Mivere’s face broke into a gleeful, extra-broad smile. “Then let’s go. Oh, but first, I left my lantern at home.”
The Fairy Tree’s branches spread above Dantress, and the glass dome far above in the palace roof allowed her to see the lightning zipping through the storm clouds. This storm had lasted all day, an unusual occurrence … as was the absence of rain. With all the fuss that the storm put up a deluge should hit the palace at any moment. But none did.
Dantress touched one of the Fairy Tree’s butter-soft branches.
Fairies, sitting in their family groups, covered the glowing branches. Every time lightning flashed they exclaimed in unison, “Ooh!” Then thunder clapped, and they cried, “Aah!” until it died away.
Four fairy families lived in Shizar Palace and all of them dwelled inside the Fairy Tree. Mivere’s family, the Bladegrasses, boasted the most members. A healthy rivalry existed between them and the next largest group, the Leaflets. Then there were the Clovers and the Stems.
The Clovers stood on a high branch, the men with their arms crossed and the women with their hands folded behind their backs. They were known to be a bit on the strict side, the males dominating more than a little. But they were faithful servants of the dragon and Dantress had seen them shoot recklessly down the halls on more than one occasion to answer his bidding.
Partiers by nature, the Stems came next. A merry group of about twenty of them sat on a branch halfway up the tree, their long gangly legs and distinctive green hair swaying with the movement of their bodies as they toasted each other’s health and drank wine from tiny glasses.
On a lower branch sitting primp and proper were a dozen Leaflets, all female. To this family had fallen the blessing and the curse of short stature. Blessing because the male fairies of the other families found the petite females quite attractive, and a curse for the Leaflet males because they often found it difficult to woo females. Dantress stifled a giggle upon seeing one of them casting furtive glances at one of the Bladegrasses on a nearby branch. The lady fairy glanced back at the male from time to time, feigning disinterest and flipping her wavy hair behind her back.
According to the fairies their tree had once grown along the banks of a river called Eiderveis but the wizard Hermenuedis had built his temple of Al’un Dai very near that river and when his war on Subterran had begun the Fairy Tree stood in the midst of it. The great white dragon had pulled the tree—roots, fairies and all—and flown it out of harm’s way, planting it in Shizar Palace.
Mivere popped out of a knot in the tree’s trunk with his lantern, a happy smile on his face. She smiled back. It felt good to act like a kid again. She looked forward to exploring the palace basement. The great white dragon disappeared down there a couple times per year and, she hoped, she’d discover why.
Dank air clung to Dantress as she descended into the darkness. A shiver ran up her spine. Never before had she ventured into this place. True, it constituted a part of the palace, but what purpose it served besides supporting the main structure … no one had ever told her.
Mivere stood on her shoulder, the tiny silver lantern held in his outstretched hand. For her part, she held Xavion’s sword and its blade glowed enough to reveal a few yards in all directions.
Every step she took, disturbed layers of dust on the stone floor. Visibility outside her circle of light equaled zero. She glanced over her shoulder, and noticed the fairy followed her lead. “We should make sure that we can find our way out of here,” she said.
The fairy laughed. “I hope we get lost! This is fun.”
“Rose’el would say that this is foolhardy.” She looked into his glimmering green eyes, and laughed with him. “But you are right. This is fun.”
He pulled out his glowing wand and pointed it behind them. A tendril of white light stretched from its tip, broke off, and wafted down to the floor, painting a glowing line in the direction they had come. Twice more he did this and, when the three strands lay together, they formed a distinct arrow. “There, now we won’t get lost.”
Slowly, Dantress walked forward. The floor appeared bare for a dozen feet or more, then the light exposed an old trunk. She saw a large chest beside it, and then another, and another. Rusted locks hung from each and every one of them, as if whoever had locked them had done so long ago and had never returned to examine their contents.
