Draggons, page 21
part #2 of The Prophet Series
“Something is buzzing. I think there’s a hornet in my shirt…”
He swatted himself a couple more times for good measure. When the commotion ceased, and it was quiet, they could all hear it: a faint buzzing, coming from Eustas’ left pocket.
“Has it stung you yet?” Kat asked.
“No.”
She laughed. “Well, after all that,” she twirled one finger at him, “if it hasn’t decided you’re a threat, I think it’s safe to check it out.”
Eustas reached beneath the nano-suit jacket and felt inside his shirt with two fingers. It was vibrating—something thin and smooth and cold, like metal. Then he remembered the flash-card that Yoso gave him. He pulled it out and held it up to the light. It wasn’t blank. Now, there were words on it: square black letters against a white background.
Hold me close to the lock.
“How does this thing know we need a key-card?” Eustas stared at it with his mouth open.
The letters on the card broke apart and shattered into short, thin lines that swirled upon the white field, then came together, forming new words.
I am semi-aware and listening. Hold me close to the lock.
Eustas did as he was told.
The writing on the card split apart again, but now the lines dissolved into thousands of tiny black dots. A churning vortex moved across the card, leaving behind a random pattern of black-and-white squares, like some demented version of a King-Me board. When it was finished, it buzzed three times, and a bright white light circled the edge then winked out.
Eustas looked at them and shrugged, slipping the card into the lock.
The card-reader hummed happily, and clicked, the sound bouncing from the walls and down the stairway. A mechanical groan twisted the locking bolt, and the door popped open, heat striking them in the face. This tunnel was winding, but it wasn’t rough rock; it was carved to resemble the corridors inside a building: clean lines and spartan décor. Of the six doors on the right wall, only two had a soft glow streaming through the small round windows in their centers.
Kat paused at the lift-door as they passed. She slipped a Fang from her neck and used the tip to pry the control-panel loose, it popped away from the wall, and she caught it, cleanly slicing through the wires. A flashing-crackling electric arc flared, and a puff of acrid smoke drifted lazily away.
“This means no one is sneaking up behind us,” she said, setting the panel on the floor.
“It also means we have to take the stairs back down…” Dalo grinned, and the assassins suppressed a chuckle. Eustas rolled his eyes at both of them.
There were no locks on these doors. Dalo peered through the first window, his eyes adjusting to the brighter light. Four female Draggons in humanoid form sat at communication stations; each station took up one corner of the room—solid walls of electronic switches, gauges, and monitors. Every screen displayed a different Draggon’s view of the battle below. He turned to Eustas and Kat and held up four fingers.
Eustas pointed at the Vir’Con, then at Dalo’s door. They nodded and moved toward it, sliding Draggon-guns from their holsters.
Dalo examined the second window. This room was more extensive, more fancily dressed. In the center, surrounding a map table stood five Draggons: Darkonus, he recognized, but not the other four; one of them wore red instead of black. Dalo held up five fingers, slid Bloodrender from its sheath, and grabbed the door handle.
Kat and Dalo crouched behind him, and Eustas held up one hand, slowly folding his fingers in one by one until he was left with a fist. He pumped it once.
They twisted both handles, yanked both doors open, and rushed in to meet their fate.
Chapter Thirteen
Castor flattened his wings and plunged through the canopy of trees below, Orlan flat against his back. They escaped the clutch of the limbs, except for some minor scrapes.
Orlan sat up and leaned into the turn around a massive Oak trunk. When he was riding, he was one with the Griffin, and they were connected. They sensed each other’s moods, too, and Orlan could feel the elation pouring from Castor, at the thought of seeing Mother. Even the Griffins loved her.
Castor landed softly and walked toward the bell. Orlan jumped down and examined it. He’d never rung it: never had to. The bell was pure crystal, and expertly carved—it was flawless. It was smaller than a man’s head, but not by much. Two golden chains, suspended from the lowest limb of the enormous oak tree, held each side of the bell. There was a thin crystal striker, resting in the center of a smooth round stone below it.
