Balance of the 12

by Ania Bo

  Han was still defending himself from the other two Agilens as they tried to attack Violen, smelling her fresh blood.

  “Han! There’s another dragon. It’s—” Shasta cried out to Han, but the rest of her words cut off as the ground shook. The new dragon landed just behind Shasta, throwing her off her feet. Upon seeing this greater threat, the remaining Agilens frantically scrambled and took off swiftly into the air, leaving their meal behind.

  The three Readers stared at their new adversary warily. There was no escaping this dragon. Its head was the size of a large boulder, and the three Readers could have easily fit inside its mouth. Its wings were so massive it could hardly extend them beneath the trees, and its back was lined with sharp spikes which the dragon could surely impale them with.

  “It’s eaten Dwade,” Shasta cried as the dragon moved closer. The dragon’s hot breath blew over them as it slowly opened its mouth.

  But then something strange happened. The dragon spoke.

  “Eaten? Nonsense. No wise creature will eat our Protector. Welcome, you beautiful beings of the Balance.”

  The Readers stared at the dragon in amazement, but its mouth wasn’t moving. They all looked at each other with the same question. How was this dragon talking? Was it magical? Still unsure whether this dragon was going to eat them or chat them up, they remained silent. The dragon bowed its head, taking a less threatening pose, and on his back, a kindly old man appeared.

  “Please, join me. This road you have chosen is not safe.” It wasn’t the dragon who spoke, but the man boasting a long beard and a kind smile. Behind him, Dwade sat covered in saliva but certainly not eaten. He was trying to clean himself off the best he could. He smelled the saliva and grimaced.

  Shasta let out a sigh of relief, and even Violen shook her head with a slight smile, obviously happy he’d lived.

  Han, on the other hand, was not amused. Of course, the Balance would protect Dwade. Instead of giving voice to his thoughts, he mentioned his worries about Violen. “Our friend is injured and cannot move. She was bitten by one of the Agilen. She needs immediate attention.”

  “Oh my, oh my Balance.” The old man scrambled off the large dragon as he rushed toward Violen’s side followed by Dwade.

  Worry twisted Dwade’s insides as he saw the blood that had soaked Violen’s robe. He rushed to help in any way he could, hoisting her up for the old man. “Move. Move,” the man said to Shasta and Han. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s got a fighting spirit, this one does.”

  Violen looked at Dwade with a smile, but her eyes closed. The old man slapped her cheek, startling her awake.

  “Don’t fall asleep, little Reader.” He closed his eyes and took in three deep breaths, then he placed his hands over Violen’s wound. Right before their eyes, the blood retreated, flowing back into her body.

  Neither Han nor Shasta believed what they saw. The old man healed Violen with his touch.

  “Violen?” Dwade was so concerned about her he didn’t even notice what the old man did.

  “Hush. Let her rest a moment. She was very near death. It will take a moment for her spirit to regain its strength.” the old man said.

  Han stared in confused awe. “What you did…that was no form of science. That was…magic.” He was thankful and skeptical at the same time. The Agilens might be gone, but a strange sense of foreboding had his hand unconsciously reaching for his sword. Magic was forbidden and annihilated a long time ago. It was just a fairy tale now to tell children.

  Shasta’s ears perked at the word. “Magic? But there is no magic left on this earth.”

  The old man tapped the side of his nose with a quirky smile. “That is where you’re wrong. Just because you Readers rely on science and reason does not mean magic is dead to all. This part of the earth has nothing to do with the rest. We set the rules here, not agreements among races.” His tone was soft but sharp at the same time.

  “Who are you?” Han finally asked the question that was on all their minds.

  Dwade looked puzzled. Although his only concern was Violen, he wouldn’t deny that Han had a point. So he repeated Han’s question when the man took too long to answer. “Who are you?” But right after he felt like he had to thank the old man. He seemed like a hothead beneath that white beard and kind face. “And thank you for saving her.”

