Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3) (20 page)

THE PROPOSITION

GHOSTS ENTERED
the room five at a time to mark locations of gems they knew about on a world map, and again on a map more specific to each area. Donovan and Landon were keeping the information organized; Tristan gave up trying to keep track for himself and paced back and forth along the wall farthest from the table.

Besides, tensions were rising and Donovan had taken to yelling at the ghosts in Russian.

Problems were developing with almost every location as ghosts argued about who had the better memory. Some guardians had kept watch over a certain gem for more than fifty years, while others had only been in charge of a stone for a year or two. And then a third or fourth guardian would come along and confess to moving a gem from the original location to somewhere more secluded, due to population growth issues, or land erosion, and not be exactly sure on the precise location because they’d been killed before returning to the spot, or had failed to use any sort of significant landmark. Some spots differed by more than a hundred miles.

There were also arguments about which race was enclosed in each gem. It seemed the original guardians had a hard time remembering specifics, and the more recent guardians were never told.

It created a larger issue. Even if they knew for sure what race they were dealing with, many of the locations were in extremely populated areas. How upset would a creature be after seeing what the humans had done to the magical land they remembered? Would they be willing to walk away and start over somewhere else?

Tristan rubbed tiny circles at his temples, tired and restless and starving.

“Jessie is outside,” said Donovan, stepping into Tristan’s path. “If you’d like to check on her and take her for a quick run. Thirty minutes. No more.”

“You’re letting me out? By myself?” It would probably take him thirty minutes to get up the spiral stairs, but he didn’t care.

“I doubt the ghosts will let you wander too far unattended. Victor could go with you, if you want, but I’d prefer to keep Landon here.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be fine, and I won’t be long.” Tristan jogged toward the invisible doorway.
Samara—

I heard. Please be careful; I worry about what goes on out there.

The door appeared in the trees, almost exactly where he’d expected it to be.
Thanks, Samara.

“Tristan.”

Tristan slowed to a stop, dreading the idea of Donovan changing his mind. Would he be so cruel? He turned to face the man. “I just want to talk to Dorian. I won’t go anywhere.”

“When this is over, I won’t put such limitations on you.”

Tristan nodded.

“Take Landon with you.”

“I’m not even going anywhere!”

“If you want to risk it with Oliver, and the ghosts agree to guard the way, you can see her. But thirty minutes—no more.” Donovan motioned for Landon to get moving. “Get some air.”

Tristan tried not to roll his eyes for poor Landon and stepped through the door.

“No offence,” he said, hearing Landon climb the stairs behind him.

“None taken. I can use the air anyway—it’s getting stuffy in there.”

“Tell me about it. Why do you suppose he’s feeling so generous? I never would have thought he’d suggest seeing Dorian without him.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a show of trusting the ghosts to keep you safe. Do you want to see her?”

“I don’t know.” Tristan sighed. “She’s been ignoring me. But Samara blocks communications, and I don’t always remember to try when I
am
out. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“You do have a lot on your mind right now.”

“Yeah.” Tristan paused the stair-climbing to catch his breath. “I would like to know how the search for the flower is going, though. Have you heard?”

“No. I think she’s been kind of busy as well.”

“With Tynan?” Tristan started climbing again. “I’d also like to see if we could release orphaned races on the island, since we know it’s not charted by anyone. We could keep them there until we know what climate they want. If it’s not okay, maybe we could find other islands to release them on? We have one extra fang to keep a small island hidden. But what if the races can’t handle living near each other?”

“I’m sure it’ll work out in the long run.”

“I hope so. I don’t see it going well if we release them near people.”

“They’ll need time to adjust,” added Landon.

Tristan nodded and kept climbing. “This much work deserves a steak, don’t you think?”

Landon laughed. “Hard to believe we couldn’t get you to look at food before.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Sorry. You’ve got three more hours.”

“You guys are driving me insane.”

“Want me to clear the way for Dorian?”

“Yes. Tell her it’s not that I haven’t wanted to talk to her. It just hasn’t been possible.”

