The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1)

by G. L. Breedon

  To continue reading the Carnival story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Yeth’s storyline follow this link.

  INTERLUDE

  AN ITINERANT wind skips across the ocean crests, pushing shallow waves to lap along the Sunset Coast of the Wood Realm before it skitters through the maze of forest trees surrounding and supporting the small town, calmed and gentled to an early morning summer breeze that ripples the turnip leaves and shuffles the sweet garlic shoots of a garden ripe with yellow summer squash and green oak-peas.

  Wyrin paws tend the soil, pulling weeds and crushing insect eggs between folded leaves. A female of advancing years, stripes of gray in the fur of her face, bends over the tilled earth.

  A male wyrin anxiously holds a wooden tube in his paws as he watches the female work.

  Dirt grubbers and their plants, the male thinks. Is what I hold not more important than gardening?

  “The essence of growing a garden is very simple.” The female stands straight. “To pull that which you cannot eat from the ground in order to allow that which can fill your belly to grow.”

  Riddles. The male stifles a sigh. Why must these forest chiefs always speak in riddles?

  “I must decide if the plant you present is a weed or a rare herb.”

  No, the male thinks, you must decide whether to grant me a contract for the hauling of the town spice surplus in return for what I offer you.

  “It is valid.” The male swallows deeply.

  “It seems a remarkable coincidence that it should come to you when your debts threaten to take your ship from you.” The female chief squints at the male in the early morning sun.

  “The sea spirits favor me.” The male smiles.

  Though I know not why, it is true. The male’s smile falters. Unless the human fooled me.

  The female wyrin brushes off her hands and steps closer to face the male, her eyes resting just slightly taller than his.

  He is desperate, she thinks, but not fool enough to cross me with a forgery such as this. That is unfortunate, for I wish it were not true.

  The female takes the wooden tube from the hands of the male.

  “You shall have your shipping agreement.”

  The male smiles again.

  “And as part of that accord, you shall transport me along with your first shipment to the Stone Realm.”

  The male frowns.

  “Of course.”

  “You should make ready your ship. We will depart with the dawn.”

  The male swallows. Nods. Then he departs the garden with a slight bow.

  The female turns to look again at her rows of cultivated vegetables and herbs and flowers no longer wild.

  This will endanger my son in the Iron Realm, she thinks. This will endanger us all. I must speak with the roagg, and hope he will agree with me.

  To continue reading the storyline of the Interludes follow this link.

  EPISODE FIVE

  THE CARNIVAL

  TARAK

  A WHITE sphere of filament-fine tendrils in uniform distribution danced with the wind, spiraling high into the air, reflecting the later afternoon sun with a tinge of amber in its manifold spires. Tarak watched the dandelion seed float down and alight on his paw. Were his eyes not open, he would not have sensed the infinitesimally light structure of the seed’s gauzy spindles against his flesh. The Stone Realm did not have these tiny flowers that bloomed to cover fields in butter bright yellow, only to transform into milky white ghosts of their former selves and drift away, herds of breeze-driven seeds seeking future rebirth on some far hillside.

  The wind caught the dandelion seed and carried it once more into the sky. Tarak watched it rejoin its companions floating over the town before turning his attention to the militiamen assembled outside the castle gate. He stood in the shadows of a guard tower atop the rampart wall, beside the yutan and the wyrin. In the inner courtyard below, the humans of the town and the carnival crammed into the small square, the wagons of each creating a boundary between them. He noted that the pilgrims congregated together at the side of the carnival wagons. He frowned at that. Their presence would not remain unnoticed if they did not blend in better with the rest of the carnival folk.

  On the wall, several of the humans stood above the wide, ironclad gate. Leotin and Palla spoke with the local tahn, Kang-Laau, his wife, and his man at arms, a slender, gray-haired fellow in his sixties named Pi-Gento. He understood the Shen language well enough to gauge the color of the conversation.

