by D K Drake
He hadn’t been taught to value anyone’s life save his own, so why had he allowed the people in Gri to live? And why did the death of those soldiers in Fury’s Pass still haunt his dreams?
Now as he scanned the remnants of Tulkar, he wondered how many people died when Vasilis had charged through here. Would they have had a chance to escape, or did the walls they had built to protect them end up trapping them instead?
Why did he care? Why had Lydia’s story upset him? Why did he want to keep going and pretend like he had never seen this city or heard the tale of its destruction?
“You should be helping unload the cargo.” Captain Cyr approached Micah from behind.
“No, I shouldn’t.” Micah kept his forearms on the rail and locked his hands in front of him. He had to remain cool and composed and not show any evidence of the questions tormenting his soul. “I don’t do work that is meant for common people.”
“Do you eat?”
Micah creased his brow and looked back at Cyr. “Of course.”
“Then you will work.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you want to eat any morsel of food on this boat at any time between here and our ultimate destination, you will help me and the rest of the crew unload the cargo. We all do our part, and ‘all’ includes you.”
“I am King Omri’s son.” Hearing himself claim his identity helped eradicate those unsettling questions in his mind and restore his heartless nature. “I take orders from no one.”
“I am Captain Cyr. This is my boat and my rules apply. No work means no food, no matter who you are. It’s that simple.”
“You have to feed me. Otherwise I will not talk to my father and ask him to spare your people.”
“You have to work. Otherwise you will not eat.”
Micah turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. Was this really happening? Was the captain threatening him when he should be cowering before him the way everyone in Zandador did? “You do understand who I am, right? You know that my father would not be pleased to hear that you attempted to make me work or refused me food.”
Cyr stepped forward and whispered in Micah’s ear. “You do understand that it’s going to take six or seven days to get through the Dark Zone to the northwestern shore. That’s a long time to go without food.” Before Micah could reply, Cyr patted Micah’s shoulder and walked away.
As Cyr’s footsteps faded, Micah’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours. “Fine,” Micah grumbled. “I’ll work. But I will tell Omri about this torture.”
He tramped down the walkway toward the cargo room, but the sight of the ruins around him made him rethink his definition of torture. Perhaps unloading a few plants from a boat wouldn’t be a horrible way to spend his day. After all, it sure beat having his home destroyed or losing his life to a dragon.
◊◊◊
Although Javan soon worked up a sweat in the sweltering heat, he enjoyed the work of unloading the cargo. The crew from the boat, along with those temporarily living in Tulkar until Transport Day to assist with the harvest, worked to a cadence, and Javan quickly fell into step with their humming rhythm, making him feel like part of the group.
Into the cargo room. Out down the plank. Across the dock. Lean over the wagon. Drop the load of humminglos. And back to the cargo room to get another load.
Wheelbarrows or forklifts would have made unloading the plants more efficient, but Javan didn’t mind the monotonous nature of the work. He even decided to make it fun by adding in some shuffle steps and snaps between loads, and the rest of the crew began to copy him. Until Micah broke the pattern.
“Are you the one who told Cyr to force me to help?” Micah stepped in front of Javan as he was about to enter the cargo room.
“No,” Javan said. Warning bells sounded in Javan’s mind. Micah seemed angry and ready to fight. “He asked where you were. I told him I saw you walk toward the front of the boat. I had no control over what he chose to do with that information.”
“He threatened to deny me food if I didn’t work.”
“Then you better work.” Javan kept his voice steady to keep from antagonizing Micah and pointed into the room. “We still have half the space left to unload.”
Micah growled his displeasure and stepped inside. “What are we supposed to do?”
“It’s easy,” Javan said, following Micah into the warehouse. Dried leaves and flower petals covered the floor until about the halfway point; stacks of flowers that reached from the floor to the ceiling filled the rest of the space. “Walk down to Mirela, and hold out your arms. She’ll give you a bushel of flowers, and you take them out to the wagons at the end of the dock. Then you come back for more.”
“Ugh.” Micah shuddered. “I shouldn’t have to do this.”
“Why? Are you not strong enough to carry a few flowers? Should I tell the captain that this work is too strenuous for your weak muscles to handle?”
“Me? Weak? Ha!” Micah huffed and stomped down to Mirela, the long-haired, wiry woman in charge of the cargo.
“Another worker,” she said. “Nice. Thank you for helping.”
“You’re not welcome. Just give me some flowers,” Micah said. She frowned and put a bushel in his arms, but he didn’t move. “More.”
“If you insist.” She added a second bushel so that his arms were full from his waist to his chin.
“One more.”
“But you won’t be able to see.”
“I can handle it.” He glared back at Javan as she put a third bushel in his arms. He reached up and smashed the flowers down so they were just below his eye level. He turned around and paused as he walked by Javan. “Let’s see how many you can carry, Collector boy.”
“Oh, it’s on,” Javan said. He stepped up to Mirela and held out his arms. “Load me up.” The fun, easy workday had just become a serious competition between him and his worst enemy.
