Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “I wonder what’s going on?” Fillion turned to eye the Guildmaster.

  Aeron chuckled. “You’ll see. Hurry, let’s get back to our seats.”

  Chanté wondered, too. He glanced at Quillan, the young man shrugged, and they jogged over with the others.

  Guildmaster Millinith was standing in front of the tiered seats, versions of the bleachers from the sports field that were a bit more lavish. Once everyone had returned, she addressed them and the candidates standing off to the side.

  “Normally,” she said, “the feeding of the hatchlings and their impending drowsiness would be our cue to move the celebration to the cafeteria. However, there is a new segment that we must add to the festivities.”

  She gestured behind with her hand, taking in the dragons still sitting here and there around the clutching pit. “There are many dragons who did not have the opportunity to choose a bond-mate upon their hatching, dragons who are ready to do so now.”

  “Oh, ho,” Fillion murmured.

  Chanté blinked. When had all this been planned?

  Guildmaster Millinith, Adept Liflin, and Renata worked with the adult dragons wanting to bond.

  He glanced at Nantli. Is that so? Hmm.

  There are others, too, that will choose very soon. Some of whom are not here today.

  He drew his brows together. Who would those be?

  “Candidates.” Guildmaster Millinith turned to face the hopefuls. “The dragons ready to choose would like me to make it clear that they spent the past weeks considering every one of you equally. Just as with newly-hatched dragons, they are not entirely certain of the details as to why they chose whom they did. Including all the obvious factors, a gut feeling, perhaps some kind of instinct, also helps a dragon decide. In addition, I want to be clear that their choices are not halfhearted. Dragons do not ‘settle’ for a bond-mate. They will not choose a bond-mate until they find one that is right.”

  When next she spoke, Guildmaster Millinith’s voice was softer. “I know it sounds more than a little enigmatic, dubious, even, but once you’ve been bonded, you’ll understand.”

  Her voice became firm. “And in case any of you ever feel disheartened, let me reiterate what we told you when you were approved as candidates. Every candidate will eventually be chosen as a bond-mate. So if it doesn’t happen today, fear not, it will at some point. After all, you’d not be candidates otherwise.”

  Several of those standing in the waiting area nodded.

  The Guildmaster turned to the dragons. “Highest Mother? If you would do the honors?”

  Chanté smiled. Having Anaya be part of this felt right.

  Thank you, Guildmaster. Anaya walked over to stand before the tiered seats.

  She turned her head to the candidates who stood nearby. I want to thank all of you candidates for offering yourselves to be bond-mates. It is an honor.

  As one, they candidates responded. The honor is shared, Highest Mother.

  A little intake of breath drew Chanté’s attention.

  “That was so gigantic!” Terry stood just past Korrie, hands in fists before him, staring at the candidates.

  Chanté stifled a chuckle as best he could.

  Just so. Anaya turned to the dragons. Uchu. Come forth. Let us know your choice.

  The large green dragon padded toward the candidates. He stopped at the edge of the sand and sat on his haunches.

  After a glance at Anaya, he looked at those standing two dozen feet away. C–Candidates. I–I thank you all. My choice is Renny.

  A loud sound, almost like a sob, came from the candidates. Renny stood there, a hand over his mouth, staring at Uchu.

  After several seconds, Hunter wrapped him in a hug, then smiling, she gently pushed him forward. “Go on, you goof.”

  Renny nodded, lowered his hand, and walked over to the waiting dragon. Looking up at Uchu, he took a large sniffle, let out the breath, and said, “Thank you.”

  Uchu let out a chirp and lowered his head.

  Cheeks wet, Renny reached up and placed a hand under Uchu’s chin.

  Brief, blazing light burst forth, and lines of illumination began to spread across human and dragon from where they touched. In starts and stops, the violet lines branched and spread like bright bolts of lightning.

  Chanté looked at Nantli. Thank you for bonding with me. You could have chosen not to.

  Why would I have chosen not to? We are one.

