, or was she just a passenger stuck inside Dalkeira’s mind? She tried to call out, but received no answer.
Trista must have spent quite a while pondering her situation, because by the time she looked around again she had gained enough altitude to pass through numerous clouds. As she approached them, she marveled at the sight of thousands and thousands of shiny silver drops that sparkled in the light of the sun. The tiny specks twirled through the air, chasing each other around like little fish as she came close before flowing together again to form the image of a normal cloud as Trista moved farther away.
The world seemed strange and distant. She wondered if there were people living down on the ground. Decan? Aslara? It all seemed so small and insignificant. She was perfectly content with where she was. Just her and the infinite sky.
The former human in her felt the power in her muscles as she gained more control over them. The two smaller rudder wings above her main flight wings helped make tiny corrections during her maneuvers. She breathed in forcefully to enjoy this unknown freedom. She instantly felt her chest radiate a pleasant warmth. Her body became lighter and drifted upward.
Her other life felt even further away than the ground below. She tried to remember details of her time spent walking on it, but the images refused to form in her head. Perhaps she had always been here. Perhaps this was her life, and the other, the dream. Maybe she had always been a dragon.
A soft tone reached her ears, or rather touched her mind. The sound came from the west; first a single tone, then more. The melody was one of the most beautiful compositions Trista had ever heard. The low notes could shake a planet to the core even as the high notes lifted one’s spirit up beyond the clouded skies. The complexity was beyond any human musical performance, consisting of sound and thought at the same time.
Below Trista were the Red Plains and Pillars of Life scattered along them. The roots spread out across the land, flowing the waters of life through their tremendous network. The entire network glowed a blueish-white color that resonated with the intensity of the song. The music had an incredible pull on her. She felt her entire being focus toward the west, far beyond the lands that stretched out before her. She began to fly toward it, uncertain if it was by choice or force.
Then a cracking sound intruded on her thoughts, drawing her attention away from the music.
What noise could reach all the way up here?
She looked around, but saw nothing. Another crack rolled through the sky. The song was now completely gone. She banked toward the east and gazed at the horizon below. Mountain tops and forests. Lakes and deserts. All the landscape
s she knew existed surrounded her as she tried to pinpoint the cracking sound of—
Stone. It’s stone I hear. Like a cliff that splits from a tremor.
A change in the light caught her eye. She adjusted her trajectory and kept her gaze firmly locked on the area where she had seen something move. At first, nothing happened; then suddenly the land fell into shadow. The cracking sound broke through the air once more, this time lingering much longer as the shadow crawled forward across the mountains and trees. Trista flew closer to inspect what was happening.
After some time gliding toward it, doubt entered her mind. Was she approaching it, or was the shadow moving toward her? The cracking intensified. She saw the darkness move across one lake, then another. It seemed to pick up speed along the way.
Finally, she was close enough to observe what was happening in full detail. The shadow was in fact the darkest rock Trista had ever seen. The cracking sound ran across the world as large rocks shot out of the ground, petrifying trees and flowers—even water—into a deep, black stone surface. Following the stone came the darkness; all light swallowed into a void of nothingness.
A pillar of black stone shot out of the ground at incredible speed, almost knocking her straight out of the sky. She beat her wings to get away from the barren, rocky wasteland forming below her. She saw deer flee the oncoming evil, only to be swallowed up by a chasm suddenly forming in the ground. Rabbits and fish turned to stone. Centuries-old trees toppled under the weight of petrification. It was like the entire landscape was burned by an unseen fire and left charred and deserted.
As she retreated to a safe distance, the rest of the world came back into view. The shadow expanded in all directions. She flew to the west, but it was not long until she saw the same darkness on the western horizon. It was quickly approaching from every direction. The world she knew was disappearing in front of her eyes.
Trista did not know why she had the urge to look down, but as soon as she did, she knew something was there, waiting. She folded her wings and bent into a dive. This was no uncontrolled drop, nor was there any fear of crashing into the ground. It was smooth and fast; natural. But no matter how fast she descended, the darkness closed in at equal speed. All around her, the black stone rushed across the land. As she fell below the highest mountain tops, she saw snow petrify into black stone as the shadow rushed down the mountainsides to gain on her.
Directly below her, Trista noticed a figure, frantically waving up toward her. She focused her eyes to make out who it was, drawing the image into full detail. Strangely enough, the desperate-looking gesture was not what shocked her. It was the fact that the figure who called out to her had long red hair and clear green eyes that stared straight at her as she dove from the sky. Trista stared straight into her own human face as she rushed toward the ground.
“TRISTAAAAAA.”
The voice from below was her own, but she had not used it. It carried all the way to her bones. She felt her mind reach out. The world around her slowed. With her dragon eyes, she saw the human’s mouth decelerate to a point where the lips barely moved. She knew she was still diving at an incredible speed, yet she barely moved forward. And all around them the darkness unrelentingly pushed forward, fighting against the decreased motion of time.
Trista gazed into those familiar green eyes like they were windows. Behind them she saw—or rather felt—bewilderment. But she knew…she felt, what precisely was there, behind those eyes and it only added to her confusion. Because the green eyes that stared up at her—no matter how familiar—were not her own.
