by C. K. Rieke
“No doubt she saw Veranor and Fewn,” Roren said. “And she still went on.”
Twenty minutes later and the commander peeked back over the lip of the dune, and the two of them made their way back down to Lilaci and the others, Burr poked his head back up.
“What’d you find?” Lilaci asked as they returned. Fewn had a satisfied look on her face.
Veranor reached into the leather pack at his side and pulled out a collection of daggers—black daggers with black-winding blades. He threw them all to the sand at his side.
“Reevins,” Roren said.
“Seven of them,” Fewn said. “They were coming for us with a pack of sandwolves—two dozen in number.”
“She saved us,” Kera said.
“Would’ve been a hell of a fight,” Burr said. “With that many of ’em.”
Veranor looked at Kera, his eyes heavy on the girl. “Looks like you’ve got another protector.”
“Fewn,” Roren said. “What was the attack like?”
Fewn thought for a moment. “Ferocious, like you would expect a dragon’s famed wrath.” Roren still looked eager for more of an answer. “Oh,” she said. “You’re asking if there was dragonfire? No, don’t think so. It ripped them to pieces though. Don’t know what use a Reevin’s magic is against a dragon. Didn’t save them at least.”
“We should be off moving again,” Veranor said. “If there were any around, they’d surely notice the presence of a dragon for miles off. The vultures will come soon.”
They ushered quickly back into formation, and the wagon was back in motion, its large wheels turning once again.
That night, under the shimmering stars that cast their dull light onto the sands, the group sat around a roaring fire. They felt no need to hide the light of the campfire, as a new protector had shown her power that day. Fewn jumped down from the wagon with four mugs, half-filled with the wine as it splashed out of the mugs onto the sands. She had a great grin across her face. She went and gave one to Roren, then Veranor, and went and handed one to Lilaci.
“Go ahead,” she said. “You can indulge tonight. It’s a celebration.”
Roren sipped the wine and Burr laid by the fire, mug already in hand. Kera watched Lilaci, she smiled and swayed back and forth, humming a tune. Lilaci took the mug up to her lips and sipped the wine. It was sweet at first, but then the taste of the alcohol was strong at its finish, and she coughed. Kera laughed. “I haven’t had any for a spell,” Lilaci said. “It's good.” She coughed again.
“To Herradax,” Roren said, holding his mug high, glistening in the light of the fire.
“To Herradax!” the others said, even Veranor. Kera held up an imaginary mug.
Kera continued to sway and hum. Roren perked up, seeming to recognize the tune, and stood up, humming along with the tune, with a wide smile showing his white teeth, he went over and sat next to Kera, and sang. His voice was clear and jovial.
In the dark, black mist of Bleckon’s Cave,
A beast slumbered, both scaled and brave,
For in that cave a dragon lay,
Full of flame and terror, the beast did stay
Kera joined in song, her eyes full and bright.
When the dragon did leave his home, his wings soar,
And the people trembled from his wicked roar,
But just because the dragon did scare,
Didn’t mean his heart wasn’t fair,
Burr sat up from his stupor, stood with his chest out with pride in his voice, and he joined in song.
Vorenox he was, a fiercer beast there was not,
Yet, men of fear his death they did plot,
The dragon craved only peace and slumber,
Yet a dragon’s gold, men did seek to plunder,
In droves, they sought his bed of treasure,
And with wildfire, the dragon smote with pleasure,
Until one night, and widow fair,
Entered his cave with golden hair,
The dragon did not singe her with wild flame,
No, he approached timidly, and asked why she came,
‘It’s not your gold, your treasure, they’re not my desire,’
‘Not your heart, your strength, nor your dragonfire,’
‘An answer to a question is all I care to hear,’
‘And I do admit, I am full of fear,’
The dragon said, ‘do not be afraid,’
‘Ask your question, I will behave,’
The fair damsel leaned in and whispered briefly,
A question that brought the dragon to weeping,
The dragon cried for an age of man,
Lonely and howling in his golden den,
Under the moonlight, the damsel turned,
From golden-haired to blackened and burned,
A rotten nymph the woman had been,
To cast a spell on the dragon, her intended sin,
The dragon died off in an eternal remorse,
All because of the dark nymph’s curse,
Why, you might wonder, would such a spell she cast,
But wars of magical creatures have deep roots from the past,
Man is new in these desert lands,
But war is the legacy of the sands.
