Prologue Part One
“Ria!” His ice blue gaze swept over the rocks near the edge of the bathing pool. “Ria!” he called again. There was no answer. “Where are you, child? It’s time for sleep.” Behind one of the larger rocks scattered about the space, blue scales glimmered in the pale yellow glow of the Rusco Lichen that clung to the ceiling of the large domed “room”. “Ria?” He ambled over to the large rock, turned his back on the sliver of scales barely visible behind the mottled black stone, and sat down. “Hmm, I wonder where she’s gone,” he said loudly. The only response he received was a muffled giggle. “Perhaps she’s run away.” He clasped his hands together in his lap and leaned back to peek at the spot she’d tucked herself into. “No one can hold on to a dragon for long. They’re wild creatures after all.” He sighed dramatically. “I’m going to miss her.” He got to his feet and closed his good wing against his back. His other wing jutted out from his body at an odd angle. “Who will I tell stories to now?” he asked as he strolled to the opening in the cave wall.
“Ziel wait!” The loud cry was followed by the sound of claws scrabbling at the rock. “I’m here!” she yelled. He turned with a feigned look of surprise on his face as she scurried down the other side of the rock. “I was just playing!”
He flung his arms open. “There you are!” He bent down, scooped her little body into his arms, and pulled her to his chest. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Her long neck curved gracefully as she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Did you really?”
“Truly,” he said. They moved through the hallway that led out into the main room of their domicile. He wrapped his good wing around the front of his body to shield her from view, in case someone should pass by the large opening in the front wall that served as a window. The loosely woven covering on the opening did little to provide privacy, not that was really necessary since their home was on the highest level of the underground settlement, but it never hurt to be careful. He turned his steps to the rear of the dwelling, where the sleeping rooms were located.
“Ziel,” she said as she laid her head on his chest. “I’d never leave you.”
He looked down at the little dragon, who was about the size of a year old goat, nestled in his arms. “I was teasing you, little lass.” They entered her sleeping room, and he set her down on the pallet next to the back wall. The bed was just a flat stone that he had layered several Saxum Vermis pelts across. After he’d placed her on the striped black and grey fur, he turned and went to a set of shelves on the wall next to the bed, where a stack of homespun clothes were neatly piled. “But,” he said as he pulled a short night dress out. “When the day comes that you want to find your own kind, I will understand.”
Ria watched as he set the night dress next to her, then squatted down so he was at her eye level. “Do you really think it still exists?”
“The dragon lands?” She nodded quickly. “A world occupied by all the species of dragons, where no one has to hide away their true nature for anyone else’s comfort? Where you could fly anytime you want, not just when you sneak out to the surface?” He smiled. “I do, and I pray the stars lead you there someday.” His fingers tapped the night dress. “Now, if you’re finished trying to distract me—” She tossed her head back and giggled, a happy trill that was unique to her species, a joyful musical sound that never failed to lift his spirits. “Please transform and get dressed for bed.”
Her lips split open in a dragon version of a smile. “Will you tell me a story?” His head tilted while he made a show of trying to decide. “Please?”
“Well, it is rather late…”
“Please, please, please!” It would be difficult for even the darkest of hearts to not be moved by the pleadings of that young dragon. Her soulful eyes took up a quarter of her head, and if a person wasn’t moved by the look in them, then surely the note of desperation that she weaved into her voice would snag their heart. “The one about when you, and Artemis, and Olomenar found me,” she said in an excited chirp.
“Alright but first.” He looked at the night dress pointedly.
“Okay.” Her little snout dipped, demonstrating her sadness, as she climbed from the bed and stood next to him.
He turned his head away to give her a little privacy. “I’m sorry, lass. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.” The clothes rustled softly as she pulled them out of his peripheral view. “We wouldn’t survive on the surface.”
A child’s hand reached out to grip his arm briefly. “I know.” He turned back to her, and she smiled at him. “I just wanted to feel like me for a while.”
He tucked a strand of white blonde hair behind her very human-looking ear with a sad smile. “I understand lass.”
Her eyes retained their intense green colour, but the rest of her was completely transformed. Gone was the sleek, graceful body of what would one day be a sizable dragon. In its place stood a human child of approximately six years old. All of her kind transformed into humans when they were concealing themselves. It was typically the first spell a baby dragon unraveled from the profusion of spells they inherited from their parents during gestation.
Ria climbed onto the pallet. Ziel held the corner of one pelt up, and she threw herself under it with a happy giggle. Even in her human form, her voice held a touch of music. She grabbed the pelt and tucked it under her chin. “Ready,” she said with a wide grin.
Ziel lifted himself up high enough to sit on the edge of the pallet and smoothed the pelt down to cover her shoulders. “Long ago, there was a warrior—”
“He was a king,” she said earnestly.
