Chapter Eleven #2
The man bowed his head. The flames were now just inches away from his flesh, eating away at the wood in his hands. His eyes met Gedeon’s, wide and filled with urgency. ‘I have seen what will be, my lord, and it cannot be unseen! A clear future that Eraura has entrusted me to share with you.’
Sekun spat on the floor behind him at the mention of the Fire Goddess.
Gedeon said, ‘Speak your message, then, and quickly. My brother swiftly tires of your voice.’
‘Not a message, my lord, but a warning!’ the man said somewhat hysterically.
‘You do not hear the Mother’s voice as you should, and so she shows me this future, this happening of darkness that cannot be evaded.
You will bring about the end of times, Gedeon Dewmaul, Prince of Fire.
You, who have been reared on lies and deception.
You will destroy what is known, to bring about what once was!
Hear me, my lord, hear my words and fear them! You will be Droria’s doom!’
He lifted his face to the sky as the fire snaked down his wrists, the shining fluid on his body catching alight. ‘TAKE ME BEFORE THE EYES OF THOSE WHO NEGLECT YOU, OH MIGHTY MOTHER! LET ME BURN FOR YOU, LET ME DIE IN THE HEAT OF YOUR WRATH!’
The flames spread down his body as fast as scurrying ants until he was completely submerged in orange death.
Gedeon could have stopped it with a snap of his fingers, but he was glued to the spot, watching, just watching as the man fell to the ground, screeching and writhing as the blaze ate away at his flesh and bones.
A dagger flew through the air and embedded itself deep into the man’s skull. His body crumpled, still aflame, a mockery of his intended martyrdom.
‘Let it be known that Eraura’s flames did not claim him. I did,’ Sekun said coldly. As he turned to leave, his eyes fixed on Amala. Whether that glare filled her with fear or not, she held it, unblinking.
The dark sneer of malevolence that grew on Sekun’s face sent a wave of dread through Gedeon.
He’d been foolish to allow her to come. He may as well have put a target on her back for Sekun to aim at.
The dead man lay still burning, the pungent stench of searing flesh filling the ashy air as the citizens of Dracyg watched Sunsi’s men attempt to douse the flames, stunned into a horrified silence.
But it wasn’t the smell nor the sight of the dead man that had set Gedeon’s heart beating at an irregular rhythm.
You will be Droria’s doom.
The man had to have been an augur, surely, to have been shown a vision of the future? That is, if the words spoken had been true, and not delivered through certain madness.
‘Sunsi,’ he murmured. ‘Would you do something for me?’ The use of her given name in such a public setting had surprise flashing in her hazel eyes, but she nodded all the same, awaiting his order.
‘Take the girl back to the fledgling quarters in the east wing, and station a couple of your sentries at the entrance. Ensure entry to no one but myself.’
Sunsi lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is she dangerous?’
‘She has a habit of wandering,’ replied Gedeon, preferring not to reveal the real reason for his caution.
‘It will be done,’ Sunsi said at once, then turned on her heel to usher Amala back inside.
‘Master Gedeon!’
By the Four, the girl had less sense than a lava nymph.
‘Where are you going?’ Amala demanded.
Gedeon glanced at Sunsi, whose mouth twitched with amusement. ‘There is someone I must speak with,’ he said. ‘Go with the captain, Amala. I will see you at our next lesson.’
She made no move to go. ‘I do not think you will be Droria’s doom, Master Gedeon. I think you will save it.’
It was said so simply. So innocently.
Sunsi went very still behind her.
Gedeon could give no coherent reply. Amala, apparently, did not need one. She gave a very small smile, one that did not quite reach her eyes, then trotted back to Sunsi.
He watched them go through the black gates and out of sight, then turned his attention to the mountain that stood on the other side of the city.
The eyes of the people trailed him as he made his way through their city, heading for the volcano, toward the one being that would give him candid counsel, the only being he trusted enough to witness the turmoil growing within him.
Wishing he had wings of his own, he scaled the live mountain, the skin on his hands morphing to the hardness of a lizard’s scales to protect him from the jagged stone.