Orlan picked it up, marveling at how clear it was.
Castor trilled at him anxiously.
“Ok, ok…” He raised the thin rod and tapped the edge of the bell.
A pure singing note burst to life. It made his heart swell. It flowed through the forest, passed along by the trees and plants, as they picked up the vibration and mimicked it, limbs, and leaves oscillating in perfect tone with the source. It faded away slowly, and the forest returned to normal, but it seemed brighter.
Castor trilled impatiently.
“No, we can’t ring it again. Now we have to wait. She always comes.”
***
“What do you mean, you’re their mother?” Alisha asked.
Jerain leaned back, pushing into the cushions of the chair. She crossed her legs and laid both hands in her lap, fingers entwined. She hesitated, trying to find the best words to explain.
“Throughout history, and across many worlds, people have called me different things: Natura, Gaia, and a hundred more that I can’t remember. But they all boil down to one concept: creation, and its preservation.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re God?” Alisha asked, the corners of her mouth turning up in a skeptical grin.
“No, child, the concept of a single god flows through the history of sentient beings, but it’s misplaced, an error in understanding, based on a desire for simplicity, in a complex multi-verse.”
“You lost me…”
“Let me see if I can make it clearer. Look at your world: the complexity, the variance. Do you think one being could accomplish everything necessary to create such a place? Or is it more likely to be the result of multiple powers, and various entities, working together, much like the world itself? Now, multiply that by the uncountable planets, and the manifold dimensions that inhabit the multi-verse. No single god could create, much less maintain it all, without something collapsing. There are only so many hours in a day, after all.”
“Ok, how does that explain your relationship to Yin, Yang, and Taiji?” Alisha asked. “How do gods have children?”
“You’re not listening. We are not gods—just ancient beings with unusual powers. I’m the oldest, of the Nazmari, and even I don’t know where we came from…”
“But, you have kids…”
“They’re the embodiment of me: the three aspects that control how things work. I didn’t create them, they sprang into being, based upon a need for them. I couldn’t do it alone, so I was multiplied. It wasn’t a conscious decision; it just happened. I still consider myself their mother, though, and they won’t tell you differently.”
“They never mentioned you.”
“You didn’t know to ask. Do you tell everyone you meet about your mother?”
“Fair point…”
Jerain smiled and leaned toward her. “Your mother and your uncles, to a lesser extent, are pivotal people, in the sense that their offspring, meaning you, are in a position to influence fate.”
“Don’t tell me fate is another Nazmari…” Alisha sighed.
“No, fate is a concept, but like most concepts, it’s important for the future, and it can be changed, by those with the power, and the will to do so.”
“Let’s assume I believe everything you’re telling me. Even if all this is true, how can it influence my fight against the Prophet? What can you do to tip the balance of power in my favor?”
“When you know the right question to ask—”
“Oh, please, not that again!” Alisha pushed out of her chair and spun around, leaning on the railing. “How can I know the right question when I can’t define the problem?”
“The problem is you’re not capable.”
Alisha spun around. “Not capable of what, defeating her?”
“Not capable of believing in yourself…” Jerain stood and walked away, motioning for her to follow. “You’re defeating yourself before the fight has even begun.”
She led them through a set of large glass doors. They passed down a long hallway lined with rich tapestries and paintings under spotlights that highlighted the colors and cast shadows along the floor. She stopped in front of a blank wall with four evenly spaced pegs protruding from it. She pointed at the empty slots. “You know about the tokens, don’t you?”
Alisha nodded. “Yes. I used them to defeat Sinestra years ago.”
“But they never told you about the one that I control, did they?”
“You have a token of power?”
Jerain smiled and waved her hand at the wall. The image of three Tokens of power shimmered under the light: a golden scepter, with a brilliant diamond head; a golden dagger that shined like the suns; and a silver ring that reflected the light, like a mirror. The last peg, the one above them, remained empty.