Lilaci thought such a strange sad song, but they sang it with such glee. It’s almost as if the words don’t matter. Perhaps the song is from their upbringing, a memory of happy times. She looked over at Fewn, who seemed joyous at watched the song, yet Veranor had a long gaze as he looked up into the starry sky.
“You don’t like it?” Kera asked him.
“No, it’s not that, Kera,” he said. “I’ve just not heard that song in a long, long time.”
“Why don’t you sing along with us if you know the words?”
He paused and sighed. “That’s the last song my mother sang to me before she died.”
Chapter Eleven
Twelve days later
With the oncoming attack by the Reevins left to waste behind them on the sands by Herradax, the caravan continued at a steady pace toward the mountain range of the Xertans. The spirits of the group remained high, although Lilaci and the others remained vigilant. In this section of Dakaran the desert had transformed from the towering high great dunes of before to a flat, rocky stretch of desert with sparse rolling dunes that patterned out on the horizon. After another long day of travel with the constant pounding of Ioxi hooves on the dirt, the howling of whooshing winds, and the occasional snore from Burr—the group had dismounted the Ioxi, and readied themselves for another night under the cool, starry sky.
They’d been heading south-east, and they’d finally reached a point in the desert where they’d carve around and head due east, toward the upper Xertans. This would take them closer to Voru than they’d like, but it would save them a week of navigating the vast mountains if they arrived in their southern stretch, and then traveled northward.
Lilaci’s heart began to race, as she knew that they needed to move quickly to find the egg, but at what cost to Kera’s protection? They’d be two-hundred miles from the city she was taken to and trained, the city she spent her whole childhood in a form of slavery. The thought slipped into her mind of Kera enduring the same fate, but she knew that was an irrational thought, as Kera wouldn’t be taken to Sorock—she’d be put to death.
“Lilaci,” she heard him say, and she turned to see Veranor standing behind her. She hadn’t realized she was so deep in thought, that she hadn’t noticed the commander approach as she sat by the early stages of Roren’s fire. “Come with me.”
She looked up at him wondering what the commander wanted. “Why?”
“I’ve got something I need to discuss with you,” he said, his face as expressionless as ever with its two scars crossing across his nose. “There is something I have to show you, alone.”
Roren, Fewn, and Burr all looked up at him curiously, then they all looked down to Lilaci as she looked back at them. She rose, wiping the sand from her rear and kn
ees. “Now?”
He nodded.
“Fine,” she said. “You all watch her, I’ll be back.”
“Lilaci?” Burr said.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Nothing, just be careful is all,” he said.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. She followed Veranor as he turned and walked south from the camp. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword at her side.
“No need,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Forgive me if I won’t take you at your word.”
He sighed, and continued walking on the rocky ground, with the sun slipping down to the desert floor to the west, his long shadow snaking tall to his left.
They walked the better part of twenty minutes before Lilaci stopped. “Where are we going? I’m not going to leave Kera this far out. This is as far as I go.”
He turned to face her, his tunic’s cape tails flowing in the breeze. “This is far enough.”
“Why have you brought me out here Veranor?”
“I wish to see something,” he said.
“You said you were going to show me something.”
“Perhaps they are one and the same,” he said. “Tell me, do you remember what the gods told you back in the palace room in the capital? Do you remember what Dânoz said to you when he gave you the magic of the Sanzoral?”
