Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I

by R.K. Ryals

  Chapter 15

  I was in awe, my eyes locked on the grooves in the cavern wall. Leather-bound scrolls filled every man-made notch within the new room we stood in now. My hand came up and then fell again. I wanted to touch them all.

  “An Archive,” I breathed. “It’s magnificent!”

  And it was. This part of the cave was no less impressive than the rest, the ceiling as high as the outer cavern we’d come from. Except for the entrance, there seemed no other way to exit it. Scrolls filled every inch of the walls.

  I looked up at Feras, my eyes bright.

  “Where did it all come from?” I asked.

  The rex chuckled. “Dragons like knowledge as much as humans, and ours is much more extensive.”

  I itched to dig through the marked pages I knew lay within, but Feras had other plans.

  “Kye.”

  Kye glanced at the rex before walking up to the row of books, moving his fingers carefully over them before pulling on something I couldn’t see. Several scrolls moved aside to reveal a hollow space within the cave wall. Kye reached in, and I felt more than saw several spiders and cave-dwelling insects scurry out of the way. When his hand reappeared, he was holding an old rolled up text, yellowed and unbound.

  “The Kiarian Freesonalay,” Kye said as he walked to a stone ledge doubling as a table.

  I was next to him before I’d even realized I’d moved, my eyes drawn to the parchment.

  “The Book of Truth,” I translated.

  The words he’d spoken were Medeisian, but an older form of the language than we used now. The old language was strange on my tongue, but not uncomfortable. I’d learned to speak it as a child from the scribes.

  “But it’s not a book,” I said, reaching out tentatively.

  My fingers skirted the page. The move put my hand close to Kye’s, but instead of drawing back, he began rolling the parchment out, his fingers brushing mine before I had a chance to pull away. My skin felt warm where his calloused fingers had met mine, and I fisted my hand.

  “No, but the page you see here is the remains of the true book of truth,” Feras said.

  My hand lingered on the text, my fingers drawn to it. An electric tingle shot up my arm, and I gasped.

  “It knows you,” Kye said.

  Lochlen grunted from behind me, the displeased rumble making some of the bound scrolls inside the chamber tremble.

  “It’s a bloody piece of paper,” Lochlen mumbled.

  “A powerful piece of paper,” Feras corrected. “Read the words.”

  Kye let me step in front of him, and I peered down at the page, intensely aware of the man standing at my back, one of his hands resting on the table next to mine. The words blurred and then came together. I translated them soundlessly, my lips moving with the text.

  In the year of the Dragon, a kingdom will be divided. Twins will be born to the sovereign. These male heirs will be greedy. They will seek power. They will war amongst themselves, and their kingdom will be split in two.

  For one son, the years will not be kind. His kingdom within the forests will suffer. Trade will be sparse. Crops will falter. There will be famine and civil war. A dictator will rise from his heirs, all semblance of a monarchy erased. There will be persecution. The old magick will be condemned. All learning will be outlawed. Those born with power will be murdered.

  For the other son, the years will be prosperous. His kingdom amidst the sea will bring him wealth, and will bring his people peace. Trade will flourish. The old magick will be esteemed.

  A desert will form between the two nations. The kingdoms will be divided by barren, harsh land. But it will not stop the big war from coming. It will not stop a dictator from attempting to usurp power.

  The Dragons will take to hiding in their mountains. The creatures of the forest will bide their time. For out of the ashes of devastation will arise a phoenix, an omen, a child born under the Harvest Moon. This child will be born of forbidden magick, born to bring two nations together.

  To the prosperous kingdom, there will be born a son to the ruler. His magick will be borne of steel, strong. His life will be cursed with hardships. His power will make others greedy, murderous. He will be plagued with death.

  The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .

  The words trailed off. I lifted the page carefully, turning it, peering at the back, squinting in case there were words that had dulled with time, but there was nothing more.

  “The phoenix of peace,” I re-read aloud, my eyes moving to the dragons before peering up at Kye. “This is a prophecy? And you believe the phoenix is me?”

  “It is only words,” Lochlen complained.

  Feras roared, the sound loud enough to startle. “It is truth.”