  The old man held Violen in his lap, and his dragon stood with him. He ignored Han and answered Dwade. “I am Zeorgan, the watcher of the Zaend race. I have come to take you to the Regenerator, Protector.” Then he bowed.

  Shasta, Dwade, and Han relaxed at once to know he was a friend. “Thank you,” Dwade replied and held Violen’s hand. He was ready to get on the dragon to leave that cursed place.

  Han had suspicions as Zeorgan was not a part of the plan. As a good Reader soldier, he had to obey the rules. Now he had to disregard one of the rules to follow another one. Either he would obey the Protector, or he would insist on following the given route. The Protector was authorized by the Balance, so he stayed silent and decided to follow him, at least till they found the Regenerators.

  Shasta too was suddenly wary as goose bumps broke out on her arms. Anxiety took over her relief. It couldn’t be this easy. There were things the old man didn’t say, whispers she heard within the cold wind. She turned her head and looked at the leaves to see if they were fluttering. But they were stable and there was no wind, not even a light breeze. She came eye to eye with the old man, and the whispers of the cold wind grew stronger. They were trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t clearly hear. Suddenly the dragon roared and the whispers in her mind hushed, though the fear remained.

  “Let us go, Visionary Reader. They are waiting for us.” Zeorgan encouraged Shasta to get on the dragon. One by one they climbed onto the great scaled back and settled in behind Zeorgan, wondering where their journey would take them next.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The foursome found themselves on the back of the monstrous dragon, flying over the land below and leaving the Agilens behind. Soon dark clouds obscured their vision, and the hot, humid forest disappeared.

  “We must hurry over this land before we are detected,” Zeorgan said loudly to be heard over the howling wind. “Our village is not far from here.”

  “We were supposed to travel through Tholen lands,” Han protested, a bit uncomfortable they deviated from the Chancellor’s original plan. For him, believing in this old man was a dangerous game. He just hoped the risk they took didn’t cost them their lives.

  “Ha! The Tholen? You wouldn’t have made it as far as two skips and a hop in their underground caves. No. It is fortunate I found you,” Zeorgan snappishly said.

  Han looked at his friends for support, but nobody cared. Shasta sat in silence as if her mind was a million miles away. Dwade was focused on Violen.

  Violen started to regain consciousness as Dwade held her. “You all right?” he asked as her eyes blinked open, squinting at his face.

  Violen blushed heavily as she lifted her head from Dwade’s chest but then grabbed onto him tightly as she realized they were high up in the air on the back of a dragon. “What happened?”

  “You passed out from your injuries. Zeorgan healed you.”

  Violen looked toward the old man who sat near the dragon’s head. “Thank you,” she said with some effort.

  “No need to thank me, little lady. You are quite strong. You did most of the work. Lay down now till we arrive. You will feel as stout as a bull soon enough.”

  Dwade was surprised he managed to hear Violen’s weak voice. She shifted a bit but found it comfortable against his chest so remained there until she was fully recovered. It didn’t take too long, then she sat up on her own and rolled her head on her neck, seeming at ease.

  Han was happy to see his old friend was no longer wounded. He wouldn’t have to deal with the disobedient Protector and Visionary Reader by himself.

  When the dragon finally descended, they arrived in a snow-covered lan
dscape, landing in the middle of a blizzard. Ice and snow whipped at their faces as the fearsome wind bit at their exposed skin.

  “Here!” the old man called over the wind. He took four fur cloaks and four pairs of boots from his bag and distributed them. “I brought some warm clothes. Figured you wouldn’t be ready for this harsh country.”

  Shasta grabbed the cloak thankfully and wrapped it around her body, pulling the hood over her head. “Where to now? There’s no one out here.” She looked around with the hope of seeing something.

  Zeorgan held his hands, palm out, in front of him as if he were searching for something. Curious, Shasta stood next to him and placed her hand near his and started decoding, amazed to find something solid. “This is a wall, the city wall,” she said and gazed at Zeorgan in astonishment.