“Yes, he said I’d be the greatest Scaether in all the Arr, and I was the first to carry it in a long time. Why?”
“Do you remember what he told you about the strength you’d eventually possess?”
“He told me I wouldn’t be able to do much at first with my power, but eventually I’d be able to—” Oh, now I know where this is going. Now I understand why he brought me here . . . It’s a lesson of his.
She watched him as he turned to the side and held up his arm, pointing to a great dune far in the distance. It was wide and tall enough it would take several hours to summit. “Go on,” he said. “We need to see the extent of your capabilities before we go on. You need to be at your prime, your pinnacle of power for the quest ahead. Focus, Lilaci the Lazarine, use your magic. Move the dune.”
“I will try.” She held up her hands, the bright burst of purple fire erupted from her palms, and as she reached out with the Sanzoral, the sands beneath them shifted and shook. “I feel the sands; the sands are with me.”
“Good, Lilaci,” Veranor said as he circled around to stand behind her to watch. “Now reach out, let your thoughts drip into the sands, and flow through them. The dune is far out in the distance. Reach your fingers out until they can touch it.”
Lilaci concentrated, focusing on the dune. She closed her eyes and saw the world around her lit up in purple flames in the darkness. She could see the dune, but it was far off, and as heavy as a mountain. Reach out. Touch the dune with your fingers, reach out, stretch. Try to feel it. She opened her eyes to see her arms had erupted in fire, and her hands shook.
“Focus, Lilaci, focus.”
“I’m trying, but it’s too far off,” she said. “It’s too great.” She brought her hands back and rubbed them, as the purple fire dwindled in her hands. “I can’t do it yet. I need more time.” Veranor was silent. She turned to him. “I need to get back.”
He gave her a familiar gaze. The same gaze he gave her back in Sorock when he was disappointed by her performance. It was a glare that was burned into her, and even now, she couldn’t help but feel like she let him down. “Come now, Kera is safe with the others, and surely Herradax is watching over her,” he said. “Turn and face the dune, one more time.”
She sighed and turned to face the mountain of sand once again. “Fine,” she said, lifting her arms, fire erupting brighter and hotter than before. She stared at the dune with a determination. Reaching out she let her fingers stretch out as she felt the Sanzoral rushing through the sand beneath the desert floor, but the dune was too far off, she couldn’t reach it. Then she felt a pair of hands slip onto her shoulders, and she quivered, not in fear, but in anger.
“There, let your mind reach out,” he said. “Let the rest of the world fade away. All there is, is you and the dune. I’m not here. The sky is gone, the clouds and sky disappeared. Your world is the dune. That is all there is.”
“I . . . I can’t,” she said, her voice shaking. She looked down to see her arms convulsing, full of rushing blood and brimming with fire.
“Think of . . .” he said, “think of your mother.”
The sound of Veranor saying that word made Lilaci want to turn and send the full onslaught of her power onto him. My mother? You’re the one who took her from me. You bastard, how dare you . . .
“Think of your father, and your brother and sister,” he said.
Her fury and hatred made her arms become completely engulfed in the raging fire. The ground beneath them shook violently, and small grains of sand floated and hovered about the desert floor.
“Think of the love they felt for you,” he said. Lilaci could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. “And now, think of the love you feel for Kera. She needs your protection. She needs you to be at your strongest. Kera is asking you to move the dune.”
“I—I can’t!” she said, her lips quivering. Kera, I’m sorry. It’s too much, it's too big. Even with how much I love you, I’m not strong enough to move the dune. Mother, Father, I’m letting you down again. I feel as if no matter how strong I get, it will never be enough. Elka and Darig, my brother and sister, died because I was too weak.
“Lilaci!” Veranor said in a loud, strong, abrupt voice. Her senses heightened. “Kera. Kera is going to die if you don’t move that dune!” In her sadness and streaming tears, she ducked her head from his yelling behind her. “You move that dune now, or Dânoz and the others are going to take her. They’re going to rip her from your arms, and you’re going to watch as they take her away. If you don’t do this, right now, you’re going to lose her.”
