Dragon Chameleon: Episodes 5-8

by Wilson, Sarah K. L.

  Sleep, Tor, you need your rest.

  But sleeping was hard with that much pain in your belly. My eyes flickered open but then fell closed with heavy exhaustion. Above me, Zyla was muttering constantly.

  “If he dies, Saboraak ... he just can’t, okay? He just can’t.”

  And then later she was muttering to me, “Don’t die, you fool. I like you too much for that. I might even. Nevermind. That’s not your business. Yet.”

  She must be emotionally overwrought. Those words were clearly just an emotional reaction. I may be the fool she thought I was, but I wasn’t fool enough to think that Zyla actually cared that much about me.

  She’s saved your life a few times now. You don’t think that counts as love?

  I’d saved Hubric’s life. That didn’t mean I wanted a happily-ever-after with him.

  Was that a dragon laugh I was hearing?

  Go back to sleep, Tor.

  The next time I woke, sunlight flooded my vision. Zyla’s face looked down on me from the saddle.

  “You’re awake! Do you need water?”

  I fell asleep again before I could answer.

  I felt so hot. Like I was burning up. Like a dragon was scorching me with flame. I opened my eyes. I was lying against Saboraak beside a fire, soaked in sweat. A blanket had been placed over me and my shirt was wet. Perhaps that same someone had tried to give me a drink? My harness and knife were gone but I was too weak and limp to look for them.

  We were camped under a rocky overhang overlooking a valley.

  Small rocks rattled as they fell down a hill, smacking against larger rocks. There was a scuffling sound and then Zyla entered my vision. Her hands were full of small leaves and roots.

  “Because I don’t know if they will work,” she said. Who could she be talking to?

  “Because I don’t know what’s wrong with him!” She sounded irritated now. Was she arguing with my mimic? I didn’t see him, but there were no audible words that answered her as she continued to argue. “It could be the internal injuries, right? Maybe he burst something inside and it’s trying to heal. Maybe there’s an illness inside I don’t know about. But you said there was some kind of magic going on, right? That this Shabren was fighting this shadow version of Tor? That’s weird stuff, Saboraak.”

  My dragon. She was speaking to my dragon. Why weren’t they including me? My vision was blurring again, and I fell asleep listening to Zyla’s deep voice. I loved her husky voice. I could listen to it all my life.

  “And if it’s something magical, then I don’t see how I can fix it. Even if it’s physical, these herbs might not be enough.”

  All my life...

  When I woke again, it was raining. We were flying through the rain and Zyla had spread a blanket over my sling. Winds whipped at Saboraak as she bobbed and weaved through the storm. They howled angrily, snatching away most of the loud curses that Zyla was spouting above me.

  Was it raining gold? I shivered, my teeth chattering together, but I couldn’t push out the words to ask.

  It’s dust mixed with rain. We’re looking for shelter. It came up out of nowhere. But I lost my bearings hours ago and we can’t see far enough to find a place to stop. I can’t just land blind. We could smack the ground hard – it could kill us all. I think we’re still heading south, but we could be flying in circles for all I know.

  She sounded calm despite the situation. She was probably cold, too.

  Hang in there, trout. I’ll find a way out of this for us. Just hold on, okay?

  Zyla sounded like she couldn’t hold on much longer.

  She’s starting to panic. She knows the rain isn’t good for you, but she doesn’t know what to do since we can’t find a place to land.

  It would be okay. Saboraak was a reliable, conscientious dragon. The very best of dragons. She would find us a place to stay.

  Your confidence warms me. Don’t fret, trout. It’s my turn to be a hero and I won’t let you down.

  My mimic flickered into being above me, floating in the air.

  “It’s been a while,” he said, glancing around him like our circumstances didn’t affect him.

  I felt a knot form inside me. Despite everything he’d said about how badly I needed my shadow and how he had helped me defeat Shabren, I didn’t trust him.

  “I wonder if Shabren survived that,” the mimic said. “He didn’t seem too well when I killed his shadow self.”