An hour it took, maybe more, for him to reach his destination on the west side of the mountain, still far away enough from the mouth of the volcano at the peak that the air remained somewhat cool.
He clambered into the mouth of a cave, and deep in the shadows, something shifted.
A deep, husking female voice, as clear as if it were spoken aloud, sounded in his mind: So, the princeling returns. To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?
Gedeon smirked at the sound of her mocking voice, even at his own expense. Already in her presence, the conflict within him eased, and his smile grew wider as Tanwen the great white dragon stepped into the light.
It’s been some time, he told her.
That it has, she replied with an impatient exhale, tucking in her almost translucent wings at her sides. I assume you have been busy?
Fairly.
She gave a great sniff, her huge nostrils wrinkling. You reek of burnt human flesh. What have you been doing?
Gedeon moved to her and rested his hand on her snout. I have much to tell you. Will you listen?
I am forever your servant, Gedeon. Her tone was somewhat annoyed, but she pushed her snout against his hand endearingly.
To be bonded to a dragon was no regular thing, and theirs was one of true friendship like Gedeon had never known.
He’d been a child when he’d found her. Upon first glance, he’d believed her dead.
But as he drew closer, he noticed the rise and fall of her chest, the time between each breath too long and laboured.
But she was alive.
An infant white dragon, rarer than the bond they shared, and believed by human and fae alike to be spirit-blessed for the opaline sheen of her scales, Tanwen had been born to one of the five dragon queens of the Apex, a mountainous terrain in the very north of Zarynth and home to all creatures bred by fire.
Proud creatures to their core, and deeply distrustful of anything that was not ordinary, the queen who had mothered Tanwen cast her from her home in those pointed lands, for she was a runt of a hatchling and white as pure, unsoiled snow.
Her size was one thing, but it was her colouring, the blanched pearlescent shine to her scales that marked her as different, as weak in the eyes of the dragons.
Gedeon had been following Sekun that day as he’d often done, a child intrigued by his older brother’s escapades when he saw her, curled up on the bank, the whiteness of her stark against the black rock beneath.
Carefully scooping her into the folds of his cloak, he ignored Sekun’s snide remarks, for his brother would have seen her sink to the bottom of the Emor without a look back.
He’d tried to take her from him that day.
And Gedeon, overcome with a sudden urge to protect the helpless, vulnerable creature, had blasted Sekun away with a roar of fire.
A scarce display of the Fire Warden magic he had been told by their mother never to use unless strictly instructed by her to do so.
Gedeon had not cared, even with Sekun’s furious threats to expose his lapse of control to the Empress as he tried to chase after him.
Shrouded in Xados’ darkness, he eventually shook Sekun from his trail and scaled the then dormant Mount Morkun, finding a cave for the little dragon, and swearing he would come back in the days to follow to nurse her back to health.
That promise was kept, and Tanwen grew to be more magnificent than he could ever have anticipated.
The only dragon to call Mount Morkun home, now too big and powerful to be culled by those who disapproved (namely Sekun and his mother), Tanwen thrived and had often-times been the only voice of reason he was willing to completely trust. She had survived against the odds, crawled her way back to sweet life when death’s hold had been almost unshakeable.
So he had aptly named her Tanwen, ‘white-fire’, for the light she had brought into his own life.
There was never a doubt in his mind that he had found Tanwen for a reason. Even if his belief in destiny wavered from time to time. A bond with a dragon was a bond for eternity. A sought out connection that very few had ever successfully made, and one Gedeon was extremely grateful for.
With as much detail as he could remember, (for Tanwen had told him time and time again, without the specifics, how can good judgement be made?), he recounted the recent, irregular happenings that had unsettled him.
The Earth Warden and the strange projection. Amala’s determined spirit. The task the Empress had given him and Sekun. The pious man’s suicide, and the warning he’d given.
Tanwen listened carefully, without interruption. The girl… she began after he was finished. The youngling. Why is she so different from the others?
Gedeon sat, resting his back on the cave wall. I cannot explain it. She does not listen, she is reckless and foolish and yet-
You are realising she is human and not just another number. His gut twisted uncomfortably, but Tanwen went on. This man who just gave his life to the Fire Mother… do you believe the words he spoke to be true?