Dalkeira!
Unable or unwilling to stop, Trista pushed her dragon body forward in that frozen moment of time. She tried to reach her friend before the gaining darkness swallowed her. Her scaled nose inched closer to the human hand that stretched toward her in panic. The black stone was now mere inches away from them. It rushed up Dalkeira’s human-shaped legs, overtaking skin and clothes. Everything around them had turned to stone; even the sky began to darken.
Unable to move, Trista watched the human form in front of her start to petrify. She stretched her long, sleek neck even further, inching closer to the tip of the finger that awaited her touch.
Human eyes, driven by the dragon’s emotion, stared frightened at a blue dragon shape that descended from the sky. It was like a painting, the scene frozen in time. How much time went by as the space between them decreased at a snail’s pace? A day? A night? A lifetime? Trista could not tell.
Only part of the arm and face of Dalkeira’s human form were still free of stone, but the dark growth did not stop there. Dalkeira screamed with her human voice, mouth stretched wide as her face hardened and her tongue was swallowed up by dark stone. Only the arm remained, then the hand.
She was so close; Trista smelled her own human scent. The black stone crackled along the wrist, then hand, then finger, until finally her scales made contact. The touch sent a rush of warmth into every fiber of her being. Dragon, human—perhaps she was both. Two minds bound as one, the world not complete when one was without the other.
The light of a star imploded where they touched. An eruption of the whitest light burst into existence, only to find itself immediately swallowed by the stone darkness that collapsed in onto them. In that moment of warmth, of complete understanding, their world departed into nothingness as a shrill, high-pitched ringing entered their minds and overruled all their senses.
“Am I dead?”
Trista stared into a void. She looked down and saw her own two feet. Normal, human feet. A small layer of water ran past her toes, but the color was too dark to see if she stood on solid ground or if the water’s depth was infinite. Around her, the sound of drips echoed, but she dared not take one step for fear of affecting the reality in front of her. Perhaps she was indeed standing on water, on nothingness, held up only by the fact that she did not know she could fall.
“Not unless I am dead as well.”
“Dalkeira! I can hear you again! Where are you?”
“Right here,” the dragon’s voice said, right behind her.
Dalkeira emerged from the darkness as if stepping into a beam of light. Trista jumped at her and hugged the dragon around her neck.
“I’m so sorry about everything,” said Trista.
Dalkeira bent her neck slightly to return Trista’s hug.
“I just had the strangest dream,” said Dalkeira. “I was…you.”
“I think I had the same dream, but different,” answered Trista. “I was flying. I was you, high up in the sky. It was like I was being drawn somewhere and everything else faded into the background.”
“The song! You mean you heard it?” said Dalkeira excitedly.
“I had no idea it was so beautiful,” said Trista. “Did you hear it as well?”
“No.”
“What happened, then?”
“So much fear, doubt, hope, love—so much flows through you humans. I thought I knew from our connection, but I truly had no idea. The feelings were intense. And at first, I could not stand it,” said Dalkeira, clearly still impressed. Suddenly, she brought her sparkling eye close to Trista, as if remembering something else. “Speaking of which, who walks and stands on just two legs to begin with? It feels so very unstable.”
Stumped, Trista looked at her. The dragon shook her head.
“It was all very strange and unpleasant. After I finally figured out how to walk, I spent all my time searching for Decan and myself—I mean, my dragon form—which was confusing. I could think about nothing else. But soldiers were everywhere and there was nothing I could do to find you both; to protect you. I felt so helpless, but I never feel helpless!” said Dalkeira forcefully. “I saw how I, how you, lost everything. All the things you cared for. Family, friends, those who inspire…”
“Aslara,” said Trista softly, picking up on the reference. “I wish I hadn’t yelled at you that morning. When Decan got bitten by that snake.”
“It was not that I was upset about yo
u yelling,” said Dalkeira. “I saw you were worried about Decan. But you choose that woman we barely knew over me. Trusted her over me. Though I cannot fault you for that now, as my reaction was not entirely based on logic.”
“You were afraid of being left behind. Just like me,” said Trista.
“That woman made such an impression on you. She still does. I felt you slipping away from me from the moment we met her at the sunken city.”
“So in response, you pulled away too,” said Trista, beginning to understand Dalkeira’s reasoning. “Dalkeira, I’m so sorry I’ve given you any reason for doubt, but the truth is that for a long time I wasn’t sure. You know; sure about if this was the life for me. Nobody prepared me for this. I mean, I always wanted to leave the island, but who could have imagined this? Fleeing for our lives, trying to take care of two precious things who needed me, as well as myself. Ever since you hatched, I wondered constantly which was the correct path to take.”
Trista fell silent.
“It—it wore me down. I felt so tired. I could not abandon Decan and break the oath I made to my parents. But this odyssey to the west…it was constantly calling you, I saw that. Felt that. But what I didn’t know was that it was in me as well. I didn’t recognize it before, but now that I’ve heard the song so clearly, I know for certain I’ve felt it all along.”
Trista put her head against the dragon’s, like she had seen the Minai do so many times now.
Wavebreaker (Book II of the Stone War Chronicles): Part 1 - Trickle Page 52