  He smiled and closed his eyes against the growing brightness of the Bond. Yes, lovely, we are.

  When the light faded with the completion of the Bond, Renny and Uchu moved to the side, near the passage to the landing ledge. Renny, Chanté noted with interest, kept a hand on Uchu—on a wing, a foreleg, his neck, on something, anything.

  Chanté grunted. Maybe it wasn’t so strange after all.

  I told you it was not that strange.

  Chanté smiled. Indeed, you did.

  Karu. Anaya nodded at the amber dragon. Come forth. Let us know your choice.

  Hesitant at first, Karu gave her wings a shake and quickly padded to the edge of the sand, where she sat.

  Wings pressed tightly to her back, she looked over the faces of those awaiting her decision. C–Candidates. I–I thank you all. M–My choice is Jemma.

  “YES!” Jemma jumped up and down, spinning in a circle. Apparently realizing that everyone was watching her, she stopped, eyes wide.

  Clearing her throat, Jemma turned to Karu. She tugged on her riding jacket, straightened her shoulders, and proceeded to approach Karu.

  She didn’t stop until she stood directly in front of the nervous dragon. Looking up at her, Jemma held out her hands.

  Karu reached out with her right foreleg and placed her paw upon Jemma’s hands.

  Jemma clutched the enormous paw to her chest. “Thank you!”

  Karu leaned down and touched her nose to the top of Jemma’s head.

  “This is a bit different,” Quillan said quietly, “but it is also the same.” As he stared at the two, his expression grew . . . eager? But then suddenly, he looked worried.

  Chanté drew his brows together. “Are you feeling well?”

  Quillan shook himself. “Y–Yes.” He smiled. “I just had a crazy thought, is all.”

  When the Bond completed, the new bond-mates moved to stand next to the others, and Anaya called on the next dragon.

  Chuki. Anaya turned to the sand-colored dragon. Come forth. Let us know your choice.

  Chuki slowly padded to the spot Karu had vacated. She stared at the floor in front of her a moment before raising her gaze to those waiting nervously. Candidates. I–I thank you all. My choice is Hunter.

  “Chuki!” Hunter raced toward the dragon, arms held wide.

  When she collided with the dragon’s chest, Chuki embraced her and blinding light burst forth, the beginning of the Bond.

  Happy sighs came from all around Chanté.

  “Daddy, I’m going to be a dragonlinked, too.”

  Chanté didn’t turn around to see who’d spoken, but he could understand the child’s desire.

  “Your brother says his training hasn’t been easy. Are you sure you want to join, too?”

  “Yes!”

  Chanté smiled. There had been absolutely no hesitation.

  A chuckle. “Alright, then. We’ll ask someone about it after.”

  “Golden!”

  Votan.

  Highest Mother! Votan bounded for the vacated spot.

  Anaya made a sound almost like she was clearing her throat. She stared at Votan, large eyes sparkling. Chanté got the distinct impression that she was trying hard not to laugh at the eager dragon. Please let us know your choice.

  Of course, Highest Mother!

  A quiet laugh came from among the candidates.

  The lithe black dragon turned to them and lowered his head in a small bow. Candidates. I thank you. When he lifted his head, his gaze was locked on one of the eager hopefuls. I choose Kristina.


  Wearing an enormous smile, Kristina walked to Votan. She lifted her arms and held his head in her hands. “Thank you, you big handsome boy.”

  When Votan licked her face, she laughed and threw her arms around his neck.

  Once more, the Bond flared to life. Once more, two became one.

  As the intensity became too much, forcing him to once again close his eyes, Chanté had to stifle laughter. As Ulthis, he’d never imagined—hadn’t bothered to imagine—how much more there was to not just dragons and the Bond but to everything.

  When the light faded, Anaya let out a happy chirp. She turned to the slightly smaller group of people. Thank you again, candidates. That concludes today’s choosing.

  Quiet sounds of disappointment came from them.

  Fear not. Anaya turned to the dragons still standing around the clutching pit. Several there watched the newly bonded pairs. I suspect more dragons will choose, and soon.