I have not had much experience with augurs, Gedeon admitted. Do their visions always come to pass? Or are they interchangeable with the choices of those involved?
Your experience surpasses mine, I am sure, princeling, for I only talk to you.
Gedeon couldn’t help but laugh at the dry tone of her voice.
But I would say from a place of divine wisdom, that visions and prophecies are not mapped out like the certainty of the stars above.
The future is inevitably unpredictable and can shift like a change in the wind.
If I were you, I would not take the dead man’s last words too literally.
The twist in his gut fractionally loosened.
Tanwen’s gaze hardened, her huge golden eyes fixed on him. And what of the Empress’ task, Gedeon? I sense your hesitancy… I must ask you why.
Because it will officially begin the war, Gedeon said grimly. I suppose I did not ever think the time would come. Yet here it is.
Her gaze did not waver. It is your duty.
Gedeon gave her an incredulous look. I know you do not believe that.
No, she agreed. But you do. You believe your sole purpose is to serve the crown, the Empress, even if it goes against what your heart is telling you.
Gedeon stood and stared out over Dracyg, at the black castle in the distance, a structural monstrosity of spikes and shards, like a hundred spears poised to pierce the sky. I am a prince of Zarynth, Tanwen. My duty is to serve my lands. To serve my queen.
Tanwen huffed. Her hot breath washed over him. You are also a Warden, chosen by Eraura to keep the balance of the realm. The Empress seeks to destroy that balance.
I did not come here to be chastised.
It is not chastising if it is the truth.
Folding his arms across his chest, he said, I did not think you concerned yourself with the affairs of us mere flesh mortals.
Her low laugh resounded in his mind. Do not mistake my concern for you as caring about Zarynth’s politics. I could not care less who sits on the famed Black Throne. But your mother’s ambition for a united world goes against everything the Four Mothers have created.
I believe in that ambition too, he reminded her with a slight warning. You know this.
Sadness filled Tanwen’s orb-like eyes. That I do. But I ask you this, as your friend: Do you share that ambition because that is what you truly believe? Or do you share it because you have never considered another choice?
Gedeon held her knowing stare. Tanwen had always been upfront in her opinions, but never had she been so bold to suggest that the life he had led was somehow corrupted.
It was unnerving.
My loyalty has, and always will be, to the Empress. To the crown. There is no other choice. It is my birthright.
Your loyalty is one of the many great things about you, Tanwen said proudly. But you have always had a choice, Gedeon. When you found me, you could have let me die. It would have been much easier that way. But you chose to give me life. You chose kindness.
Gedeon shook his head. That was different. I was a child.
If you found a hatchling in need now, full grown as you are, would you treat it differently?
Gedeon didn’t respond. No. You would act in the same way you did as a boy because that is who you are.
A child’s will is pure. That purity is forgotten as we grow and become manipulated by those around us.
But the child never leaves us, and it is the child we must listen to in times of unrest.
Then what do you suggest, friend? Gedeon asked with a touch of impatience, peering at the black castle once more. I cannot openly refuse my queen’s command. I am no traitor.
She moved then, as gracefully as any giant could, her magnificent head appearing to the side of him. You have a great deal of honour in your heart. You must decide who it belongs to: the Prince of Zarynth, or the Warden of Fire.
It did not answer his question. Tanwen often spoke in infuriating riddles that somehow made him face the parts of himself he had scrupulously learned to evade.
Had he ever known who he truly was? Had he forsaken his duty as Fire Warden, to the people of Droria, of Zarynth, for his duty as prince?
Was there a possibility that he could give equal parts of himself to both? The Fire Warden and the prince?
Would his mother ever allow him to be both?
What of the Earth Warden? Gedeon asked Tanwen, suddenly remembering the dripping wet earthling in his chambers. You have not spoken on the impossible projection between us.
Ah, yes. She gave a great huff. I think, as with all unexplainable things, that only time will reveal the nature of this… impossibility.
In other words, be patient, Gedeon said drily. Thank you for that illuminating insight.
Her great head nudged his side none too gently, offsetting his balance. He laughed, and the war raging within him fractionally calmed. At least for a while.