“Sure. You’ll survive the stairs all by your lonesome?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t transport anywhere until the ghosts clear the way.” Landon skipped steps to the top, leaving Tristan behind. Three quarters of the way, Tristan debated if fresh air was worth the effort. At least the passing ghosts kept him from overheating. Finally in the hall at the top, he almost turned right, to where he knew a kitchen existed, but sighed and headed for the exit.

He ignored the crowd of lingering ghosts in the clearing and sat on the steps of the castle. Jessie tore through the lower shrubs almost instantly to greet him, with many grumbles and complaints from the shrubs themselves.

“Hey, Jess.” Tristan scratched the dog under the chin and behind the ears. “Where’s Landon? Did you see him?”

Dorian? You there?

Hi! Long time, no hear. Landon’s talking to Oliver. How are you?

Better. I have a big favor to ask, though. Can I see you?

Better as in, not quite dead yet?

Tristan laughed.
Yeah, I should be good for another hour at least. If they’d let me eat.

What? You’re still not eating?

No, it’s not that I can’t. It just messes with me too much. So they have me on a crazy schedule.

Crazy like what? When’s the last time you ate?

I ate an hour ago, but it feels like a month or more. I think they’re on a four-hour plan.

Oh for goodness sake. That is not a crazy schedule.

It is when you’re starving to death.
Tristan smiled when her thoughts busted into laughter.
So can I come over? Donovan gave me thirty minutes, twenty minutes ago.

How generous of him.

Yeah. Gotta take advantage before he can change his mind.

Looks like Oliver might give in, but I’m not sure who he thinks is worse—you or Philip.

Is Philip there?

Yeah. He’s trying to get on Oliver’s good side and failing.

Oh.
Maybe he should have thought of that?
I guess I’m glad he’s failing.

Why? Want to start dating?

I would, if you didn’t say it like it would be the worst idea ever. Besides, I’m pretty busy right now. I can’t imagine going to the movies, or sitting for a pizza...but being on Oliver’s good side would certainly make life easier.

Yeah, I’m pretty busy too these days.

I would like to see you more often, though, with Oliver’s approval, and maybe work together? You’d be a great help with what I’m doing. I think. It’s part of the favor I want to ask.

So what is it?

Tristan held his breath. Was he supposed to tell anyone? How would he even explain the long task ahead of releasing unknown magical races into the world, and meeting whatever needs they might have?
It’s kind of like with Pink, except more. Much more.

You want me for research?

Yes. No. I’m not explaining this very well. Let me see you in person and I’ll try to explain. Or I’m sure Landon can help if you don’t want to.

Why wouldn’t I want to? You can be so clueless sometimes, you know that?

Tristan sighed.
Yes, I know. I’m an insensitive twit and I have no idea how to talk to you without getting into some major argument that can never be explained. We go through this every time we talk—.

We do not.
Dorian started laughing again.
Twit? I haven’t heard that since...Gram.

I’m sorry.

Me too. Let me make this simple. I want to be involved with whatever you’re doing. Come over and we’ll talk. Landon gives the thumbs up and it doesn’t look like Oliver is going to bother with supervising.

Good! But you shouldn’t say yes about this favor until you know what’s at stake. I’m on my way.
Tristan glanced at the gathering of ghosts hovering nearby. “Can you guard my path while I transport?”

The oldest of the ghosts nodded enthusiastically and waved his arms to rally others.

Relieved and grateful, Tristan closed his eyes and pictured Dorian’s face. She was sitting on a log by the lakeshore, where she usually did her diving. Landon was jogging down the trail from the village. Oliver was nowhere in sight. Where was Philip?

The intense lights of the Seraphim Council was the last thing he expected—either the council had overpowered his escorting ghosts, or there were traders among them. Hadn’t Molajah warned him to trust no one? He cursed at himself more than anyone else.

