Chains of Gaia

by James Fahy

  Robin saw Woad spring over the mass of vines, clambering up them even as they grew and thickened, and the monster bucked and strained against their weight. The faun scampered up the sides, leaping from creeper to creeper with dizzying agility and a manic bellowing war cry. His own mana stone flashed, a white storm, and wisps of alarming firecracker light began to pop and burst in mid-air around the beast, disorienting and distracting. The faun fearlessly made his way to the top of the scourge’s back, scaling the stones of its spine like a cat up a tree.

  It seemed to be working. The vines were thick ropes, tangling the forest dragon, pulling its squirming, writhing body to the ground. The immense animal bellowed again, shaking the forest.

  Robin grabbed for his mana stone too. He had to help. But where on earth was the dryad? Why wasn’t he helping? In the confusion, he glanced around and saw Splinterstem, still high at the lip of the hollow, half-obscured by the branches which had marked their entrance. He was just standing there, watching them, as still as the trees all around them. Perhaps he was paralysed by fear.

  There was no time to worry about him. Robin knew his mana had been hard to control lately, but he had to get it in hand. His friends were depending on him, and this close to a Shard of the Arcania, he could feel the Puck bubbling just beneath the surface of his mind. He had to let it out, to relinquish control, to trust that he could direct the power of the Scion inside him.

  There was a cry of pain from Karya. Something had gone wrong with her spell. The vines around the drake were withering, turning grey and papery. The scourge was absorbing the life from them, feeding on Karya’s Earth mana. As he watched, they were dying one by one, crumbling into dust. The creature reared, snapping hundreds of them with deafening cracks. Untethered vines lashed out and fell everywhere, thudding into the hillsides of the hollow with great speed and force. Robin leapt aside to avoid being crushed by one which landed where he had been standing only a moment before, gouging the ground even as it disintegrated.

  The drake shook itself violently. A cry came from Woad came as the faun lost his footing, tossed high in the air as the monster worked angrily to free itself. The blue boy fell and slid head over heels down the creature's long and scaly back, out of their sight.

  With an almighty roar, the drake broke free of the petrifying net, and with a lightening quick buck of its coiled flanks, it lashed out with its great tail, catching Karya full force, sending her flying through the air. Her body was catapulted across the clearing to land in a rolling heap amongst a deep drift of dry dead leaves.

  “Karya!” Robin shouted. She had been hit and thrown with such force that Robin’s blood ran cold. She might have been killed. He started to turn, to look for Woad. Where had the faun fallen? Had he been crushed by the weight of the monster? But as he turned, the drake reached out and, with a swipe of its great claws, caught Robin hard, lifting him high into the air as well.

  Winded, Robin tumbled over and over, hitting the ground several times as he rolled to a halt, leaves in his hair and face. He was half-buried in mud and dirt, gasping into the ground. His arm felt like it was on fire. Had he broken it? His vision was blurry where his head had bounced along the floor, and there was a high pitched keening in the back of his skull.

  Get up! he shouted at himself, feeling the ground thunder and shake as the forest drake lumbered swiftly after him, bearing down on the boy like an avalanche. Get up get up get up, it’s going to kill you!

  Forcing himself groggily to his knees, Robin raised a shaking arm and with a flash of mana let forth a barrage of Galestrikes in the dragon's direction. They were powerful blasts of Air magic, invisible javelins of wind. He saw them tear the forest floor into tornados as they roared across the ground, scattering leaves, but watched in horror as they hit the great, serpentine head of the creature like nothing more than a strong breeze, ruffling its long beard of moss. The drake shook its gargantuan head, casting off the winds, its grassy flanks fluttering and flowing in the slipstream of the attack. It roared again, seemingly only angered by Robin's barrage.

  He stood, arm throbbing and teeth clenched, refocussing his mana, remembering his stances from every combat lesson he’d had at Erlking. Robin dug his heels into the soft earth, dropping low and threw with all his might a flurry of Needlepoint spells. Daggers of ice, a thick maelstrom erupting from his open arms. They glittered in the sunlight, flickering through the air, and buried themselves in the monster's approaching hide, as efficient as toothpicks. Almost immediately on impact they began to melt, simply sinking into the nightmarish creature’s skin.