◊◊◊
Micah walked across the shaky but secure boardwalk and dumped the final load of humminglo plants into the wagon. “Done!” He pumped his arms in the air and waited for Javan to toss his final load into the wagon as well.
Javan had only been able to carry half of what Micah could handle, and Micah needed to make sure Javan knew he had won the unofficial battle. “Don’t try to beat me in any competition. Ever. You won’t win.”
“You’re taller,” Javan said. “You should be able to carry more humminglo plants than me. But I’m smarter. I’ll be sure to use that to my advantage in the competition that really counts.”
“I’d rather be taller and stronger. Your intelligence didn’t do you much good when we fought over Mertzer.” Micah ran his finger down Javan’s chest, mimicking the action he took when he cut him with his sword. “You’re the one who has a scar, not me.”
“Keep underestimating me.” Javan narrowed his eyes and slapped Micah’s hand away. “I dare you.”
“I’ll take that dare.” Micah smiled and nodded toward the cooking fire on the ground next to the dock. The smell of fried fish wafted through the air, making Micah’s mouth water. “Now go fetch me some lunch. I earned it by beating you.”
“Get your own food,” Javan said, jumping from the dock to the ground. “I’m not fetching you anything.”
Micah laughed and jumped to the ground as well. Lunch wasn’t quite ready, so he returned to the dock, took his shirt off, and dipped it in the cold river water to wash away his sweat and the debris from the countless number of humminglo plants he had carried off the boat.
Even though it wasn’t a glorious victory, he was proud of himself for making the Collector look puny in comparison to him. Perhaps now the crew would shun Javan and give Micah the reverence he deserved.
He put his wet shirt on his overheated skin, splashed his face with water, and took a stroll down the street by the wagons now overflowing with humminglo plants. Apparently the temporary dwellers in the city planned to drive th
e wagons to the portal and keep the plants stored safely in buildings there until Transport Day.
Micah reached up and touched one of the purple petals of the plants. Why did his father need these flowers? What purpose did they serve? And why hadn’t he told Micah about Transport Day and this entire arrangement with Keckrick?
Micah almost wanted to ride to the portal with the crew so he could return home and get answers to his questions, but he knew he needed to retrieve Mertzer and win both Varjiek and Kisa first.
Increased levels of laughter and chatter drew Micah back to the dock. No one noticed him as he picked up one of the plates on the makeshift table by the fire. They were too busy sitting on the dock swapping stories with Javan as they ate their fried fish.
How could that be? How could they still accept and respect Javan when Micah had made him look so weak and worthless? What was it about the Collector that drew people to him?
Micah knew Javan’s ability to get people to like him made him a genuine threat to both himself and Omri, and anyone who threatened Omri’s power had to be eliminated.
Chapter 29
The Book
“E
asy, girl.” Javan rubbed the trunk of the skittish miniature elephant. It was slightly taller than a horse but easily twice as wide. Its straight white tusks popped against its dark grey skin, and it had tried more than once to use those tucks to stab Shria, her handler. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just need your help pulling a wagon.”
“That won’t work, Javan,” Shria said from the other side of the fence. The young woman had her sword drawn and stood ready to fight. “She’s always been trouble. I’m not even sure why we keep her around.”
“Ah, she’s a sweetie.” Javan never took his eyes off the elephant. Being in this moment made him glad he chose to work with the crew on the ground to get the wagons ready to take to the portal rather than nap along with Captain Cyr and his crew. These elephants were awesome. “She’s just a little scared. All we have to do is keep her calm and explain what we need her to do.”
“She’s an animal. Why would we need to explain anything to her?”
“Because she can understand.” Javan tried to read her mind the way he did with Varjiek, but he heard nothing. He would just have to read her eyes the way he did with his horse Storm. “In a minute, I’m going to open that gate. You’re going to follow me calmly down the street. When we get to the wagon, you’re going to stand by your brother and let me put a harness on you. You probably won’t like it, but it won’t hurt you. I promise. It’s just a way for us to connect the wagon to you so you can show off that strength of yours. Got it?”
The elephant gave Javan a slight nod, so Javan nodded back and walked over to the gate. As he reached for the latch, Shria tried to stop him.
“What are you doing? She’ll run away if you let her out of that gate without the chain attached to her collar.”
“No. She won’t. Trust me.”
Shria backed off, and Javan opened the gate. Without looking behind him, he began walking the few blocks toward the waiting wagons. He could tell by speechless Shria and the heavy steps of the elephant that his new friend was following him.
Once he reached the last of the seven wagons, he turned around, coaxed the elephant into place, and patted her side. “Good girl,” he said. “Now you behave for these nice people, and I promise they’ll take good care of you.”
The elephant snorted her acceptance and let Shria’s men hook her up to the harness without any protest.
“Unbelievable,” Shria said, approaching Javan. “We’ve never been able to get her to cooperate without a fight before. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here with us and take charge of the animals?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll need to be on that boat when it ships out at sunset. I miss my dragon.”