  I needed a way to deal with the mimic. I couldn’t have him haunting me all my life.

  “Killing that other shadow wasn’t good for us,” he said with a grimace. “Have you noticed that I’m having trouble stabilizing? This won’t be able to go on. Either I’ll die – which is bad for you – or you will have to learn to absorb me as Shabren did – which could also be very bad for you.”

  I shivered at the thought of becoming like Shabren, taken over by his shadow self. I couldn’t allow that.

  “Maybe if you just absorbed me a little at a time. You know, pick and choose what parts of me you want to add to your life?”

  I heard his wheedling tone, but I would not do that. I didn’t dare do that. How could you ever be certain that it was you acting and not your shadow? How could you ever control what he did after that – through you?”

  “You have no control,” he said, flickering. “And all this fighting against me isn’t good for you, either. Can’t you see how ill it is making you?”

  He flickered again and vanished.

  Could it be possible that he was right? Could I really be ill because I was fighting my own shadow? Had slaying Shabren’s shadow made him more powerful?

  The wind buffeted me, shaking my sling back and forth and I fell into a haunted, shivering sleep.

  I woke what felt like moments later at the sound of Zyla yelling over the wind.

  “Hold on, Tor!”

  Saboraak hit the ground so hard that I thought her knees would buckle. Fear shot through me and I tried to sit up, but I was too weak to paw myself upright. Are you okay, my heroic dragon?

  I’m okay. I misjudged the landing. Twisted a foot. Banged up a wing. I just need a minute.

  Dark figures loomed high on either side of us, impossible to make out in the pouring yellow rain.

  Rocks, I think. A line of rocks like what you find near the sea.

  We couldn’t be near the sea ... could we?

  I don’t think so. Unless we’ve been flying even farther off course and for even longer than I guessed.

  I tried again to sit, but my arms were weak.

  Don’t bother. No point in unloading. Your sling is secure and strong. Lean against me for warmth. There’s nothing that can be done about the wet. I think Zyla might join you in the sling. There’s enough room for her. Hubric chose a good one when he raided the Kav’ai stores.

  What would they have used this for?

  They call it a “hammock” and they sleep in them. The one you are in can fit two, though they don’t usually tie people into them.

  I felt down at my waist and found the rope securing me to the sling. How odd.

  There was a scuffling sound and Zyla dropped down into the sling. There was room for her. Saboraak had been right. She spread her cloak on top of my blanket and then wormed her way under the blanket, snuggling up against me.

  “If you’re awake, Tor, don’t get the wrong idea,” she said through chattering teeth. “I’m just very cold and wet and our options are limited. Besides, I don’t want you to get hypothermia.”

  I tried to talk but all that came out was a heavy moan.

  “Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

  I tried not to. I tried to enjoy the feeling of her so close that I could feel her warmth. But eventually, despite all my efforts, I fell into a troubled sleep.

  Chapter Four

  MY EYELIDS FELT LIKE they were glued shut when I finally woke, and I had to pull my lashes apart. I was covered in a skim of yellow grime that was starting to dry and crack on top of our blanke
t and Zyla’s cloak. She snored gently next to me and Saboraak’s loud snores rumbled against me in a way that made me feel safe and warm.

  I tried to sit up and to my astonishment, I was able to push myself up enough to look around us. We’d landed yesterday – was it yesterday? In pouring golden rain that had been so thick that Saboraak couldn’t see. She’d thought that we’d landed in between a row of rocks.

  My jaw dropped open when I saw where we had really landed in the storm.

  Row upon row of metallic wolf-golems stood along a flat plain.

  There were hundreds of them. They stood motionless, their usually bright eyes dull and their usually gleaming shells covered in a thick cake of yellow mud. The storm was a great equalizer. Thick yellow dust-mud had drifted around their feet creating ripples and dust banks that mirrored the shape and stance of each golem.