  Zeorgan smiled at her. “Make way for the Balance.” When he waved his right hand up and down, the wall appeared, and he walked toward a small door to the right of them. When he opened it, they peered around him expecting to see the Zaend village, but they were left in a renewed state of confusion. On the other side, there was nothing to be seen other than the white landscape and more snowfall. Zeorgan walked through the door as if it were clearly the right thing to do, and the others reluctantly followed.

  The snowy wasteland continued before them, and as they advanced, Dwade’s boots sank deep into the white fluff. As he tried to lift his feet while pulling on his boot, an object caught his eye. Something unnatural protruded from the snow and drew him to it. He scratched at the surface with his hands until the object came into full view. The frozen face before him stared up with a look of pain, its eyes scrunched together, and its mouth sealed shut. It was a dead Reader. Dwade let out a yelp, and the group rushed back, fearing they were under attack.

  “Oh no,” Shasta cried in shock, the first to see her dead comrade. Han and Violen caught up with her, and they both viewed the body with befuddled looks.

  Zeorgan spoke loudly. “Such is the fate of those who wish to take what isn’t theirs.” He looked down on the body with little pity while the Readers tried to comprehend his meaning.

  “We should decode him to see what information his last moments can give us.” Violen reached out to touch the corpse, but Zeorgan stopped her abruptly, hitting her hand with a long staff that appeared in his hand out of thin air.

  “Be careful what you touch in this land. You are no longer in Atlantis, and this place is governed by its own rules. And believe me, decoding can’t supply you the information you seek, only fear. Patience will tell you about everything you wonder.”

  The Readers looked at Zeorgan apprehensively. If they couldn’t use their decoding abilities in this land, then they were at an obvious disadvantage. They had no power except for the few simple weapons they had.

  Violen took a step back while the old man looked into Shasta’s disappointed eyes and offered an explanation. “The Zaend experience constant raids. People of almost every race have come here to obtain the power that lies within our village.” His voice rose with feeling. “Do you think we would let the other races walk all over us and take what is rightfully ours?” He took a deep breath and turned to face Dwade. “Our land is full of traps designed to test the intentions of those who wish to enter our home and look upon the Regenerator. Anyone whose intentions are not pure will find that death will come to them sooner than they’d expect.”

  Violen frowned. “You’re saying these Readers came with bad intentions? Is that it?”

  The old man smiled wickedly. “Their frozen bodies are proof of their intentions. Only the Balance knows why his body is there.”

  The hairs on the back of Dwade’s neck rose, and it wasn’t because of the cold. Zeorgan’s words confirmed his suspicions. Not all Readers were their allies, and who would send these Readers but the Chancellor? Zeorgan was right, only the Balance could know why that reader’s body was there. Dwade just hoped that dead body didn’t belong to a Reader who was sent by the recent Chancellor. Disappointment struck him hard. He held out hope that his suspicions were wrong, that the Chancellor was only doing what was best for the races. But if she wasn’t fighting for the Balance, what was she fighting for?

  Violen faced Zeorgan. “He must have been here for a good reason, but maybe you are too strict. Maybe his good intentions weren’t in your favor or good enough for you. Who would be fair enough to judge that? We are Readers, the protectors of the Balance. We sacrifice for the Balance, we live and die for the Balance. We watch more than any other race. Now tell us, how exactly will we overcome these obstacles, these tests so we can prove ourselves to your race.” Her tone was so bold and confident it brought a smile to Zeorgan’s face.

  “You can’t overcome them; you need to complete them. Those who mean us no harm will pass through, and the others will die,” he said matter-of-factly. “Maybe you will all pass and maybe some of you won’t.” He turned his back. “We will witness it soon, brave Reader,” he added while he continued walking.

  The travelers exchanged a look, wondering how the Zaend could be so cold. Their lives seemed to mean nothing to him.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Han said.

