Dragon Child

Chapter 6

“An empire that finds itself divided. Not even the greatest empires in history could withstand civil unrest,” Max sighed. “And Allentria is far from a great empire. Necrovar’s return has exacerbated problems that have been growing for centuries. The states have grown jealous and fearful of one another. My father is afraid the Galantasa will use you and Thorion against him.”

“How could he possibly think that?”

“Ordinarily I’d say it’s just him being his usual self, but I’m afraid there’s something more to it this time. He’s determined to fan the flames that have arisen between the Erastate and the Galantasa, and you . . . well, I’ve said it before. You were the spark that lit the fire.”

Keriya stared at the table, feeling ill. She hadn’t realized staying in Irongarde would have such serious repercussions.

Max patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Once you’re in Noryk, the states won’t be able to argue over you anymore. When are you leaving?”

“The day after tomorrow,” she said quietly.

“Any word on when you’ll get your sword?”

“No. I’m starting to think they threw it away and aren’t telling me.”

He loosed a dark chuckle. “Let’s hope not.”

“I thought you didn’t like that sword.” Her friends were wary of the ancient weapon because it had been a gift from the bogspectre.

“I don’t. But it makes you happy, and I like seeing you happy.”

Her cheeks grew hot. She hadn’t considered how much she would miss Max when they parted ways.

Their meals came soon after. They spoke of simple things while they ate, but Keriya’s mind was elsewhere. She worried about returning to Noryk, and about how long it might be before she saw Max again. In the background, the minstrel was still singing:

“I’ll sing a tale of the dragon child

With the greatest gift to give.

Necrovar was far beguiled,

He sought a magic, fey and wild:

Valerion’s soul, by dark defiled—

He died that we might live.”

It was foolish of her to have grown comfortable. Max and Effrax were right. Just because she’d solved one problem—albeit a big one—that didn’t mean the world was saved. Nor did it mean she and Thorion were safe from the world. Now that she knew the states were fighting amongst themselves, her required residency in Noryk took on a more sinister tone.

She tried her best to enjoy the evening, but the low simmer of anxiety in her gut forbade it. Even when Max walked her to the infirmary and promised he would see her before she left, she only managed to be marginally excited.

Thorion and Roxanne were asleep by the time Keriya reached her room, and she got ready for bed quietly so as not to wake them. Burrowing beneath the covers of her bed, she lay and stared at the tiled ceiling for a long time. She wanted to sleep, to escape her worries.

But if she’d thought sleeping would help, she had been sorely mistaken.

CHAPTER FOUR“To know your heart, look at your dreams. To know your soul, listen to your nightmares.”

~ Sylen Alenciae, Sixth Age

Keriya stood in a cave coated with lush moss and creeping vines. A forest of stalactites and stalagmites lay before her, illuminated by dimly glowing toadstools. She knew where she was, though she didn’t know how she’d gotten there.

This was Shivnath’s home.

Shivnath herself crouched in the middle of the cavern. Curved horns framed the dragon god’s noble face. Her dark emerald scales, each edged with a thin line of gold, glimmered through the shadows. Though neither moon had yet risen, the overcast night sky paled in comparison to her eyes, which were blacker than pitch and slashed with purple slitted pupils.

This has to be a dream, Keriya thought. The last time she’d spoken to Shivnath, the two of them had parted on poor terms. Shivnath had asked Keriya for the bogspectre’s sword, and Keriya had refused to give it to her.

The bogspectre was there, too. It hovered in a corner, its gloppy body rippling with tension. Its one remaining eye shone with malice as it glowered at the third guest: Necrovar.

This told Keriya that she was definitely dreaming, because Necrovar was dead.

He was a translucent blotch of darkness hanging stagnant in the air. There was no face, no eyes, no mouth, but Keriya could tell he was looking at her.

“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” he said. “Keriya Soulstar. To what do we owe the honor?”

Keriya wasn’t afraid. This was a projection of her subconscious, a response to her earlier conversation with Max.

“You’re dead,” she informed him.

“Do you think I could have been defeated by a silly girlchild and her pet lizard? You couldn’t hurt me even if you had ten thousand armies at your back.”

Just a dream, Keriya told herself. Dream-Necrovar was voicing her innermost fears, the ones she would never admit aloud.

“I could,” rasped the bogspectre, lashing its tail. “I could destroy you.”

Necrovar looked at it in as condescending a manner as a shadow could manage. “You are soulless and useless. A leftover from ages past. Beneath my notice.”

“Do not mock me! I am the bogspectre, bane of the Galantasa. I will force your soul out and inhabit your body, I shall rot you from the inside and feast on your—”

It was interrupted by Necrovar’s haunting laughter.

“Pathetic. You don’t remember anything, do you? I don’t need you anymore.” The Shadow swirled about and looked at Keriya. “You, on the other hand . . . you are an anomaly.”

“I killed you,” Keriya maintained. That made him laugh again. At least one of them was having a good time.

“Shivnath,” he said, “you’ve been so tight-lipped—you must tell me where you found her. I want all the details.”

Keriya glanced at the looming dragon. Shivnath, who had been staring at the bogspectre, turned her attention to Necrovar. “She came from Aeria.”