  I tried to calm my breathing and to sit perfectly still. It was easy enough with my mind still foggy and my actions still slow from whatever malaise had taken me.

  We had taken shelter in the middle of the army of our enemies. Far in the distance, I could see shapes that must be tents on the outskirts of the golem army. Those must be the tents of the Magikas who controlled these golems.

  Did they need one Magika to every one of these wolf-shaped golems, or could one Magika direct a dozen of them? A hundred? A thousand?

  I shivered.

  The eye of the nearest golem flared to life.

  “Wake up, Saboraak! Zyla! Up! Up!” I yelled.

  Zyla sat up instantly, but her gaze was dulled with sleep and she looked around muzzily, shaking yellow mud from her hair and wiping it from her clothing.

  “They’re awake,” I said, grabbing her arm with one hand to get her attention and pointing with the other. My hands shook from the effort. I was losing strength.

  Two golems were awake now, their heads turning with the sound of metal-on-metal grinding as they looked at me.

  Zyla shrieked wordlessly and leapt up, her foot finding the stirrup and her body leaping onto Saboraak’s back as she moved. She called to Saboraak as her hands quickly buckled herself into her saddle.

  My dragon woke with a rumbling sound, shaking herself as she did. Had she forgotten we were on her back? Yellow mud flung in a thousand directions.

  I was suddenly grateful that they’d tied me in the sling as it shook like a flag in the wind, the dust and mud flying from it. I held on tightly to the blanket and cloak, gripping them at the last minute.

  Saboraak leapt into the air and I was flung back in the sling, but not before I saw three more eyes start to glow, their heads turning to me.

  I felt oddly drawn to the golems – as if we shared some sort of kinship. It felt, almost, as if they were waiting for me to say something to them. The ones with bright eyes crouched down as Saboraak launched and in that moment, I couldn’t tell if they were hunching low right before jumping into the air to grab us or if this was some sort of strange acknowledgment of my dragon.

  Either way, I was glad when the wind was strongly under Saboraak’s wings and she was soaring up and away from the camp, heading south over the muddy ground toward the green trees in the distance.

  I’m getting my bearings. I think that was the original tent camp of the Magikas – the one just above the border. We need to head west to find Eventen House – where Hubric told us to go.

  And your foot? Your wing?

  They’re sore, but they will be fine. Rest now.

  I studied the camp below as we flew by. It was larger than I remembered. Likely, it had grown while we were north in Ko’Torenth. The golem army was also new, but I was relieved to see that none of the flying golems had made it to this camp yet. If any of them had, they would be pursuing us by now.

  Now that the danger had passed, I slumped back into the hammock, tiredness and pain washing over me. Would they have a cure for this at Eventen House like Hubric had hoped, or was I in more trouble than I realized?

  I mulled on those worried thoughts, worry tinging everything so that I couldn’t enjoy the beautiful pink sunrise or the way the mist rose up from the hills below as we slowly left the dry lands to return to Dominion forests.

  Zyla leaned over the side to speak to me.

  “We’ll be flying for the rest of the day. No other option. You’d think we could land now that we’ve reached the Dominion. But there’s no Dominion presence here and that camp is close. We can’t risk a fire to warm up or dry off. Hopefully, our clothes will dry on the way. You were looking better for a while there.”

  I had been. Perhaps it had just been the fear of seeing those golems.

  “Hubric told me to make you read the book. If you’re awake, this might be a good time for it.”

  She passed down the Ibrenicus Prophecies and I took the small leather-bound book in my hands.

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s water, too.” She passed down a waterskin and I drank thirstily from it. “Try to make it last. We can’t stop for a few hours.”

  I lay back and opened the book. If nothing else, it might help me pass the time in a healthier way than my constant worry.

  The book read like a letter at first:

  These are the prophecies collected by Ibrenicus of Haz, son of dragons.

  For the time comes soon in which these prophecies will be needed so that the world is not broken by a war between the earth and the sky. For long years we have fought, but peace is brokered, and we lay down arms. We shall grow sleepy in comfort and one day our children will have forgotten the grim battles fought for the peace they think they hold in their palms.