“Yes,” he said with a little smile. “He was a king—”
“And he fought a huge black dragon!”
Ziel tapped her nose gently with his finger. “I thought you wanted me to tell the story,” he said with a chuckle. She grinned up at him. “Where was I?” He squinted at her for a moment, as though he was trying to find the answer on her still smiling face. “Ah yes! Once there was a king who, with the help of his loyal fighters, and a half-breed star elf, fought against a mighty black dragon.”
“Did they win?” she asked as she wiggled under the pelt, settling her little body deeper into the pelts piled there.
Ziel laughed softly. No matter how many times he’d recounted the story of their meeting, she always asked the same questions. “Yes, lass, we won. We protected the realm from the fearsome dragon, and the elf’s magic reinforced the barrier before it was destroyed.”
“But the king was trapped,” she breathed.
Ziel swallowed the lump that had materialized in his throat. “He was trapped.”
The rupture slammed shut with a massive boom. Aziel, his wing still caught in the dragon’s mouth, felt intense relief at the sound. No matter what came next, his family and his people would be safe from the Shadowlands. He took comfort in that thought as the ground rushed up at him.
The dragon’s body hit the ash covered ground first, with an ear-splitting crash. Aziel closed his eyes and conjured the last image he had of his mate to the forefront of his mind. Heart achingly beautiful, strong, and intelligent Sidera. Her captivating green eyes looking at him with pride and love as she lifted her hand in farewell that very morning. He’d intended it to be the last thing he saw in his life.
But death didn’t come for him that day.
The fall to the ground knocked him senseless for several long minutes. When he opened his eyes, reluctantly releasing his memory of Sidera, and took a breath. He was alive.
The dragon’s head had landed near the barrier. Aziel contemplated the wall for a moment. His shoulders slumped as he stared at it. Salvation did not lie in that direction. There was no incantation to open a portal from the Shadowlands.
He turned to look at the dragon’s head. Its one intact eye was open. Thankfully, there was no movement that he could detect. The jaws had unclenched in death. He sat up slowly and wiggled his broken appendage from between the teeth that had not only fractured the bones in a couple of places, but had punctured the membrane under his feathers. Freeing himself was a painful endeavor that left him damp with perspiration and lightheaded. Once he was liberated, he looked around and spotted the pommel of his sword sticking out from under the beast’s jaw. He yanked it free and turned away from the carcass to survey the immediate area.
Everywhere he looked, there was devastation.
The once wondrous landscape of the sun and moon elf realm was slowly being consumed by the grey ash that was the hallmark of the Shadowlands. The forest directly in front of him, its trees covered in every shade of purple a person could imagine, was deteriorating into a sickly grey. The trees were being starved of the bright sunlight they needed to maintain their cheerful foliage by huge, dark clouds that boiled across the sky almost constantly. It had only been a few weeks since the wall had fallen, but the landscape was quickly becoming unrecognizable.
Aziel’s heart clenched as his gaze fell on a pile of charred bodies. Elves that the faeries hadn’t been able to rescue. Survivors of the fall. Word must have reached them about a band of winged fighters who had taken advantage of the initial tear in the barrier by slipping into the ruined realm to bring whomever they could find to the safety of their own lands. They’d been able to rescue over a thousand. It wasn’t a momentous number but not insignificant, and when darkness seeks to snuff out every scrap of light in its path, any victory is a great victory.
He took one more look at the barrier, then turned away and began to walk. All the while listening carefully for any sign of danger. So far, it had been quiet. Most likely, the weaker beings had scattered when the black dragon had moved into the area. It was unlikely that the reprieve would last long.
Aziel purposely kept his pace slow. Not only to keep from jostling his broken bones, but also to avoid making noise that might call attention to his passing. Though they may have dispersed with the less substantial beasts, it was likely that there were Shoban in the vicinity. Where there was a black dragon, Shoban were almost always close by.
In their natural form, they were faerienoid in shape, but wingless, with blueish translucent skin. Their bones and organs nearly visible through their hide, until they shape shifted that is. With their below average level of intelligence, they tended to seek the protection of larger, more cunning creatures, and nothing was more cunning than a black dragon. Except for a shadow dragon, of course.
Aziel’s path brought him to a small river. Its waters were still running clear. The green grass along its banks was covered in a light layer of ash. He looked around. No other living beings were in sight, and cautiously knelt down to dip his hands in the cool water. After rinsing his hands and face clean, he cupped handfuls of water and drank deeply.
He had nothing in which he could carry more water. He knew the biggest peril he would face in his immediate future, besides the dangerous residents of the Shadowlands, was dehydration he decided to stay near the river if he could. Not too close, but near enough that he could make out the gentle rush of water in the distance.
