The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga

by Josh VanBrakle

  “All that effort, all in vain,” Feng laughed. “You never attacked me once!”

  Iren didn’t look upset that Feng had captured him. He stared passively at the monster poised to end his life. Then, he flashed his own rendition of Rondel’s signature grin. “Naturally,” he replied. “Did you think I performed all those aerial acrobatics for nothing? I needed time to create this.” He opened his clenched right fist, and from it floated a tiny, glowing white orb, no larger than a cherry.

  Feng sneered, “What do you plan to do with that, poke out my eye?”

  The Dragoon kept his smirk but didn’t respond. Sure, it looked tiny, but that was only because he had it under extreme pressure. All the time he’d spent spiraling around Feng, he’d fed both his own and Divinion’s magic into it. Now all his energy was in there, and he was using only Divinion’s power to contain it. If his link to the Holy Dragon broke, he’d have nothing left to hold the ball together.

  Iren closed his eyes, remembering when he’d lost control in Ziorsecth. He recalled the sucking sound as air rushed to fill the vacuum the blast had created. At the time, he’d hated himself for causing such destruction. Tonight, though, he’d make good use of that experience.

  His eyes snapped open, and he stared without fear at his enemy. “Feng, you made one critical error tonight.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “When you grabbed me, you didn’t trap my hands.” With that, Iren opened his left hand, and the Muryozaki, his sole connection to Divinion, dropped into open space.

  As soon as sword and hand separated, the tiny orb, freed of its magical constraints, erupted. The detonation happened in an instant, stretching out a mile in all directions. It exploded high enough that it didn’t reach the ground, but its shockwave snapped tree limbs and knocked everyone below off their feet. The discharge engulfed Feng’s body. As the air around him vaporized, his inferno fizzled out in a puff of smoke.

  Iren’s vision briefly glowed white as the blast ignited. “For you, Minawë,” he whispered. Then all went dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A New Heart

  Rondel had decided. No music on Raa could match the beauty, or the sadness, of Kodaman funeral hymns. Their melodies, played on simple wooden flutes, wound their way through the forest, and the plants and animals all vibrated in sync with their lilting tunes.

  A month had passed since the battle, and the leaves of Ziorsecth’s maple forest gleamed yellow and vibrant red. On this breezy afternoon, they cascaded like rain. As they landed, they filled the ground with their soft touch and brilliant color that contrasted perfectly with the gray-stemmed trees that created them. Truly, even the finest gold and jewels could not equal their splendor, much less their sorrow. For with each leaf that descended, Rondel felt the forest crying as it buried its dead.

  Despite the grim circumstances that brought her here day after day since returning to Yuushingaral, Rondel never ceased marveling at the location: a gaping hole in the earth five hundred feet wide and over two hundred deep on the edge of the Yuushin Sea. Scattered maples dotted the crater’s edge, and swaying grass and wildflowers filled the space between them. Simple wooden markers, thousands of them, covered the grove.

  This was the Heart of Ziorsecth, the sacred place of the Kodamas.

  Rondel stood behind Minawë, who knelt on the ground, openly weeping before a pair of graves. To honor Rondel’s valor in both the Kodama-Maantec War and the battle against Amroth and Feng, Minawë had granted the old Maantec a unique privilege. She was the first non-Kodama to behold this place. Rondel understood why the Kodamas shunned outsiders from it. She could feel the weight of the lives of every fallen Kodama here, and she found their legacies heavy indeed. This race had suffered more than any other on Raa, and they deserved it least of all. They could live perfectly content passing a quiet existence beneath the trees.

  Four hundred of the wooden markers bore green vines adorned with white and purple flowers, indicating those who had fallen in the recent battle. Rondel had attended every burial. These dead represented over two thirds of the Kodaman force gathered and just under half the entire population. Though Rondel took pride in shielding herself behind a mask of sarcasm and laughter, even she couldn’t help but mourn at the sight.

  Saddest of all was the new Kodaman queen crouched before her. Minawë stroked the board in front of her with her long, gentle fingers, tracing the carved letters that bore the fallen’s name. Opening her mouth as if to speak, she could not form words, and her hand dropped from the marker amid fresh sobs.