She ventured close to one of the smaller ones and tried to lift it, but it didn’t even budge. The trunk had been made with wood but its boards were reinforced by bands of hammered iron. They wrapped over its lid and around its base. What could be hidden inside? Or, was it empty? Curiosity prevailed upon her and she pried at it with her blade. But the lid remained immovable.
Reacquiring her position via Mivere’s last arrow, she faced in the opposite direction. She walked deeper into the basement. Spiders and other critters skittered out of her path. Cobwebs proliferated in the area. Mivere faithfully twisted on her shoulder, from time to time, to drop glowing arrows in her wake.
The chests and trunks continued to unveil themselves in the darkness. Only they appeared progressively more ancient. Certainly they grew larger. One of them she could have stood in.
Rounding a bend in the path between stacks of chests, Dantress came face to face with a bat hanging from one of the trunks. She screamed. The small creature opened its eyes and snapped at her with its fangs. It fluttered its leathern wings, dropped from its resting place, and flew off.
She slowed her breathing and nervously laughed. Mivere emerged from behind her neck. He cleared his throat and shivered his wings.
“Fairest daughter of the dragon, do not do that again.”
Patting her hammering chest, Dantress breathed deeply and exhaled. “Have you had enough for today? Should we go back? Dinner will be ready—”
“But we have only begun,” he said. “What about the sublevels?”
“Do you think there really are sublevels?” She didn’t expect a definitive answer. The fact that the dragon came down here from time to time had to mean something of interest brought him. But what could it be; the old chests? Or, maybe what was inside them?
Mivere hadn’t answered her question. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him scanning the dust and rust-covered chests with his eyes.
“You know”—she stepped over a small metal box lying on the floor—“I overheard Elsie telling Helen and Gwen that there are deadly creatures hidden in the sublevels. She thought that was why Father forbade her to clean this place. The creatures, according to her, guard something; something they’ve been watching over for hundreds of years.” She shook her head. “It sounded like fiction, but what if it is true?”
She stubbed her foot on a broken band of twisted steel that had escaped her notice. She kicked it aside. “You are too quiet, Mivere.” Then she lowered her voice and glanced about. “Everything is quiet.”
After several moments, Mivere nodded. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Everything is too quiet. I haven’t seen any insects for the last half-hour, nor have I seen any more bats. I don’t like bats, fairest of the dragon’s daughters, but they should be here … Maybe we should go back.”
He shivered and leaned forward, holding out his tiny lantern toward the darkness ahead.
Dantress stopped. “All right, we’ll go back. If sublevels exist then they have been well hid. This place is a little too fascinating for my nerves.”
The fairy offered no objection, so she pivoted on her foot, intending to retrace her steps. But her foot shifted over a portion of the floor that felt like wood and that sloped down. She slipped, cried out, and fell backward. She somersaulted down the ramp and hit her head. A headache split her vision for a few seconds. Letting go of the sword, she held her face in her hands. The sword’s light dimmed, and went out.
By some miracle, Mivere had managed to stay on her shoulder. The silver lantern glowed beneath his fist. It was their only light and an inadequate one at that. “Are you hurt?”
She shook
her head and groped for her sword. “Where are we, Mivere?”
“It cannot be the basement.” He shook his head. “That is above us now.”
“Then this must be … a sublevel? Mivere, we are below the basement! The rumors are true.” Suddenly realizing how loud she’d spoken, Dantress hushed her voice. “I don’t want to find out if there are creatures, too.” Her fingers touched the cool metal of her sword’s guard. She found the handle and drew it toward her. As the blade glowed in the darkness, she stood shakily and faced the direction they’d come. “Let’s get out of here.”
A rasping voice spoke from behind. “Leaving so soon? I think not!”
Three long, clawed fingers dug into her shoulder. She screamed and another three-fingered hand reached out and snatched at Mivere. He fluttered out of reach and pricked one of the fingers with his wand. It drew back. He landed on her shoulder, holding his wand like a sword, and pinned his lantern to her collar.
The first hand still held her with undeniable strength.