On the bright side of things, if one could call any part of being stuck in a hostile realm bright, since the fight had concluded near midmorning, he had time to find shelter before night fell and the truly frightening creatures appeared. The layer of ash that was building up on the ground muffled his footsteps, but it also created a visible record of his passing.
A dying tree sat near the river’s edge, a large bush wrapped halfway around its base. The leaves had shriveled up, their brilliant colour faded to an ugly grey. He cut one of the longer limbs of the bush free with a dagger and used it to lightly wipe away his footprints. His endeavor was aided by a slight breeze blowing in from the west.
For the first hour of his journey, the area remained deserted. There wasn’t much to be found in the way of shelter either. He’d passed the remains of a house, the living parts of the walls had been burned away, the thin stone sheets had crumbled in most places. The land itself was mostly flat in that part of the realm, though there were quite a few trees, both dying and burned, to conceal himself behind.
He was picking his way around the wide trunk of a tree when he spotted a flash of red a hundred yards ahead of him. He froze in place and squinted at the spot where it had appeared. A stand of thin, half dead willow trees. He watched it intently, but it had vanished. Slowly, he moved to the other side of the tree. It appeared farther away than the first time, and the colour had changed. It had become more orange than red.
His eyes scanned the rest of the area in front of him. Nothing moved. He drew in a breath and eased himself around the trunk to follow the speck of brightness. It was a risk but, for all he knew, it could have been a survivor. As he moved from one tree to the next, he caught sight sight of more flashes in the distance. At his back, the breeze had picked up in random gusts. Combined with the ash and scent of smoke in the air, it was like the black dragon had come back to life and was breathing down his neck.
For the next two hours, he kept at it, following the splotch as it winked in and out of existence. Sometimes it seemed closer and then farther away. He continued to wipe away his tracks while trying to monitor his target. Over the time he tracked it, the colour changed multiple times. Red to orange, then yellow and green.
One of the times he’d turned away to see to his tracks, he lost sight of it. He crept forward and tucked himself behind a stand of trees to wait for it to reappear. There was enough space between a couple of them for him to slide down and settle on a knee. It was the first bit of rest he’d had since he’d been pulled into the realm. He kept his eyes trained on the last place he’d seen the splash of colour.
Fifteen minutes after he’d settled himself, the wisp still hadn’t returned. He leaned shoulder against the tree as his gaze swept over the landscape in front of him. After not finding his quarry, he turned to the east. It wasn’t there either. Nor was it in the west. He turned his gaze from right to left again, just to be sure he hadn’t missed it. Still, there was nothing but the fading landscape and swirls of ash that the breeze was carrying in from the volcanoes that he could now see rising along the far horizon in the west. He held his position for a few more minutes after another failed scan, got up slowly. He turned away from the path he’d been on and went back toward the river.
His steps had strayed farther from the water than he’d realized. By the time the sound of rushing water reached his ears, his steps had begun to falter. The pain throbbing in his wing was sapping his strength. After he’d slaked his thirst, he’d need to concentrate on finding somewhere to hide for the coming night.
When he reached the bank of the river, he went down to one knee and splashed water over his face and neck, drank his fill, then sat back and looked across the water at the other bank. A venom beetle scuttled between a couple piles of ash, its blue grey armor-like shell clicking against its stubby legs. Aziel’s hand slid to his hip and wrapped around the pommel of his sword, but he didn’t draw it. Without access to Tarrow Nectar, it would not be wise to tangle with the large insect. Though small compared to himself, most not reaching heights above a faerie’s calf, the caustic acid the beast employed during its feeding process could inflict incredibly painful injuries on a being of his stature. His fingers relaxed their tight grip on the sword’s leather bound hilt as the domed shell disappeared beyond his sight line.
Very slowly, he got to his feet, adjusted his sword belt, and looked up. It was difficult to see with all the clouds in the way, but by his reckoning; the sun was riding low in the sky. After a moment, his gaze fell back to the landscape across the river. He turned away and walked in the direction where he’d last seen the flash.
His eyes did not stop scanning the land for threats or a hiding place. Each time he paused his journey to clear away his footprints, when he turned back to carry on, he hoped to see the flashes return. It did not.
He came around the wide trunk of a tall tree and paused. The ground between the exposed roots sloped down on one side. As he moved closer, he saw that the dip led to a hole. The opening was obscured by a drift of ash. If he hadn’t been so close, he would have missed it. The three foot high drift was unblemished, its top edge turned in a soft curl, like a gentle wave of water along the shore of the sea south of the faerie capital.
He eased his body around the drift and inspected the edge of the hole. It appeared to be an animal den, judging by the size of the entrance, most likely belonging to an Anjali Wolf. Found in both the sun and moon elf and the faerie realms, it was a shy creature that fed on small and medium-sized animals. Its coat of deep green and brown made it well suited for hiding in dense wooded areas. From what he knew, they weren’t very large, but they were wider than other wolves. A full-grown adult’s shoulder would come up to the height of his thigh. They were smart animals and usually built their homes in places with excellent cover and multiple exits.