  Uncharacteristically, Rondel hesitated. She and Minawë had spent the past month here, never once returning to Yuushingaral. Minawë came to these two graves every day before dawn, and she never left them until well after sunset. Each day Rondel tried to comfort her, to say something to her, but she never could find the words. At last, this day, she forced herself to speak, “They both fought to protect you, to the very end.”

  Minawë craned her neck around, revealing her tear-stained face. Rondel placed a wrinkled hand on the Kodama’s shoulder. The gesture felt forced, but she couldn’t think of anything else. In many ways, despite Minawë’s age, she was still a child. Aletas had raised her sheltered beneath Ziorsecth’s canopy, oblivious of the outside world. The Kodama-Maantec War had ended before she was born, so she’d never experienced real danger or grief until recently. The last six months, Rondel knew, had shaped this Kodama more than all the rest of her thousand years combined.

  The two women remained in that position for a few seconds before Minawë rose to her feet and resumed staring hard at the graves before her. They continued standing in silence for several more minutes before they heard a voice call from behind them, “Hey, did you miss me?”

  The pair faced the newcomer, and in an instant Minawë’s grieving face blossomed into a mix of joy and astonishment. Balear emerged through the trees, flanked by two Kodamas, but none of them had spoken. The voice belonged to the fourth among them — weak, shaky, and leaning on Balear’s shoulder.

  It was Iren Saitosan.

  With a knowing expression, Rondel watched as Minawë ran across the open space, wrapping her arms around Iren in a tight hug. The old Maantec followed at a methodical pace.

  “Moron, you had us worried!” Minawë exclaimed, and she gave him a playful flick to the forehead.

  “I told you he was lazy,” Rondel chimed in. “Look at him, first time out of bed in a month! Hey, slacker, did you even bother to wash before coming here?”

  Iren flushed. “You should all act a bit nicer to me, you know. I didn’t plan on waking up at all. I still don’t know what happened, or how I survived. I couldn’t get out of bed in Yuushingaral until this morning. Do you know I’ve had to spend the past month with only Balear for company? He wouldn’t tell me a thing about the way the battle ended, the tight-lipped jerk. Also, you should taste his cooking. Disgusting!”

  Balear made an indignant noise and faced Iren, their noses almost touching. “Hey, I’m the one who dragged your sorry backside all the way here to see these two. Show a little appreciation! Besides, you can’t blame me for not telling you what happened. I don’t understand it myself. I told you what I do know already. I saw the explosion, with you at its center. Feng disappeared, and I thought for sure you had died.”

  “I think I can answer some of your questions,” Rondel interjected. “What you unleashed surpassed any spell I’ve seen, even at the height of the Kodama-Maantec War. In fact, it not only defeated Feng, it destroyed the Karyozaki.” She reached into the pocket of her shirt and pulled out a large, bright red jewel. “This is all that remains: the Burning Ruby, the gem that imprisons Feng. As for how you lived when even the Karyozaki met its end,” her tone became grave, “you should find the nearest clear pool of water and examine your reflection.”

  Iren reached a hand up and felt his face. The moment he did, he recoiled. “What happened to me?”

  “You’re still eighteen years old,
but you look in your late twenties. In those final moments after the explosion, you used some of your biological magic, or rather, Divinion used it for you. It saved your life, but it also aged you ten years.”

  “How could Divinion do that?” Iren asked. “I released the Muryozaki.”

  “Yes,” Rondel agreed, “but part of his will temporarily remained inside you. With no other magic to draw on, he used your life’s energy to maintain the Dragoon armor both during the blast and afterward, when you fell. The Dragoon armor is made of dragonscale, Divinion’s in your case. Prior to his imprisonment, the Holy Dragon’s hide was impervious to all forms of magic, so his armor protected you from the blast. It also absorbed the impact when you hit the ground, which would have killed you as easily as the explosion. You should see the crater you made sometime. It’s quite impressive.”