  Kang-Laau worried the militia would attack the castle. Pi-Gento vociferously propounded the castle’s defenses and his men’s ability to fend against the fifty-some militiamen outside the gate. Leotin asked about stocks and supplies to measure the number of days they might expect to hold out, only to be informed by the tahn’s wife that the castle held less than a week’s provisions for its normal inhabitants. The town usually had more warning before a siege, and at least a day to haul in goods from the local farms.

  Tahn Kang-Laau insisted they would stand against the militia. They had been tricked by the last militia, handing over suspected heretics — those who had not left the town for the pilgrim path — only to be betrayed. They had watched their neighbors burned at the stake, but the militia had not departed as promised. They instead stayed for several days, raping local women, stealing food and coin from the farmers, and generally turning the people of the town against the tahn for his complicity in their suffering. While Pi-Gento and the handful of men at arms too old or too feeble to fight in the war had been able to prevent the militia from robbing the castle, only Kang-Laau’s donation to the militia commander had prevented them from leaving town with several of the young girls in tow. A fee his wife loudly complained would take years to repay, if ever.

  Tarak listened to the humans argue, noticing that Palla remained uncharacteristically quiet. She appeared far less concerned than he expected, especially as she spent so much time with the pilgrims, particularly the woman, Ranna. If Kang-Laau, or the townspeople, discovered that the carnival harbored heretics, the situation within the castle would become significantly more precarious.

  Tarak found the violent concern of the humans for those who believed in the new god to be strange and incomprehensible. Roaggs did not believe in gods in the way of humans and other peoples. Roaggs held that all living things possessed spirits that continued on after death to reform in another fashion, imbued with the spirit essence once again. A roagg warrior might become a tree, a tree a stag, a stag a flower, a flower a part of a mountain. All things came into being and all things eventually ceased their being, but the unseen beings behind the visible world continued on forever, sometimes waiting thousands of years between manifestations.

  For a time after a loved one’s death, the spirit talkers could communicate and relay the impressions of those recently deceased. However, as more time passed, it became more likely for the spirit to have moved on, once more remade as another form, another roagg, another animal, a mountain tree, and some said, even as humans, wyrin, and other peoples. Tarak looked at the dandelions, the militiamen, the cows still in the nearby fields, and the trees in the forest, and knew that he had once been all these things, that the spirit within him would become all these things once again. If he lived the higher life of a roagg with honor, this would imbue his spirit with grace and propel it to a more intricate form of being, just as a dishonorable life would lead to a simpler manner of being. The spirit talkers believed it took many wicked roaggs to form the animals and plants and trees of the valleys and forests of the rocky and mountainous Stone Realm, but just as many honorable roaggs to reform as the people themselves. With so many spirits manifesting as so many things, what need did the roaggs have to believe in gods and goddesses? With no gods came no battles to kill for one’s beliefs.

  What now were Tarak’s beliefs? What did it mean that he, a roagg, dreamed of a human goddess? What did it mean when birds descended to defend him from enemies? Did it me
an his beliefs were wrong? How did one seek to reclaim honor when the basis for one’s honor came into question? The spirit talkers could not speak to this human goddess, but the spirits they communed with all warned of great sorrow and great joy.

  “What now they say?”

  Shifhuul’s question, phrased in broken Shen, brought Tarak’s attention to the diminutive wyrin and away from the concerns of spirits and honor.

  “They argue over what to do.” Tarak looked down over the wall, making sure to stay in the shadows of the tower. The majority of the militiamen seemed to be searching the town house by house, ostensibly looking for heretics, yet leaving each abode with hands full of foodstuffs and what few valuables they came across.

  “There are few options available to us.” Yeth spoke from beside Tarak as she stared at the human militiamen below on the ground.

  “Need more birds.” Shifhuul chuckled in a high-pitched snort, then seemed to think better of the idea, his lips curling downward into a near snarl.