  “Congratulations to all our new bond-mates!” Guildmaster Millinith began clapping, and cheers and applause joined her from all around.

  Chanté clapped so hard his palms began to sting.

  “Come,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “the banquet awaits.” She and Master Doronal led the way out of the clutching room.

  Chanté looked around at the people making their way to the door. There was excited talk, boasting, and laughter. The place was filled with a kind of energy, an energy that also filled him. His heart beat quickly, his lips kept curving into a smile, and he had a mighty desire to hug someone.

  Quillan is right there, you know. Humor pulsed through the link.

  Chanté turned and wrapped his arms tightly around the young man. So he is.

  Chuckling, Quillan returned the hug. “I know how you feel.”

  “Come on, everyone!” Terry grabbed Korrie’s hand and made for the door. “Let’s go eat!”

  As they all headed out, Polandra excused herself. “I promised Isandath I’d take him and Tevah back to Bataan-Mok after the hatching. I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

  True to her word, she returned within a quarter hour, and she bore good news. Two dragons would soon lay eggs at the Wing. That announcement only added to the already high spirits.

  There was food and drink, as well as wine—which he tried this time and found he rather liked. Occasional cheers and laughter filled the place. There must be a tradition, because at some point his friends again told tales of their feats, both incredibly skillful and incredibly dumb. He recalled them doing the same at his welcome party and also at the awards banquet. And like at the former castle, there was music here, too.

  Several guild members could play instruments, it seemed, even Quillan! He played something called a gittar. They were all quite good. Sporadic bursts of dancing broke out as they played, as did occasional song. Though, Chanté didn’t think that what some of his friends did could rightly be called singing. They were horribly off key. At the time, however, he didn’t care. He laughed and cheered them on along with everyone else.

  He wasn’t certain how long the banquet lasted, but he did eventually make it into bed.

  Perhaps it was the excitement of the day, or all the food, and especially the wine, and perhaps it was the events of the recent past as well, but whatever the case, he was now having what he was certain was a dream. It had to be, so strange was it.

  He walked down a hallway that reminded him a bit of those in Bataan-Mok. Thick runners ran along a beautiful marble floor. Furniture akin to what he saw at the award banquet in the former castle lined this passage, paintings hung from its walls, and far above, the entire length of the ceiling was an enormous mural. Music, a string quartet, drew him toward the doors at the far end of the hallway.

  Everything looked expensive. The furniture glowed with enamel, gold trim, and polished wood. The paintings were huge, their frames ornate and heavy. The artists had depicted people, places, and even food: bowls of fruit—there was one with apples, pears, and oranges; platters of bread, cheese, and grapes; and on the left was a painting of a shining silver server, its tiers filled with various cakes, slices of pie, and cookies.

  Once at the end of the hallway, he reached out to open the double doors and noticed that the riding gear he wore—gloves, jacket, pants, and boots—all of it was entirely white.

  Brows drawn together, he grabbed the handles, turned them, and pushed the doors open.

  The enormous room was a match to the hallway. Large, expensive furniture was everywhere.

  “Ah, here you are.” A man was seated at a circular table. “Please, join us.” He gestured to the empty chair.

  The man wore garments that reminded Chanté of the dress Princess Jord wore at the award ceremony. His white suit was linen, but the details were silver thread and diamonds. The man sat to the left and a woman sat to the right. She, too, wore a dress much like that worn by Princess Jord.

  Chanté glanced from one to the other. They both wore white wigs of a style similar to the princess and the same white makeup.

  “Please,” the woman gestured to the chair, “join us.”

  Lips pressed together, he walked toward the table. He had almost reached it when he noticed that the players in the string quartet had no faces.

  Taken aback for a moment, he then frowned and continued walking.

  The three chairs were positioned at equal distance from each other about the round table.

  He stood behind the empty one. “Who in hells are you people?”

  “Ulthis.” The man shook his head. “We made all this effort. You could at least be civil.”