  Yes, well done, Robin, he told himself slightly hysterically. Water the great big plant dragon, good plan, that’ll help.

  Nothing was working. It was simply too strong. It had a Shard of the Arcania fuelling its anger.

  With nowhere behind him to dodge, the steep sides of the hollow at his back, Robin ran straight at the drake as it bore down on him, diving at the last moment to avoid its dangerously snapping jaws. Throwing himself onto his stomach between its clawed legs, he rolled under the belly of the enormous creature, covering himself in a flurry of crumbling dead leaves and dirt, and scrambled out the other side, back to his feet, trying to get behind it, away from the end with the jaws. He knew that much about dragons. Stay away from the pointy end. Dragon-slaying 101.

  With a crash like a falling oak, the scourge’s tail hit the ground, inches from his face, forcing him to leap to the right to avoid being crushed.

  The beast hissed, a loud sound of pure fury, as it began to turn to follow its elusive quarry.

  Robin stared around the hollow, wild-eyed and panting, seeking out the others. Karya, he saw lay some way off, still unconscious …or worse. And there was something else wrong with her. The girl was covered in vines, tethering her to the ground, keeping her body firmly prisoner against the forest floor. How had this happened? Was this the beast? Could it control the earth too? Tying her in a net just as surely as she had tried to with it?

  A flash of blue in the grey and blasted ground nearby drew Robin’s eye as he ran around the monster’s powerfully lashing tail, and he saw with horror that the same fate had befallen Woad. A humped pile of tangled vines, as thick as a nest of snakes, made a green and mossy grave-hump, tight and inescapable, from which there stuck a single limp blue hand.

  His friends were out of action. It was just him alone in the hollow. Robin and the scourge.

  A deep rumbling growl immediately behind him made Robin spin. He stumbled as he saw that the dragon had turned fully while he had been momentarily distracted, seeking out his companions. Its huge face was mere inches from his. It was all that he could see. Before he could react or think, its massive jaws opened wide, and Robin was staring into the deep and deadly throat of the monster.

  This is it, he thought, in a strangely detached way, as fear rooted him to the spot. This is how I die? Eaten by the forest.

  He raised his arms in instinctive defence, but there was no time for anything else. Nowhere to dodge to, left or right, hemmed in by coils on both sides. Robin squeezed his eyes closed, grimacing.

  A force, invisible and strong, gripped Robin around the waist like a great ghostly hand. It was cold and it lifted him swiftly into the air like a rag doll. Dragged upwards, wind whipping past his face and blowing leaves from his hair, Robin let out a cry as the dragon snapped, just missing taking off his leg.

  He soared high over its head, flying like a terrified Peter Pan, arms and legs flailing. A puppet on unseen strings as he rose higher still.

  From his dizzying vantage point in mid-air, he saw a sight so unexpected, that for a moment, even amidst the confusion and the panic of being forcibly hurled through the air, he goggled in shock.

  A large figure had entered the hollow, making its way down the slope hurriedly, crashing through the leaves. It was clad in black armour, looking like a shadow amongst the sunbeams. In one hand, a long, cruel sword was drawn, the point dragging in the hillside behind it a
s it descended. The other arm was outstretched toward Robin, holding the boy aloft effortlessly with the sheer force of mana alone. Behind the shining figure, a dark knight come to face the dragon, a long cloak of black feathers rushed.

  Strigoi?

  Robin had only a moment to process this. Strigoi, the Wolf of Eris, who had been hunting him relentlessly, had just saved him? Had used his mana to throw Robin clear of the monster’s jaws?

  “You, Faespawn …" the wolf-headed man hissed coldly, his metal mask trained not on Robin, but solely on the scourge, “… are in my way! This Shard is mine!”

  Without breaking stride, Strigoi flicked his hand as he reached the bottom of the hollow, sending the giddily-suspended boy careening through the air and away from the thrashing danger of the dragon. Cast aside like a brushed leaf, Robin hit the high slopes of the glade hard, lightening pain shooting up through his injured arm, as he rolled back down the steep slope, end over end.