  Iren felt his face again, this time holding his hand there as he stroked his month’s growth of beard and more refined jaw. He ran his fingers through his hair, noting how short it had become.

  “The first time Feng captured you, he burned your hair off and left you bald,” Minawë explained. “Actually, I think you look a lot better now without that raggedy mop on your head.” She smiled and winked at him.

  Iren flushed. Clearly anxious to change the subject, he turned to Rondel and asked, “What happened to the Muryozaki? It could have healed me immediately, yet here, a month later, I can barely get out of bed.” He gestured at the Burning Ruby in Rondel’s palm, abject grief on his face. “Based on that, I suppose I already know.”

  Rondel threw her arms in the air. “I swear, will you ever get better at listening? Honestly, students today! Pay attention!” She lifted back her cloak. To Iren’s obvious bewilderment, she revealed the katana, fully intact, sheathed at her hip. “Didn’t you ever wonder what the white metal the Muryozaki is made from is?” She paused for effect. “It’s dragonscale. This sword predates the dragons’ imprisonment. Thousands of years ago, Maantec smiths crafted it from one of Divinion’s scales. The Holy Dragon provided the flames for the forging process. Just like your Dragoon armor, magic has no effect on it. According to Maantec history, it took nothing less than the Holy Diamond itself to engrave the kanji circles in the blade’s hilt. Once that was done, the sword absorbed the diamond of its own accord, as though desiring to reunite the dragon’s flesh and soul.”

  She removed the sheathed Muryozaki from her belt and offered the blade to Iren, who took it and held it close. He gripped the hilt, waiting for its healing power to take effect. As time passed, however, his expression grew unsettled. He shouted, “It’s not working! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Iren,” Rondel said, “but that’s why I kept that sword with me instead of letting you have it back right away. I feared this might happen. The amount of magic that the Dragoon form channels is extreme. Maantec bodies, indeed the bodies of any race save the dragons themselves, aren’t designed to handle that much magic flowing through them all at once. It could have killed you. To protect your life, once the Dragoon form ended, your body severed its connection to all exterior magic. Without that link, you can’t use magic, even from the Muryozaki. It could take years to heal, if it ever can.”

  Though she had not intended to do so, Rondel realized she had struck the man a hammerblow. Iren cradled the Muryozaki like a dead infant. “I can’t believe I’ll never see Divinion or hear his voice again, and that I’ve aged ten years overnight.” He stroked his new, unkempt beard. “I’ve never had facial hair before. This will take some getting used to.”

  Minawë laughed clearly, the first time Rondel had heard her do so since the battle. “You should feel lucky that’s all that changed about you, moron. You could have ended up as withered as Rondel!”

  The playful taunt broke Iren’s somber mood. Everyone laughed except Rondel, who gave a loud, resentful snort. “How ungrateful!” she cried, acting deeply offended for a few seconds before chuckling despite herself.

  As the group’s fit subsided, Balear took a few steps back. “Well,” he said, a definite note of hesitation in his voice, “now that Iren’s doing better, I should get on my way.”

  They all stared at him. “On your way?” Iren asked. “To where?”

  “Where else? Back to Lodia.”

  Rondel grew stern. “Balear, I’m certain Amroth made news of your betrayal public. Wanted posters of you probably hang all over Lodia. If you return there, don’t expect a warm welcome. At the very least, they’ll shun you. More than likely, they’ll try to execute you.”

  Balear set his jaw. “Lodia is my home. I can’t abandon it.”

  Minawë spoke up, “You defended my people in battle. You’ve beheld the Heart of Ziorsecth. By the customs of the Kodamas, you are one of us. You’ll always have a home here, if you want it.”

  Rondel nodded her affirmation. “Take some advice from an old woman who knows. At the end of the war, the traitor is the only person left without a home to call her own. You won’t get many invitations like Minawë’s. Don’t pass it up lightly.”

  “I do not,” Balear replied, unwavering, “but I must see this through. Thousands of my fellow Lodians have died, and many of our villages lie in ruin thanks to Amroth’s brief yet all too lengthy reign. The country will no doubt enter a period of weakness and turmoil. Maybe you’re right, and they will kill me for returning. Even so, I’m a knight of Lodia, first and foremost.”