  “We wait for the humans to decide.” Tarak fingered the thick fur beneath the long chin of his snout as the tahn’s heavyset wife gestured violently toward the militia below. She appeared to think it her husband’s duty to march outside and confront the heretic hunters.

  “And once they decide, we decide.” Yeth brought her pale eyes toward Tarak. For a yutan, she grasped the inherent nature of situations quickly.

  “Decide the humans below first.” Shifhuul stared through an arrow slit in the wall of the tower toward the militia on the ground.

  Tarak looked to see one of the militiamen, the apparent leader, riding up the road to the castle gate. He stopped a hundred paces away, flanked by fifteen of his men, all on horseback. The commander tilted his head back to sneer at Tahn Kang-Laau and the humans.

  “I am Letan-Fee, commander of the zhan’s fifth militia brigade.” The commander sat tall in his saddle as he shouted.

  “I am Tahn Kang-Laau, of Castle Peda-Lan and the surrounding lands.” Kang-Laau cupped his hands around his mouth as he yelled to the militia commander.

  “You harbor heretics,” Letan-Fee called up to the tahn.

  “There are no heretics here.” Kang-Laau’s voice rose in pitch as he shouted. “They were all burned by the last militia to pass through.”

  “If you have no heretics, why do you hide behind your walls?” Letan-Fee raised an arm to indicate the castle fortifications.

  “We were badly abused by the last militia.” Kang-Laau wiped his hand across his bald head. “We wish you great success. Take what you need from the homes and press onward in your hunt.”

  “You hold heretics behind those stones. I feel it in my bones. My sword sings of them to me.” Letan-Fee patted the sheathed blade at his side.

  “We do not.” Kang-Laau pointed to the temple spire rising from the center of the castle. “We hold true to the ways of Ni-Kam-Djen.”

  “I will give you one hour to open your gate and hand over the heretics you give quarter to.” Letan-Fee raised one arm straight above his head. “If you do as I ask, I will forgive your blasphemous actions. If you do not, I shall burn your town to the ground.”

  Letan-Fee lowered his arm in a swift, chopping motion. Behind him, at the edge of the town, flames leapt across the thatched roof of a mud-daub house. Militiamen lifted torches to the straw thatching, smoke and fire dancing as a stiff wind carried them upward and over the field of rye behind the home.

  Tarak watched the flames of the house gain in intensity, white dandelion seeds drifting close to catch light in small, fiery bursts, falling to the ground like miniature comets, sparks trailing them to their demise. He said a short blessing for the spirits of the dandelions, for what they had been and what they would become. He extended the prayer to the spirit of the house and then the nearby tree, its leaves turning brown then black as the wind carried the fire through the small, backyard garden.

  He thought of the dandelions drawn inexorably toward the flames, toward a moment of cessation and transformation, just as a wind of unknown origin set him in motion, pushing him along a path toward an unimaginable future. Would he, like the feather-light seeds, be consumed and transformed, his spirit birthed again in an unfamiliar fashion? Would he take form here in the Iron Realm?

  He thought of his mate, Reeshka. Would he ever see her again? If he died in this land of sheetoo traitors, would his spirit, as the roagg poets claimed, reunite and bind with her in a future form? Might they not return together as a flower seed, floating on the air, carrying their love with them into a new life? He thought then about her yearning for cubs, for new vessels for the spirits, as she said, and of his reticence in the face of his dishonor.

  If he endured this castle siege, and if he survived the pilgrim road to learn the source of the dreams and the star and the miracles, and if he lived to voyage home across the ocean, he vowed he would never again leave his mate’s side, would father with her as many cubs as she desired, would become a roagg worthy of his clan, would savor every moment of this form before the fiery winds of time sent his spirit onward to another life.

  To continue reading the Carnival story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Tarak’s storyline follow this link.

  THE CARNIVAL

  LEOTIN

  “I SAW her. I saw her make the sign!”

  “Heretics!”

  “Cast ’em out!”