  His brows rose. Pissing blades, they were—

  “Chanté,” Alandra gestured to the chair, “please. Have a seat.”

  He sat and stared at them. What was going on? Was this an actual dream, or was this a visitation?

  Alandra raised her brows and smiled. “Coffee?”

  Chanté nodded. “P–Please.”

  The pot rose into the air and tilted to pour coffee into the cup before him. Afterward, it returned to its place on the table.

  He added cream, lifted the cup, and stirred in sugar. His brows drew together when he noted a bowl on the table with apples, pears, and oranges, a platter with bread, cheese, and grapes, and a silver server with—

  “Garathel was unconvinced of my words concerning your time here so far.” Alandra took a sip from her small cup. “Along with correcting his errors, we are here so that he might see for himself.”

  Errors? Something about that tugged at a memory. He set the spoon down and took a sip. He blinked and stared at the coffee in the cup. It was astonishingly good.

  “First,” Alandra said, “what color would you like your hair to be?”

  Chanté blinked. “My hair?”

  “Yes. White is not normal for a youth your apparent age. It was an error. What color would you like it to be?”

  Panic gripped him and he set the cup down. “Don’t change it! Quil—that is, I like it like this and it hasn’t been much of an issue.”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “I see.” She turned to Garathel. “Did you have questions for him?”

  “Wait.” He glanced at Garathel and back to Alandra. “You said errors. Plural. What were the others?”

  Alandra glanced at Garathel. “It was during the creation of your dragon.”

  The memory rushed back along with the pain. He stood so quickly, the chair clattered and fell to the floor.

  “You.” He glared at Garathel. “You created her incomplete!”

  “Why would Malina need to breed?” Garathel shrugged. “She’s just a companion.”

  “Companion?” Everything on the table jumped with the force of Chanté’s fist striking it. “Nantli is my bond-mate!” Electricity crackled over his glove and all his gear.

  The music stopped.

  Garathel stared at him. “Why do you care if she is incomplete?”

  Chanté clenched his fists tighter. The sound of the leather was loud in the silence. “
How can I not care about what you did to her? She and Quillan are the most important things to me in the entire multi-verse!”

  The crackling of electricity was now very loud.

  “And you.” Vision blurring, he took a step around the table toward Garathel. “You cheated her!”

  The table, the furniture, the entire room began to shake. Paintings fell from the walls. Vases crashed to the floor. Chanté’s skin prickled as electricity gathered around him in thick, crackling ropes. Blue light surrounded him as the air itself began to glow.

  Alandra’s voice boomed like the cracking of a mountain. “ENOUGH.”

  Chanté’s power left him and he was knocked back several steps as by a fist of air.

  Everything in the room was again neatly in place, and the string quartet was playing.

  “Honestly.” Alandra picked up her cup and took a sip. “I already corrected Garathel’s oversight in that regard. Nantli’s reproductive organs are now in place. Your bond-mate is perfectly fine.”

  Chanté took a sharp breath. Nantli was whole?

  Glancing at Garathel, Alandra said, “Do you see?”

  Garathel still stared at him, but he now looked surprised and . . . happy? “I do.”

  “Send me back.”

  Alandra turned to him. “Hmm?”

  Chanté took a step toward the table. “I have to see her! I have to speak with her!” He needed to know if this was a dream, and if not, whether they’d lied to him about her. He needed to know if Nantli was truly whole.

  Alandra twisted her lips in a half smile. “Won’t you at least finish your coffee?”

  “Release me from this gods damned dream!”

  Looking a little sad, Alandra nodded.

  The room shattered and he plummeted into darkness.

  “Nantli!”

  Chanté sat up in bed and drew his brows together. A dream? Or not? Instead of coffee, the taste of wine was thick in his mouth. Had it just been a dream after all?

  Flinging back the covers, he ran into Nantli’s den.

  Nantli! He slid open a sconce and hurried to her side. Wake up!

  Hmm? Nantli lifted her head and yawned. What is it?

  Lovely, you once told me that you were made incomplete, that you could not bear children.