  “We have no other option,” Violen answered. “Our mission is to find the Regenerator and bring her back to Atlantis no matter what the cost, and that is what we will do.”

  They continued to follow Zeorgan cautiously now. Once they began to think their trek through the snow would last for an eternity, a bright ray of light shone along the horizon, and the travelers were forced to squint their eyes and shade their faces from the glare.

  “What is that?” Han asked, afraid their first test was about to begin.

  Zeorgan didn’t seem to be disturbed. “Just keep your eyes focused on the ground if the light bothers you and follow my lead. Your questions will be answered shortly.”

  They reluctantly obeyed, their imaginations running wild as they tried to determine what the light could possibly be.

  After another twenty minutes of walking, Zeorgan finally announced, “You may look now.”

  They lifted their heads and found themselves facing a row of giant octagonal mirrors. Each one was at least five times their own height, and the line of mirrors barred their way like a giant glass wall. “Here we are, the maze of eight mirrors. Which one shall you choose—wisdom or honesty? Not all is as it seems, and not all that is said is the truth,” he said with a wise, but crafty, grin.

  While the others pondered his strange question, Han looked from one mirror to the next then all around the sides. “Is there no other way? Why don’t we walk around?”

  Zeorgan looked suspiciously at the Reader. “Because you will go nowhere unless you pass through the maze. I thought I made that clear. You must pass the tests in order to reach Zaend lands. It is the only way for we have made it so.”

  Han didn’t try to hide his discouragement, but Shasta reassured their guide, “If we must go through the mirrors, we will. Our only goal is to protect the Balance. Our intentions couldn’t be purer. We are assigned by existence itself. It wasn’t our choice, old man, we are not happy to be here either, but we have a duty to uphold.”

  Violen nodded in agreement. “Let’s get on with it then. Where do we begin?”

  “The path is in front of you, through the mirrors. Pick whichever one you wish; it makes no difference, just decide wisdom or honesty,” Zeorgan said then stepped back and waited. Watching.

  They all looked at each other. Dwade was unsure of himself, he commented, “Wisdom may not be a wise choice. Wisdom may mean different things for all of us. I would suggest honesty. As you said Violen, Shasta, we are all here to save the Balance.”

  His comment made sense to the others. He was right about wisdom; each person could have their own ideas about what wisdom might mean. But honesty was honesty at the end of the day. They nodded in agreement, and Dwade turned to face Zeorgan.

  “We choose honesty,” Dwade announced.

  The mirrors
moved and changed their order, then stood still again. Dwade went first. He touched the mirror, intrigued to find it soft as a sponge. Sinking his arm into the mirror, it seemed to change into liquid glass. As he pushed his body through, it felt as if he had been dunked in a pool of cold water, and then his head was through, and then his legs. Resigned to their fate, the rest of the small party entered one by one into the center mirror.

  Inside the mirror was—not surprisingly—more mirrors, but now they created clear paths. It was the beginning of a maze. The others made it through, and they stood inside waiting for Zeorgan to follow them. But he didn’t.

  “The damned old man. He’s abandoned us,” Han snapped angrily.

  “Figures.” Violen unsheathed her sword. “Which way now?”

  Because of their reflections, each passage seemed to be leading to the same place. The four of them were multiplied into an army as they turned left and right at random. Each time they made a turn, the more frantic they became. “I don’t think the direction we choose will make a difference. The test is about honesty, so let’s follow our instincts,” Dwade wisely said.

  “After you” Violen replied.

  Dwade tried to continue in a northward direction, but it soon became impossible to keep track. When they came to their twentieth intersection, he turned back to the others and confessed, “I’m not sure where to go.”

  The others looked around at the surrounding mirrors and noticed each path looked the same as the last and the one before that and on and on.

  “If we go left, we will head north, I think, that’s what you wanted, right?” Violen asked.

  Dwade shook his head. “I’ve already tried keeping track of our direction. I don’t think it’s possible.”