  Bewildered and disoriented, he struggled woozily back to his feet, shaking mulch out of his hair. What the hell was Strigoi doing here?

  He watched as the armoured man rushed headlong at the drake, which had turned to face this new threat, rearing up its long green neck and hissing in anger. The creature swiped at the dark figure with its claws, but Strigoi ducked easily beneath the huge talons, a flurry of ebony feathers, rolling beneath the monster's grasp and leaping back to his feet with an agile spring which Robin would have thought impossible in such cumbersome and clanking armour. A black metal hand waved, slashing the air, and even from across the hollow, Robin felt the pulse of mana erupt, flying toward the drake in a shimmering wave of heat-haze.

  Remarkably, Strigoi’s mana unbalanced the forest dragon, knocking it backward, stumbling and roaring in surprise. Without giving it time to recover, the Wolf of Eris lunged onwards viciously, swinging his huge sword over his head in a practised arc and bringing it down with a great slash across the exposed throat of the beast.

  The dark jewels set in the sword’s grip flashed as the blow landed, Strigoi pushing even more mana into the blow, and a deep wound opened on the mossy neck of his enemy.

  It was not blood which spurted from this wound, Robin saw, but a deep green ichor. It landed on the dead grass in splatters. Where the liquid fell, the forest immediately revived, flourishing into life here and there in sudden patches, wild green grass thrusting up urgently through the dead soil and springing wildflowers uncurling, red and white.

  The Scourge countered his aggressive blows, lunging with snapping jaws for the man. Strigoi leapt back nimbly, just in time, a grunt echoing in his fearsome visage.

  He must have tracked them to the forest, followed their path all this way, to Rowandeepling. Strigoi knew that following the Scion would eventually lead him to the beast, and the prize he sought for his mistress.

  The dark knight ran around the drake, swift and sure-footed, his long cloak whipping noisily behind him, a flurry of black wings. He was constantly moving, forcing the creature to turn, coil into coil, to follow him, never giving it a moment to centre itself and lunge.

  The wound on its great neck however, Robin saw, was already beginning to heal, the Shard embedded in its forehead blazing as the gory slash crept over with moss and bark and rolling stone, knitting it back together slowly. But Strigoi was giving it no quarter. Blast after blast of relentless mana poured from him, thrown like invisible spears at flank and claw and tail, slapping away the scourge’s swipes and lunges, connecting each time with a thunderclap of force that sent ripples of power rolling out through the hollow.

  Robin had to stop him. Strigoi could not be allowed to claim the Shard. He had to get it first. He was furious at being cast aside like a bothersome fly and worried sick about his friends. Every part of him ached, and the battle between the dark champion of Dis and the great beast was ranging all over the hollow, perilously close to where Karya and Woad lay immobilised. They were helpless. It was only a matter of time until the scourge brought down one of its huge feet, crushing them.

  “Stop!” he yelled, finding himself rushing, against all reason, back down into the fray, headed straight toward the battling duo. “The Shard is mine! You won’t have it!”

  Strigoi ignored Robin completely, his entire focus on his relentless barrage on the snapping, roaring dragon. With each slap of dark mana, the sword sliced the air, finding its mark more often than not. Cuts and wounds were appearing all over the drake. The ground in which the two fought, dancing around one another, slowly becoming a verdant carpet where the green blood fell, vegetation creeping further up the dead hillsides with every blow and each passing moment.

  Robin dodged a great sweep of the beast’s tail, ducking under it as it soared overhead. He was full of anger and fear, but he had to admit, also a little awed. Strigoi simply would not tire. He was fast, much faster than Robin thought possible, and he was either fearless or completely mad, throwing himself in leaps and lunges over and between the violently thrashing coils.

  The metal mask, with its fierce expression of frozen cruelty, flicked toward Robin, who sensed anger pouring from it in waves. Clouds of breath escaped it.

  “Get back, you useless wretch!” Strigoi hissed. “Not yet! I have no use for you until it is weakened!”