“That’s too bad.” She reached for his hand and held it between her own. “We will miss you.”
The touch of her hand turned Javan from a confident animal tamer to awkward teen. His cheeks flushed. His stomach turned a few somersaults. He tongue lost all power to form words. He wasn’t used to getting this kind of attention from women. Then Taliya spoiled it.
“Javan, there you are.” She charged across the street, grabbed his wrist and jerked his hand away from Shria. Smudges of black ash dotted her face, arms, and clothes. “Come with me. I need your help with something important.”
“Whoa. Stop.” He tried to pull away from her grip, but she wouldn’t let go. “I’m in the middle of something important here.”
“No, you’re not.” Before he could protest further, he found himself being dragged over the stone streets and into a dark, crumbling building two blocks away.
◊◊◊
Micah couldn’t believe what he saw from the top deck of the Iria. Was an elephant really following Javan down the street? Of its own accord? Without being led by a chain?
Certainly not. Javan had to have been holding a rope and guiding the elephant. The rope was probably just too thin for Micah to be able to see from his vantage point.
As he squinted to try to see the rope, a sudden movement several blocks to the left of the wagons caught Micah’s attention. Was that Taliya? Why was she wandering through the city ruins on her own?
She wasn’t exactly wandering. She walked as though she was on a mission, marched straight up to Javan, snatched him away from his admirers, and took him back to where she had just come from. He kept an eye on them as they crawled under a pile of rubble a few minutes later.
What were they up to?
He wasn’t sure, but he was definitely going to go find out.
◊◊◊
Javan crouched under another broken beam in his quest to keep up with Taliya. He coughed the dust out of his lungs and brushed a spider web out of his hair. “I’m pretty sure this place qualifies as a condemned building that we shouldn’t be poking around in. We should get out of here before the part of the ceiling that is still intact collapses on us.”
“We’re not leaving until I get what I came for.”
“What could you possibly need in this place?”
“You’ll see.” She stopped in what appeared to be the corner of the building, moved an empty shelf out of the way, dropped to her knees, and felt the floor with her hands. “This is it.”
“It’s what? You are acting very strange. Are you always this strange?”
She looked up and held out her hand. “I need to borrow your dragon scale.”
“Excuse me?”
“The dragon scale. The one you keep in your pocket. I need to borrow it.”
“What makes you think I have it in my pocket?”
“Because it’s not with your stuff on your bunk. I checked.”
“You went through my stuff?”
She shrugged. “I needed the scale.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to rummage through my things.”
“It’s not like I stole anything. Now can I please borrow the scale? I promise to give it right back.”
“Why do you need it?”
“Enough with the questions.” She reached into Javan’s left pocket and retrieved the scale. “It will be easier to show you.”
Taliya fit the scale into a triangle-sized hole in the floor and turned it. After hearing a click, she lifted a square door in the floor, creating an opening just big enough for a person to climb through. “It worked!” She put the scale back in Javan’s pocket. “Now all we have to do is find the book.”
“What book?”
“No more questions!” She reached her legs into the hole, landed on a ladder, and scrambled down. “You coming?”
Javan wasn’t sure he wanted to follow. The last time he entered a dark hole in the ground, he wound up in an entirely new dimension. “I think I’ll wait for you up here.”
“Fine. Collectors aren’t supposed to know this room exists, anyway.”
A secret room no other Collector knew
about? Now he had to descend into the darkness to satisfy his curiosity. He leaned into the hole, found the ladder with his feet, and made his way down rung by rung.
“Nice of you to join me.” Taliya sparked an old lantern to life, flooding the room with light.
Javan squinted, covered his eyes and blinked until he could see clearly. “What is this place?” Rows of shelves filled with books and glass containers showcasing dragon scales stretched out before them.
“This is the Protector’s Den. Every Protector who has taken a dragon egg through the portal and returned with a dragon documented every step of the process, from finding the egg to releasing the dragon into the wild.” Taliya ran her fingers across the spine of the books. “That’s what these books and jars are: the journals of the Protectors and the shed scales of the dragons kept here as mementos.”
“Why keep this place a secret?”
“Because we’re Protectors. We protect our knowledge.”
“How did you know it was here?”
“The building above us was once the grandest library in the Great Rift, and I knew the Den was hidden below this building. I’ve never been to Tulkar before, but when I realized we would be stopping here, I had to find out for myself if this place really existed.”
“Why? Did you want to find Kisa’s story? Is that the book you are looking for?”
“No. Her story isn’t here.”
“I thought you just said--”
“I just said her story isn’t here.” She stiffened, turned, and began walking forward. “The book I want should be in the center of this room.”
Javan wondered what sore spot he hit with his innocent question, but he didn’t press the issue further. She held the only source of light, and he had to keep up with her as she charged through the rows of books labeled with names of dragons. He scanned the titles as he followed her, hoping to find a book titled Varjiek or Mertzer or Silverspike or Skylark. None of the names, however, seemed familiar.