“What goes there?” Alisha asked, pointing at the empty peg.
“When you know the right question to ask, the answer will be obvious…” Jerain said as she stepped back, leaving her alone facing the wall.
Alisha thought for a moment. This was some test. Maybe she wanted a phrase? A specific word? Perhaps it had something to do with her last question?
“What can I use to defeat Ji’yael?”
She watched as the fourth peg shimmered, a mix of colors spinning round. They melded into a brilliant bronze disk with three different colored bars set across the face forming a triangle. The lights from the ceiling flashed off it, making her blink.
“What is that?” she asked.
“That is the Triscale,” Jerain said, back by her side, suddenly. “This Token controls the other three, and concentrates their power.”
“Can I use it?” Alisha asked, admiring the shiny disk.
“Of course. But you’ll need to retrieve it first.”
“Retrieve it… what do you mean?”
Jerain smiled and took Alisha’s hand. “This Token is not for the weak. It only responds to those who can control it. If you wish to use it, you must prove you’re worthy of its power. Otherwise, it could kill you.”
“Well, that sounds like fun.” Alisha laughed and reached for the Triscale. Her fingers passed through it. “This is an image!”
“You thought this would be easy?” Jerain asked.
“No, but I never thought it would be impossible.”
“You have to go get it, Alisha. It’s not here. I hid it in a place where no one can find it.”
“If no one can find it, how am I supposed to find it?”
“I’ll give you three clues. The rest is up to you. You will have to enter the void.”
“The void? Isn’t it empty?”
“The void reflects the thoughts and desires of the seeker. If you hold the image of what you want in your mind, the void will take you there. Otherwise, yes, it’s empty space. But it could be a difficult place, with an unfocused mind… the void connects with many different worlds, not just ours.”
“Do I have to go alone?”
“No, you can take anyone you like with you. As long as you go as a group, they will all experience your thoughts.”
Well, I need to round up some people, then. How will I get back here?” Alisha asked.
“Think about me. I’ll find you.” Jerain sat up, listening. “Do you hear that?”
“That music?” Alisha asked, looking toward the doors. “Well, it’s one note, but it reminds me of music.”
“I’ll be right back,” Jerain said.
Alisha turned back toward her, but she was gone.
Sa’riya shrugged. “She did say; she’d be right back.”
***
“Orlan, it’s been forever.” Jerain smiled and rubbed Castor’s head with one hand.
“Mother!” He took her other hand and bowed at the waist, a foolish smile on his lips. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“You’re all welcome here, all the Na’Geena, you know that.” She sighed. “But, sadly, no one comes. So why have you come, Orlan?”
“You seem a little, out-of-touch, Mother. Do you know what’s happening right now?”
Jerain cocked her head and smiled. “I don’t pay much attention anymore, Orlan. My boys take care of things. Normally, they do a fine job, but occasionally someone like you brings me news indicating otherwise. Is this one of those times?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Orlan shrugged, then arched his brow, “but Nu’reen gave me a message for you.”
“Nu’reen…”
“Yes, she said you weren’t listening to her, and she needed your help.”
Jerain’s face grew dark, too dark to be the dying light through the trees.
“What was the message,” she asked, leaning close, “the exact message?”
“I need your help, or she’ll be lost…”
The darkness covered her: from head to toe, a thin, sinuous cloud. Slim strings of black glided beneath a thin gray cover, encasing her in an ebony shell. The gray smoothed it out, filling in the cracks and voids until the entire casing gleamed like the sun above Erador in the early morning.
She spent several years inside the shell, examining the angles and odds, looking for bifurcations: divisions in the timeline that didn’t fit within her plan. She followed them all, to random conclusions, making sure where they’d lead. She chose three possible outcomes and then narrowed it down to two that were similar, but different enough to be interesting.
The shell dissolved, black washing into the stone beneath their feet.