The ash that had fallen inside the rim of the hole was undisturbed. He dropped the branch, took a dagger from the back of his belt, and carefully poked his head a few inches into the space. He grit his teeth as his broken wing rubbed the exterior of the of the hole. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside the den. Other than a few piles of ash, it looked empty. He crawled forward carefully. Once he was through the initial opening, the space widened enough for him to move relatively unimpeded.
The den had been dug under and around the tree roots. The cavity was considerably more spacious than it looked like from the outside. Not only was he able to crawl without catching his wings on the ceiling, he could shift around and sit in a somewhat upright position. Along the back wall, between a couple of roots, a narrow tunnel had been dug. It was too small to fit his wide shoulders through.
He looked around the space and spied a root running along the wall across from him. He reached up and tugged at it. With a few tries, he got it loose, then used his dagger to cut long pieces of it. He gathered the fruits of his hasty work and wedged the pieces into the tunnel, blocking it off almost completely. Once that was done, he went back to the exit of the den to grab the branch. He lifted it carefully, to keep from dragging it across the drift, and jammed it into the dirt near the bottom of the opening. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but without more readily accessible roots in the den, it would have to do. Dusk was not that far away, and his strength was nearly depleted. He needed to rest before night fell, in case his hiding place was discovered and he was forced to fight off an attack.
He crawled to the deepest part of the den and leaned his shoulder into the wall as he tried to get his broken wing into a comfortable position. Finally, after shifting around a few times, he found a posture that reduced the aching throb to just an ache. He wrapped his other wing across the front of his body. Because of the cramped space, it covered him right up to the top of his head. His black feathers were good camouflage. He closed his eyes, crossed his arms across his chest, and drifted off.
When he woke several hours later, it was completely dark in the den. His eyes opened, he tightened his grip on his dagger, and listened intently. There was a faint clicking sound coming from the other side of the tree root barrier he’d put in the tunnel. It lasted a few minutes, then faded away. He shifted his weight from his hip, turning so his back was against the den wall, and let his eyes close again. Sleep did not come back right away.
Just as he was about to ease into slumber, there was a shrill howl in the distance. It cut off abruptly. Aziel moved his wing down a little, so he could watch the spot where he estimated the opening to be. For a few moments, there was silence. His empty hand slid to the pommel of his sword. A loud scream echoed through the tunnel and swirled around him. The hair on his arms stood up as the horrific sound washed over his ears. To him, it sounded feminine. The agony in it tugged at his instincts and almost drew him from the safety of the den. Instead, he took slow calming breaths, and exhaled softly as the sound continued on and on. When it seemed like it would never stop, it ended in a high-pitched shriek. If it had actually been a female, her demise had been excruciating. But, as he told himself to stay where he was, one half of his mind was busy trying to identify which monstrous animal it could be.
It was most likely a black unicorn trying to draw out unsuspecting survivors to attack and feast upon. He’d never seen one, but as a boy he’d sat at his father’s knee and listened to him tell tales of the past. Of a time before walls of magic separated them from terrible creatures, and later, other races. His father had described the monsters left behind in the Shadowlands in great detail. Aziel had been fascinated.
During those evenings, after long days working the fields, his father passed his knowledge to him not as entertainment but to prepare him. Magic is not infallible. The walls that kept them safe for so long could fall one day. When his own children were old enough, he passed those stories onto them, hoping they would never need to use that information.
His lips curved into a smile as he imagined his sons. Roldan, who was so much like his mother. Malin, who’s colouring was inherited from Aziel’s father. Alasdair, who had taken after Aziel to such a degree that Sidera would tease that it was difficult to tell father and son apart. And Haelan, their unexpected gift. Not only had he inherited his paternal grandfather’s colouring but also his maternal grandfather’s sense of compassion. Aziel couldn’t have been more proud of his children.
The thought that carried him to sleep was the memory of them on the morning of the last Beltane holiday they’d spent together. He and Sidera had awoke to their son’s voices in the hallway. They had been arguing, their voices just loud whispers, as they fought about whose wreath should go in which position over the door. He and Sidera had listened from the other side of the door, stifling their laughter, until Sidera opened it and peeked at them. They noticed her right away. Alasdair pushed his brothers aside so he could hug her first. Sidera had flung the door wide and embraced each one of them, then turned around to look up at their creations.
As he recalled the five of them outlined in the doorway, tendrils of warmth wrapped around his heart, then moved outward, spreading throughout his body. Four treasures of a father’s life and the other half of his soul, happiness radiating from their faces, his heart close to bursting with love.
Perhaps, if he was tenacious, he would find a way back to them.