  The former general turned to Iren. “I think I understand you a little better. Now I know what you suffered, abhorred by the very people you wanted to recognize you. I fear my reception in Lodia, but what I learned from you gives me hope. This world has things worth risking your life for.”

  Iren put out his hand and said, “Commit to what’s most important.”

  Balear smiled and took Iren’s hand. “I promise I’ll do just that. I’ll bring peace to Lodia, and not the ‘peace’ Amroth sought, using force to crush all resistance. I’ll bring a genuine peace, where Lodia and its neighbors forge new alliances better than our old ones, and where we replace mistrust and ignorance with knowledge and understanding.”

  Minawë beamed. “I see that Amroth’s crimes do not represent Lodia’s true character. For centuries, my people have avoided humanity, but who knows? Perhaps you shall lead our nations, Balear, on the path to mutual understanding between Kodamas and humans. Please return and visit us.”

  “When I restore peace in Lodia, you may count on it.”

  The new queen turned to the two Kodamas who had escorted Iren and Balear and asked them to lead the Lodian back to his country. The trio departed eastward.

  When they fell from sight, Rondel gave a little cough. “I guess that means I’d better head off too.”

  Iren turned in shock to face her. “What do you mean? You’re not staying in Ziorsecth either?”

  Rondel grunted. “Do you have any idea how much of a pain you’ve made my life these past six months? You know, I led a pretty leisurely existence for many years before you and Amroth arrived on my doorstep. Then I had to go and decide to teach you. Pretty soon, I’m fighting for my life against bandits, Yokai, Oni, and even a dragon. And what reward do I get out of it? I have to deal with some slacker with an attitude!”

  Scowling, Iren replied, “I see you’re still the same stupid old hag you were when I first met you stumbling out of a horse stall.”

  “Respect your elders!”

  “Be kind to your student!”

  “Brat!”

  “Fogey!”

  The pair gave a loud “Humph!” and then refused to look at each other. After several seconds, though, teacher and apprentice simultaneously began cackling so hard tears formed in their eyes.

  Minawë turned her head back and forth, alternately focusing on Rondel and Iren, clearly confused.

  As their laughter ended, Rondel walked over to the pair of graves she and Minawë had visited every day since the battle. She raised her right hand and formed the Kodaman friendship gesture, sa
ying seriously, “Aletas, in the end, you lived up to Otunë’s legacy as Forest Dragon Knight. I’m glad you two can rest together in this place. You have much to be proud of. You defended the Kodamas, and you raised a fine daughter.” She cast her eyes at Minawë, who, along with Iren, had come to the graves as well. “Make sure you take care of this boy, Minawë,” she gestured at Iren. “He’s utterly incapable, you know.”

  The Kodama nodded sadly but didn’t respond.

  Suppressing tears, Rondel left the graves and took a few steps into the forest. Over her shoulder, she waved. “Take care, slacker,” she said.

  “See you, old hag,” Iren replied. Rondel could hear his voice catch.

  When she’d just about reached the limits of where she knew the others could see her, Iren suddenly called to her, “What about your nightmares? If you leave me, won’t they make you unable to sleep?”

  She craned her head around to face him, answering confidently, “I’m not concerned. I think they just wanted to tell me something. It took me longer than it should have, but I finally heard the message.” She gazed through the canopy at the patches of sunny sky beyond, and then, without another glance back, disappeared into the forest.

  * * *

  For a few minutes Iren stood there, unable to tear his eyes from the spot where Rondel had vanished. Finally, Minawë shook her head. “She might be crazy, but I’ll miss having her around.”

  For the first time since Rondel announced her departure, Iren remembered that Minawë stood right next to him. He gave her an odd look, but she dismissed it with a wave.

  “Never mind,” she said in answer to his expression, chuckling.

  Iren looked over the graves before them to the gargantuan crater that dominated the scene. “What will happen to Ziorsecth?” he asked. “You told me the forest is a single tree, originating with the Heart. With the Heart gone, will Ziorsecth die too?”