  “Let ’em burn the heretics, not our homes!”

  Leotin turned to the angry voices rising from the courtyard below where he stood on the castle wall. His heart seized in his chest, his lungs aching and unable grasp enough air. The pilgrims clustered near two of the carnival wagons. Jhanal faced a growing mass of more than two hundred townspeople shouting to expel the heretics. What had the man been thinking? Leotin had specifically told him to keep his people out of sight, to make themselves inconspicuous. Not to clump together and begin chanting prayers as they did now. Leotin shook his head. A madness added to an insanity, and him crushed between them.

  “What? I see it, too. They make the mark of the heretics.” Tontu-Gua, the tahneff of the castle, Kang-Laau’s portly and easily angered wife, turned from the inner courtyard. She glowered at Leotin from beside her husband and Pi-Gento, the commander of the castle guards, one of whom also stood nearby. Palla stood beside Leotin, her face taut with concern as she watched the carnival folk move to stand between the townspeople and the pilgrims.

  “There must be twenty or more.” Tahn Kang-Laau leaned against the inner wooden railing of the wall, staring down at the courtyard of his castle, his eyes squinting in the bright light.

  “There are nearly thirty, my tahn.” Leotin tried to keep his voice even. There were few options available to him now, and he needed to proceed with as much contrition as caution.

  “Thirty!” Kang-Laau rounded on Leotin, his jowls shaking in rage. “Your lies endanger us all!”

  “I lied to protect my people, my tahn.” Leotin lowered his eyes. “We would never have stopped had we known a militia to be close.”

  “They must be cast out.” Kang-Laau pointed emphatically at the pilgrims below as he shouted at Pi-Gento. “Gather your men and expel them.”

  “Yes, my tahn.” Pi-Gento nodded to Kang-Laau. He spared a moment to glare at Leotin with hate-filled eyes before running to the wooden stairs that descended the inner side of the castle wall near the gate. The other guard remained, standing two paces behind his tahn, staring at Leotin and Palla.

  “That would be unwise.” Leotin clasped his hands together in a gesture of pleading. If the tahn threw the pilgrims out, they would surely be killed, and likely he and his carnival for harboring them. He needed to convince Kang-Laau of the danger the militia presented to the tahn and his castle. “To open the gate to put them out also opens the gate to allow the militia in. You told me moments ago what happened the last time you showed hospitality to a militia.”

  “Throw them from the wall then.” Tontu-Gua waved
her thick arm toward the outer edge of the castle fortifications. “They are heretics and should expect no less.”

  “Would you throw women and children to their deaths?” Leotin had heard Palla and Jhanal make similar arguments to him only weeks before. Had he followed the advice the tahn and tahneff now proposed, he would not find himself needing to defend heretics. He searched for a means of betraying the pilgrims without endangering his own people, but none emerged from the crowded forest of thoughts in his mind. He doubted he would enact such a plan if he could conceive it. He had spent too much time with Jhanal and his pilgrims. Had watched them help with the carnival tasks and performances. Had seen the children playing. One could easily turn away strangers, but handing over people one knew to certain death took more callousness than he could muster. A failing, no doubt, and one that might get him killed, but one he did not feel inclined to rectify.

  “They are vermin. It is what they deserve.” Tontu-Gua spat over the inner railing toward the pilgrims. Leotin doubted the woman had been born into a noble family. Maybe a merchant’s daughter marrying up the chain of life. Possibly he could appeal to her sense of profit as well as her sense of preservation.

  “My tahneff, you are not cruel people.” Leotin turned to Tontu-Gua. He had no doubt that she did indeed possess a vicious nature. She made little attempt to hide it in casual conversation and none in the current discussion.

  “We are not fools to be lied to.” Kang-Laau pointed to the pilgrims below, fingering the blood-black garnet embedded in the hilt of the dagger at his belt. “They are an affront to Ni-Kam-Djen and must be expelled. Through the gate or over the wall makes no difference.”