“Release me!” Dantress rolled forward, almost throwing Mivere off. But he held on. She spun to face her unseen assailant. The sword brightened as she gripped it with both hands, and begged it for more light.
Someone chuckled; that same raspy voice. “What is this: a rusted sword, in the hands of a young female human, and a fairy to fight by her side?” The unseen creature laughed. “What do you intend to do? Kill us perhaps?”
“Not if you intend us no harm.”
The creature laughed again. Its feet patted the floor, moving away from her.
“If you harm me you will answer to my father,” she warned.
Two lithe, lizardian forms towered out of the darkness and rushed her from either side. They moved so fast that she did not catch a glimpse of their heads, but two clubs swung at her. She ducked. The clubs cracked against each other. Splintered wood rained on her hair. “Mivere”—she clenched her jaw—“hold on to me.”
Dantress swung her sword at her assailant’s soft-scaled underbelly. It pulled into the darkness before her blade struck. She thrust the blade uselessly. A bony black tail swept toward her. She ducked to the floor. The tail cut the air where her body had been and she stabbed upward. The glowing blade loped off two feet of tail, and one of the creatures rasped out a scream. The tail fell to the floor and twitched ineffectually. How glad she was for the hours upon hours of sword practice Albino had insisted upon.
“How dare you,” a voice rasped from the darkness ahead. “You will pay for that, human!”
A broad, scaled chest penetrated her circle of light. Four clawed hands swept across the side of her head and two smote her in the stomach.
She doubled over, falling to her knees, and gasped for breath. Her sword clattered to the floor. Darkness crept in.
Mivere screamed and shot off her shoulder. Threads of energy bolted into the darkness. He furiously sprayed the bolts in all directions.
A leathery foot slammed into Dantress’s chest. It pressed her against the floor. Sharp nails or claws dug into her chest. Warm blood ran from her cheek where one of the creatures’ fists had rubbed it raw. Fear filled her heart and she prayed to God for strength. “It’s going to be all right, Mivere.” She forced the fear out of her tone, hoping to calm him. He alone, being small, had a chance to escape.
Mivere grew frantic. His toothpick wand waved wildly. In blind rage he charged the foot pressing down on her. But a claw hooked his wing in mid-flight. He cried out as if flames burned his very soul.
“You should not have interfered, little fairy.” It was difficult to see by the light of the fairy’s wand, but one of the creature’s fingers appeared to wrap around Mivere’s torso. Purple blood oozed from his fragile shoulders.
The blood within Dantress’s veins began to boil. A volcano of rage built, demanding to be released. “No!” Her arm found new strength. She reached for her sword and took it. “You will harm him no further!”
New sensations raced through her body. And, as if out of a dream, she heard a voice in her mind say, “The day has come to see what you were made to be: a chosen seed of an ancient race.” Her arm glowed with white light. She followed an instinct she had not found before. She obeyed its pull and shoved the foot off her chest, pain spiked her ribs, and her consciousness retreated into her mind.
The creature tumbled back into the darkness.
Dantress stood and the light of her sword revealed the long, sinewy arm of Mivere’s captor. She did not physically strike out. Instead she focused her thoughts on making the arm release him. A thin beam of energy burst from her sword hand. Her sword clattered back to the floor. She did not retrieve it.
The flow of energy from her hand sizzled against the creature’s arm. Tentacles of energy entwined around the arm and spread up it.
“What? Im-impossible!” The creature dropped the fairy.
Dantress darted forward and scooped up Mivere with both hands. He lay limp. His legs and arms dangled between her fingers.
For a moment, Dantress thought she would faint. She stumbled and picked up her sword. Tears stung her eyes. “Hold on, Mivere. I’m going to get you out of here.”
Dantress never knew how she managed to haul herself and the fairy out of the palace’s basement. She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it. Some of her energy returned, but she felt strange, different. Instead of sensing only what her physical body felt, she sensed everything around her. Inanimate objects felt connected to her somehow and her spirit felt more than refreshed; it felt as if it had been resurrected to a new plane of existence.