  Strigoi raised a hand toward Robin while slicing at the dragon's flank, and the boy found himself hit once again full force in the chest with an invisible fist. It knocked him flat on his back and sent him skittering away once more, out of range of the battle.

  Robin swiftly leapt back to his feet, his temper snapping completely. He was being pushed aside as though he were nothing! He would not let his friends fall. He would not let this whirlwind of dark violence steal the Shard from him.

  The familiar anger which had been bubbling up inside him all summer rose to the surface, and Robin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and feeling his mana stone blaze like a hot coal on his chest. He was afraid of the drake, yes. It would be bloody stupid not to be. He was afraid of Strigoi too. His worst and most powerful enemy, battling right before him and seemingly not even close to tiring. But of one thing, Robin was sure. He was no longer afraid of the Puck. Of himself.

  Come on, he thought angrily. I need you now.

  From deep within him, like a roaring tide, he felt his mana rise, happy to be willingly summoned in full force for the first time.

  The power of it roared through his veins, consuming him from within, a dark storm, and for the first time he could remember, Robin didn’t fight it. He welcomed it.

  The drake roared again, lashing out with its great tail, this time catching Strigoi on the back of the legs, knocking the armoured demon onto his back amidst the newly-grown grass and flowers, crushing them and sending up great sprays of pollen.

  Across the hollow, Robin opened his bright green eyes, and the Puck stared out at the scene before him. Wind and water raged within his mind, the forces of the Arcania, unbridled and unfettered. Atop his head, he could feel the autumn wind rushing through invisible horns.

  Strigoi was scrambling back to his feet, but Robin saw that the beast was bearing down on him, one great claw descending like a hammer. It was going to crush him, skilled a fighter as he was, the Wolf of Eris wouldn’t get clear in time.

  Robin cast a Galestrike, a sonic boom of mana thundering around the hollow, shaking the trees and the earth, leaves whipping everywhere. The Galestrike hit the huge claw full force, blasting it apart in an explosion of moss, soil and rock.

  The drake reared back, howling deafeningly in pain and anger. Its severed claw, blasted to smithereens, rained down on the forest floor, clumps of living matter. Thick grass and small, pale saplings wormed swiftly out of the earth where the blasted chunks fell.

  Strigoi was back on his feet and his dark visage glared across the hollow to where Robin stood with the force of the Arcania flowing through him. Wind crackling around the boy’s bunched fists. Wind tinged with a flurry of shadow.

  “Interestin
g,” the dark man whispered, regarding the Puck in person for the first time. “The worm has teeth it seems.”

  He took advantage of the reeling drake, throwing himself forward into its bucking body. Strigoi leapt and ran up the exposed arch of its throat as it reared backward in agony, thrusting his sword deeply into its rocky green side. The blade disappeared to the hilt and the man hung from it, slicing the flesh in a long swoop as he fell back to the ground.

  “More!” he growled in fierce command. “It is weakened! It is almost time!”

  Robin had no time to consider the strangeness of this unlikely combat team. Puck was steering and Puck did not care who helped and who failed. Puck wanted only the Shard, by any means. Through the chaos and the noise of the fight, it called to him, a high clear note, a musical saw cutting through the fury of battle.

  Robin ran toward the drake, fearless and filled with power, a fury equal to Strigoi, throwing out Needlepoints before him. Shards of ice as long as his arm and thicker than spears formed in mid air, sailing toward the dragon and thudding into its side, peppering it with heavy attacks, over and over, until the scourge resembled a long, snakelike porcupine. This ice was permafrost, harder than iron, and it hissed and steamed in the creature's flanks as it tried to right itself. The dragon's orange eyes were filled with dark murderous fury.

  In the increasingly verdant glade, Strigoi and Robin lashed out together at the beast, caught between them, attacked from both sides. Sword and Galestrike, Strigoi’s walls of mana and Robin’s blasts of furious wind.

  The beast was beginning to buckle. It shook its great head in animal confusion, snapping at Robin with its huge mouth, a deadly blow which the Puck avoided by using Featherbreath almost unconsciously to lift Robin out of the way, a leaping, horned fury in a tornado of leaves.