  The rex looked threateningly at his son, and I felt Kye’s free arm snake cautiously around my waist. I shook my head, and his arm loosened but didn’t move.

  “The books,” Kye warned, and I spied the smoke that curled even now from Feras’ nostrils.

  The rex froze, snorting more smoke as he calmed himself.

  Lochlen was sitting up, his reptilian eyes flashing. “I do not believe in soothsayers,” he gritted out, his gaze locked on his father.

  Feras’ nose continued to billow small wisps of grey.

  “It is a prediction that, up until now, has come to fruition. A scribe died for these words. Do you deny that, Son?”

  I stared at them both. A scribe?

  “Are you saying a scribe had clairvoyant powers?”

  My question fell on deaf, angry ears. Lochlen’s head lifted, his body looming over his father’s, and the two dragons began to circle each other, their eyes flashing.

  “I don’t deny the prophecy seems to be true, but to rely so heavily on its outcome is foolish,” Lochlen argued.

  Lochlen’s intent was clear, his words piercing my chest like a dagger. The outcome was me. Relying on me, on the belief that I was the One, was foolish. By the way Feras glanced at me, I knew he disagreed.

  “She’s the one,” Feras said confidently.

  I wanted to believe the rex, but even as painful as it was, I silently agreed with Lochlen. There was something comforting in knowing that someone other than me doubted my importance.

  “You believe I’m this phoenix of peace?” I asked.

  Again the question fell on deaf ears. Lochlen and Feras’ eyes were locked in a battle of wills I couldn’t translate. Tendrils of smoke lifted from both of their nostrils.

  “It looks promising,” Lochlen admitted. “But don’t forget the end of the text, Father.”

  The end of the document had trailed off, ended abruptly. The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .

  Lochlen settled back, the submissive gesture enough to relieve the tension.

  “We don’t know how it ends. We have no idea what she will bring.”

  “It would not refer to her as the phoenix of peace if she were to bring only sorrow.”

  Feras’ words were like a splash of cold water to the face. I had brought sorrow, much sorrow. Anyone who’d ever known me, who’d ever loved me, had died to protect me. No one was that important. Certainly not me.

  “I want to kill King Raemon.”

  The silence that followed my words spoke for itself.

  “Way to calm the dragons,” Kye said, the words echoing in the chamber. “Nothing more reassuring than assassination.”

  My statement was bold, but my anger was bolder. There was blood on Raemon’s hands. Innocent blood. The blood of people I loved, people who sacrificed themselves because they believed I could save them.

  I looked up, my eyes sad. “I can’t save a kingdom. I can only kill a king.”

  Kye’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Calm down, Drastona. The Book of Truth labels a girl with forbidden magic as a phoenix of peace. You may be her. There's even a chance you may not be, but either way, the decisions we make now will be profound.”

  “An
d,” Lochlen added, his fight with his father forgotten, “even if you were to make it to the capital unrecognized, how would you make it to the king? Many of your people hate Raemon, but there are also many who support him. You would have to first break through his ring of power, and you won't find much support outside of the outlawed rebels living in the forest. Fear is often more powerful than hate. There would not be many who would help you.”

  “But there are spies,” I argued, turning so that I faced Kye. “You infiltrated the king's soldiers, and you said there were others . . .”

  Kye frowned. “I also said we are few.”

  I looked away to the books over Kye's shoulders. The familiar scent, parchment and leather, infiltrated my nose. My calloused fingers twitched. There were images transposed over the cavern, shadowy memories of brown-robed men and women leaning over scarred wooden tables. Glass encased candles burned, some of them too dim to see much with as an older man with a long, trailing beard stopped occasionally among the robes to skim a finger down a page, sometimes nodding, other times frowning. Scribes. My scribes. Master Aedan. All gone now.

  I closed my eyes, and the scene disappeared.

  “Then how do we stop the king,” I asked.

  I smelled smoke as a head lowered, a claw skimming my back carefully. Kye's hand was still on my shoulder, the pressure comfortable and uncomfortable, but he didn't seem inclined to remove it.

  “Revolution,” Feras breathed, and when hot steam circled past my head, curling my already frizzy hair, I didn't move. The heat was nothing compared to the burn in my gut.

  Revolution.