Concentrating on a jar standing against the wall, she touched it with her mind. Its molecules seemed so pliable, so easy to manipulate. She separated them, closing her eyes to better focus. When she opened them, all that remained of the jar was a pile of broken clay.
If she could repair it … She closed her eyes and again reached out with her mind, picturing the jar whole. When she opened them, it stood again as it had been; against the wall, and unbroken.
If she could use her mind to fix it … things, maybe, just maybe—
Mivere was dying. She reached into his body with her mind and touched his life force, and sensed it ebbing away. The creature had damaged most of his internal organs and he was bleeding internally. His bright green eyes dimmed, his eyelids gradually closing in the sleep of death.
Should she try her new ability on him, on a living subject? What if she failed? She would not be able to forgive herself if she caused his death. But she knew that was nonsense. If she did nothing then he was going to die.
She tore her dress and hurriedly made a bed, laying him in it on the marble floor. His chest heaved a final time and she reached her hand toward him. His life force slipped farther away … If she could just grasp hold of it, take it, feed it with her own life before his left him, perhaps he’d have a chance.
Through the darkness that shrouded the little creature she searched for that final shred of life and found it, like a spark in the night. She connected with it, drawing on the love that she had for the creature and infusing it into him. She could see the damaged organs now, oozing purple blood. The life residing in the blood, flowing from his body.
She reached out with her hand and half-opened her eyes. Her hand glowed and a beam of white-blue light fed from it into the fairy’s chest. One by one she healed his organs and stopped the bleeding, while still maintaining her hold on his life force. As the process progressed, she felt faint, her vision blurred, and she knew that she had done all she could.
Sleep took her and a dream wrapped her in its hazy fabric.
A man stood on the opposite side of a pool of water surrounded by forest near a small clearing. A waterfall cascaded down the face of a rock into the pool. She tried to see the man’s face. There was something about him, something that made her want to know who he was and why he stood there. But the dream faded, and she heard the voice of Patient, the shepherd.
“She of both races,
gifted with heavenly beauty and fierce in strength.”
In place of the pool and the man, Dantress found herself standing in a large, smooth-walled room, reverberating with a myriad of colors. A scroll nestled in the center of the room, and upon it had been written her full name. Not the name by which her sisters and those around her knew her, but another name given to her by her father, the great white dragon. Beneath her name was the name of another, the name of a child. “Oganna.” As soon as she said it, she fell back as if stunned by an invisible opponent.
“It is given to humanity to bear children after their kind,” a melodic masculine voice said. “Yet to the daughters of the great white dragon will be given the choice of joining with the race they resemble, the race of humanity. Their lives they must willingly give if they are to bring a life into the world. This curse is laid upon them, but it is a blessing in disguise. For in ultimate sacrifice is proven the ultimate love and a child born out of ultimate sacrifice will bring joy and not sorrow to the one that bears her.”
Was this a dream? It felt too real to her. She stood and watched the walls around her, and the scroll in the center of the room, vanish. A black void imprisoned her and a stone chamber, filled with raging flames, burst forth. A two-handed sword rose through the flames. The sword’s guard appeared to be semi-transparent, like a crystal, and a thin gold vine wrapped it then passed below to the handle, reinforcing the leather gripping underneath.
It was a magnificent weapon, unlike any she had ever seen or heard of. Flames writhed beneath the shiny steel blade’s surface. They fought against the steel and pierced it, twisting out of the blade to wrap around it. This sword seemed to be in command of fire, rather than an agent of it.
“I am the weapon of the ancient and wise One. I came from the ends of the world, and I will arise a weapon of living fire to vanquish the wicked. I speak to you, daughter of the dragon, for you are the child of promise, and it is to you that my prophecy is addressed. Understand what I have said and consider the wisdom that I give you.
Swords of the Six Page 7