“No, I’m not,” Lilaci said. “I’m not going to lose her again. I am strong enough. It wasn’t my fault my family was taken. It was yours!” The ground shook again with tremendous violence. “You took them, you took all of our parents and families from us. You used me! I trusted you!” Her tears turned to a fury in her words that she’d never heard from herself, it was a hollow, powerful voice she didn’t recognize. “You took my memories from me, you took my life. How could you?”
“I did it to make you strong!” he said. “Now let your rage loose, show the gods what you are capable of. Let Dânoz know that Kera is yours, and no one else’s!”
“Dânoz,” she yelled. “Hear me, see me. I’m not yours anymore. I’m not another tool of yours, not a plaything. I’m the bearer of the Sanzoral, the most powerful on all the sands, and hear me when I say this, if you come near me, or her, you’ll feel a wrath only told in old tales. If you come for her, I’ll unleash a fire that would burn the flesh off even a god. You hear me, Dânoz? Eyr? Arymos? You hear me, Vigolos? Fayell? She’s mine!”
The fire of the Sanzoral erupted in a crackling boom, and fire sparked to the desert floor. There it is, I can feel it. The dune, it feels like it has deep roots in the ground like an ancient tree. I can feel them, wrap my fingers around them. I just have to move them, they are snug and tight, but I think I can . . .
“That’s it,” he whispered behind her. “Just like that.”
Lilaci opened her eyes and looked up to the great dune in the distance, and tears again came as she watched huge swaths of the sand begin to cascade down it like an avalanche. It shook violently as she cried. Father, I did it. I did it. I hope that makes you proud of me. She choked up. “I hope this makes you proud of me, and I hope you forgive me.”
“I—” Veranor said, brushing his hand over his head. “I am very proud of you.”
A burning hatred shot into her like a sandstorm of sharp daggers.
“You’re . . . What? You are proud? I don’t want your pride. I hate you! I hate what you did to me, to my family! I’m
not doing this for you. I’m doing it for her!” she said with tears streaming down her cheeks and her teeth gritting.
“I knew you had it in you. You’re strong, stronger than you know. I am proud of you. You don’t have to like it.”
Lilaci took a strong step forward, to stare deeply into his eyes. They were only inches away with a growing tension. Her hands moved up quickly and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. He didn’t flinch, he only stared back into her eyes. I want to hurt him. I want to rip his lying tongue from his mouth. I want to watch him bleed. But there’s something about him. He’s like the father I never wanted, but the father I deserve for being so weak back on the sands when I let my real father die. Yet, in a disgusting way, he’s also like the abusive lover who won’t let you move on. I feel like he’s going to follow me into the abyss and the afterlife just because I’ve become his project—his star pupil.
“Go on,” he said, his strong jaw tensing. “What do you want? A fight? Mentor against pupil? Is this one of those tales of the pupil rising above the master? Only one way to find out I suppose.” His mean, dark eyes glared menacingly at her. “But know, I’ll hold nothing back. I’d be a fool to let the one with the Sanzoral gain any other advantage on me. Strike now, and strike hard . . . If you must.”
Lilaci pulled him in close with her white knuckles clutching onto the tunic at his neck. Their noses were almost touching. “I’d kill you where you stand. It would be a brilliant fire. A brilliant, hot fire that would burn your flesh from bone, if I could. She shoved him back from her, he staggered back, but only a single step. “I promised her I wouldn’t.” Turning back, she trudged back toward the caravan.
“I’m still proud of you,” he yelled out to her.
She walked on, trying not to listen to the voice of the man that caged her and took her memories from her those years back. Yet, there was a chilling feeling in her, one that she despised feeling. The commander had rarely ever told her he was proud of her. That feeling she hated then, was that of the contentment of pleasing her mentor.