Orlan snapped out of the time-lock, and finished his sentence, “…that’s all she told me. I guess you know what it means…”
Jerain brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. “Yes, Orlan, I understand.”
***
Dalo stalked down the short entry-hall, Eustas, and Kat on his heels. Four bursts of thunder rocked the tunnel behind them. The whole mountain shook, sending a rain of dust and loose rock fragments down from the ceiling. Groans from the Vir’Con filtered to them through the cloud of dust hanging in the air.
They hadn’t lost their footing, but they were all clutching something more reliable or holding their ears, especially the Draggons, whose hearing is far more acute than humans. Kat was lying on her side, in the center of the hallway, clutching both sides of her head.
Dalo grabbed her wrist and pulled her up. She shook her head to clear it and looked at Eustas—he pushed away from the wall, waving them on.
Darkonus staggered backward, stopped by a stone column, both palms against his head. The Generals and Duras picked themselves up from the floor, drawing swords and daggers.
Dalo and Eustas leveled their swords at them, but Kat stepped between them, holding her hands high.
“Stop!”
“Step aside, Princess. These humans have invaded our home…” Duras challenged her.
“It’s my home too, Duras,” Kat said, slipping the Twin Fangs from her sheathes, “and it’s time that was recognized, and some wrongs righted.”
Darkonus dropped his hands and laughed, “Is this your plan, daughter? Appeal to the hearts of my followers? Because I assure you, they will not stray from the line.”
“We should hear her!” Duras snapped, his eyes blazing at the king. The Generals stepped behind him, nodding.
Darkonus eyed them all with a hint of disdain. “Fine, let’s hear what she has to say…”
Kat swallowed. The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. She thought about Delia, about holding her dying body, watching the light fade from her eyes. She stared at her father, her murderer, and all she felt was pity: she couldn’t bring herself to hate him, but that wasn’t necessary, she only wanted justice. “Duras, you were a scholar, until recently. Isn’t there an ancient law that says any Draggon can challenge any other Draggon for any position?”
Duras nodded and smiled. “Yes, your highness, that law exists.”
“Are you serious?” Darkonus glared at them. “No one has challenged a Draggon-king, ever!”
Duras turned to the Generals with a questioning glance. They all nodded, and he turned back, smiling at Darkonus. “Do you remember, when I said, ‘I’ll let you know when we have a problem?’”
“Yes.” Darkonus nodded, the corners of his mouth twisting in anger.
“Well, now, we have a problem.”
Duras and the Generals removed their weapons and laid them at Katreena’s feet. They moved back, and Duras bowed. “Your challenge is honored, your highness. And we validate it.”
She turned, slowly, the Twin Fangs in her hands, and blood in her eyes.
Darkonus rushed her, his shoulder in her chest sent her flying across the room. She rolled, regaining her feet, but off-balance, bouncing on her left foot.
Darkonus grabbed her wrist and shoved it across the corner of a wall, snapping the bones.
She screamed in pain and dropped the second Fang; it clattered to a stop against the wall, the void wraith dancing angrily inside.
He pushed her to the floor, straddling her chest. “I told you, Katreena, you can’t beat me, because you won’t do what it takes…”
Darkonus raised Suffering above his head with both hands and drove it toward his daughter’s heart. It flashed through half the distance, and exploded on the edge of Bloodrender, held solid by Dalo, intercepting the blow.
Both blades shattered. Transformed into fragments of light and darkness, bits of metal and sundry power tumbled in a wave of cascading energy that ripped the side from the mountain. Vyr’s Maw exploded, raining fire and rock on the armies below. They barely noticed, intent on cleaving themselves into oblivion.
Kat’s other Fang slammed into Darkonus’ chest with all the force she could muster. The blade sunk in to the hilt. He fell back on the floor, grasping at the handle, unable to pull it free. Black Draggon-blood pooled at the corners of his mouth and ran down his cheeks. He choked on it, trying to speak. Kat held the dagger in place, as the void wrath drained his soul.