  We know it is never so. No man owns peace. No man may hold it tightly and forbid its theft. We may only respond when war is brought to our gates and pray we respond right, for truth is often mocked and lies win hearts faster than flames consume a forest. Who can stand when men give way on every side to the force of their desires twisted against them?

  It is for the wise that I collect these words and store them up in this book. That when the Chosen One arrives you will recognize what you see. When your salvation is near, you may lay hold of it. Do not wait. Do not doubt. Seize life while you still have breath and peace before it has dissolved like snow.

  It made me think of something. Hadn’t there been a part like that where the other handwriting had begun? It was the work of this girl Savette.

  The Chosen One. ­Saboraak’s voice in my mind startled me.

  Had that Savette really been the Chosen One?

  Yes. She saved the Dominion from the power of the Ifrits. She saved the dragons, too.

  Well, then why was I reading this book if these things had already been done?

  I think they need to be done again, over and over, to keep people safe. When one hero has won, another must take her place. There is no rest in the battle against the evil forces of this world. They do not rest, and neither can we.

  Deep.

  I suggest that you read her words. I suspect she saw to a time shortly after her death.

  You mean that you think they are about us, just like Zin did.

  I mean that while you were resting in Kav’ai, Zin talked to me a lot and I thought her ideas made sense.

  Hmmm. If Saboraak thought they made sense, then maybe I should at least read them. I flipped to the back and began to read:

  These are the prophecies of Savatte Leedris, daughter of the Dominion. I write to add to the prophecies of Ibrenicus of Haz – not because his prophecies are not applicable for many times but because in these days – my last days – I have seen visions of things to come. I hope they will lead and guide those who come after so that the cold of death does not cover the land and the brave do not falter in the desperate race for peace.

  Fight your shadow.

  Take it captive.

  When hope is weak and certainty crumbled, do not let your heart say, ‘perhaps in this shadow there is light. Perhaps within it resides wisdom.

  Each woman must journey to
chain the shadow. Each man must take this quest. For when souls are ripped from bodies the earth will shake. When shadows run free, the world is at stake.”

  I closed the book. She couldn’t really mean that, could she?

  My mimic winked in an out of existence, a look of fierce anger on his face. Could this book be talking about him? He wanted me to absorb him. What if I needed to somehow take him captive?

  Chapter Five

  WHATEVER STRENGTH I’D found when we landed between the golems, left me as we flew west into a low range of mountains. I thought I felt the jostle of landing at least once, but I was feverish, coming in and out of a heavy sleep that did not seem to rest me. I sipped the water Zyla had given me and read snatches of the book, but I could hardly keep my eyes open.

  “He commands armies with his visage. One glance and war withers.”

  I dreamed of withering vines and people chasing me.

  “His hands weave justice. His right hand divides truth.”

  I dreamed I was chasing my shadow through endless skeins of wool.

  I woke to a snuffling nudge.

  We’re here, Saboraak said.

  I moaned.

  Hang on. Zyla is getting help.

  I opened my eyes but they fell shut almost immediately again.

  “Hurry,” Zyla’s voice said above me.

  “Get him down and let’s see.” This voice sounded firm and powerful. “What happened to the boy? What are these markings on his face and arms? They glow in the moonlight.”

  “It’s nothing,” Zyla said. “His injuries are why Hubric sent us here.”

  “There is bruising, certainly. Bring him down from the dragon’s back and we’ll look at him inside.”

  Hang in there, Tor. I will be right outside. Nothing will happen to you.

  Why did Saboraak sound so nervous? Why did she shift from foot to foot like that?

  “So, you’re a Green dragon rider?” the authoritative voice asked as Zyla lowered me to the ground with a creak of rope against saddle. “Strange that you’re mixing up with Hubric. He usually sticks to his own kind – Purples.”

  Zyla didn’t answer.