“A new nation,” he surmised.

It was Shivnath’s turn to chuckle. “Much has happened since your imprisonment. You’ve been gone a long time, Helkryvt.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his amiable demeanor evaporating.

Shivnath rolled her wing joints, unintimidated. “I answered one of your questions, now I want you to answer one of mine. Why are you delaying when the key to your return is right in front of you?”

“Perhaps you missed it, but Keriya and I had quite an altercation,” he replied in a dangerously polite tone. “I’ve been trying to regenerate my strength before I take my next step.”

Shivnath examined him, her face a mask. “You’re weak,” she murmured, sounding shocked.

“I am not WEAK!”

Keriya dove for cover behind a stalagmite as the Shadow lashed out, sending black sparks flying across the cave. Just a dream, she repeated over and over. He can’t hurt me anymore.

“You don’t know what the Etherworld is like, Dragon. It drained me of everything I was! The fact that I survived proves I am stronger than anyone ever gave me credit for.”

Shivnath’s snout crinkled in a silent snarl. “I may not have shared your imprisonment, but do not presume that I have never been a prisoner. You have the power of a god, but none of the burden. You don’t know what I’ve suffered.”

“Whose fault is that?” Keriya found that an odd response, but she had no time to dwell on it. Necrovar continued to hurl a***e at the dragon: “When I win this war, I’ll be a better god than you and your brethren ever were. Cowering, sniveling, wretched creatures, the lot of you. How many ages did you sit by and watch the world decay?”

“The binding laws exist for a reason,” Shivnath replied haughtily.

“Yes, yes—mortals must make their own decisions. But what if those decisions are bad?” he countered. “Your job would be so easy if you stopped them from their destructive ways. If you prevent them from misusing their powers, the magics will equilibrate naturally. Not only will you have peace, you will also have balance.”

“Lofty ideals as always, Helkryvt.”

“If you won’t see reason, I will show you.” His voice was suddenly gentle. “If you can’t do it, I will do it for you. Once my soul is balanced, I’ll be able to leave the Etherworld.”

“Good luck with that,” the bogspectre muttered from where it brooded.

“I need no luck,” Necrovar spat. “Already my followers are laying the groundwork for my return. I will restore Indrath Necros and reclaim my rightful title as the Shadow Lord.”

Keriya’s heart took a series of erratic, acrobatic leaps. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only a dream!

Finally her subconscious got the hint. The cave dissolved. She was alone, sinking in a dark sea of calm, and there was no one around to say horrible things.

Keriya cringed. The mindvoice pulsed through her brain, blazing a trail of fire across the interior of her skull.

She opened her eyes. She was back in Shivnath’s cave, though neither the bogspectre nor Necrovar were present this time. For that, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“We meet again,” said Shivnath, lowering her head to be on a level with Keriya’s.

“Yeah,” said Keriya. “How . . . how are you?” She cringed at her awkwardness and fidgeted under the dragon’s gaze.

“What were you dreaming of?”

That wasn’t the question Keriya had expected, and it threw her off-guard. “I don’t remember.”

“Is that so?” Shivnath’s tone implied that she knew Keriya was lying. Keriya wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not; she didn’t know what to make of all she’d seen.

“Why does it matter?” she said. “It was just a dream.”

“On the contrary, dreams reveal the most meaningful parts of our souls. A dream is the only place where you cannot hide from yourself.”

Or from you, Keriya thought, though the sudden sharpness and detail in the surrounding world told her this conversation was real. Shivnath had done a fancy bit of magic and intruded in her head to talk.

“Fine. I was dreaming about the bogspectre.”

“Oh?” Shivnath’s brow ridges rose in interest.

“And . . . Necrovar. You were there, in the dream, and you called him Helkryvt,” said Keriya. “Why?”

“Do you know who Helkryvt is?” Shivnath asked, her eyes narrowing to midnight slivers.

“Everyone knows Helkryvt. Even the Allentrians use his name.”

A low rumble echoed along the length of Shivnath’s armored throat. “Enlighten me.”

“The dragon-god Shivnath is the ruler of all that is good and just, and the evil god Helkryvt is her worst enemy. The two have been locked in conflict since the time before time, Shivnath fighting for balance, Helkryvt for power.” Keriya quoted a passage from her favorite book, an ancient tome she’d read so often during her childhood that she’d memorized its pages.

“Helkryvt is not a true god, as you overheard,” said Shivnath. “He is—or rather, was—a mortal. The mortal who offered himself as a vessel for Necrovar.”

Keriya’s jaw dropped. She knew the story, of course: Necrovar itself was no more than dark energy, and it had no power over man unless man chose to give it power. In the Second Age it bonded with a mortal host, gaining a soul and the ability to wield magic. Though Empress Aldelphia had explained this months ago, it had never occurred to Keriya to ask about the Shadow’s human vessel.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Why what?” said Shivnath, a dangerous snap in her voice. “Why did Helkryvt do it? Why did he condemn the world to ten ages of imbalance and suffering? Why did he throw away his life, his identity, and allow a parasite into his soul?” Her nostrils flared and she let out a slow breath. “I suspect it is the simplest and most complex of explanations, the best and worst reason anyone does anything.”