Blinding orbs surrounded him. Whether they were there to defend or attack was unclear at the moment. All he could think about was Jacques. A stinging pain slashed through him. It seemed to take quite a bit of time for his mind to comprehend any words in the low vibrations. But with Jacques gone, they had nothing to bargain with.

Gone, yes. But not dead.

True enough. Molajah was killed by the council, and it only served to free him of the contract and permit him to move on. Jacques had to be in a better place.

Not a better place. He’s trapped in the barren Netherlands, in his earthly falcon form.

What?
Now they had his full attention.

If you can find him, he’s yours to keep and we will hold nothing against you or your future actions.

It had to be a trick of some kind.
What’s the catch?

No catch. The world belongs to others now and it is time for us to move on. We do so willingly as the fates would have it.

Tristan took in the rest of the lights, unable to tell one from another.
Before, you made it so I could see you more clearly. Why is that not the case now?
Surely they’d communicated with him enough times to know what did and didn’t work. This seemed a step in the wrong direction.

Our realm is not as stable as it once was, with the harmony at odds.

So you’re giving up? Just like that?

There comes a time when one must face the truth. You have put your faith not with your own kind, but with manipulating humans who seek power and control over you and your thoughts. Through them,
you
will doom all the races and land upon which they live.
You
will dishonor all dragons because you lack patience. Wisdom. We will not pretend to support you, nor stand behind you, nor claim you as one of us. And the sad truth is, when you’ve finished doing your part, none of this will matter because Earth will be a dead planet. We accept this truth. Even now, history is being recorded and you will be to blame.

Tristan tried to blink, still blinded.
How do I get to Jacques?
What else could he do at this point, except think about their accusations at his own pace?

A folded piece of paper hovered before him, with dim qualities that made it perfectly visible.
You already know how it works.

He’s in the map?

He is. But Jacques knows better than to walk far from the starting point. He’s probably waiting for someone to show him the way back. Someone he trusts. Someone like you.

Tristan remained skeptical.

We don’t care about him either way. Leave him if you wish and return to your realm empty handed. Serves him right for thinking he could use the map to escape, when we were willing to free him.

The last time he’d interacted with the map, half a day felt like weeks of wandering before Victor broke the physical connection between himself and the paper.
What if he’s not there and I lose my way?

Your mission will be aborted and you will be sent home empty-handed.

What if I’m close, and I want more time?

Then perhaps we’ll have something to negotiate.

Deal.
If Jacques felt there was another way out of the map, there must be a way.

THE BARREN NETHERLANDS

TRISTAN SUCKED IN THE BURNING
air, scorching his throat in the process. As bright as the orbs had been in whatever realm the council existed, it was nothing compared to the direct sunlight in this desert. Tristan shaded his eyes with both hands. His pale skin would be fried in minutes, accustomed mostly to Samara’s artificial light.

“Jacques!” He had to be systematic in his search, or he’d be just as lost. He pivoted 90 degrees and called out again.

Velvety sagebrush stretched over flat ground in all directions, though up close, the branches were sharp and unforgiving. Maybe that’s where Jacques would be—taking refuge from the sun in the shade beneath the scraggly brush. “Jacques!”

Tristan scratched a big X in the sandy dirt, then circled the spot with small rocks. After thirty minutes of collecting larger rocks, and the fascination that his shoulder felt completely healed, the pile still didn’t peak above the sage. How else could he mark the location as a starting point?

All you have to do is ask.

Tristan grinned at the nearby shrub. “I’m searching for a friend. He’s a falcon. Have you seen him?”

No.

Other shrubs awoke, asking random questions about what was going on in lethargic voices. “I need your help,” Tristan said loudly. “I don’t know how long I can stay, but I’m looking for a friend.”

The smaller shrubs seemed to be the most engaging. Tristan touched one of the larger bushes—the velvety leaves mostly withered. “What’s wrong?” Tristan asked. “Are you all dying out here?”

No
, answered a different type of plant. Tiny flowers had turned brown and the leaves on clumped stems had all but fallen to the ground.
They are preparing to conserve for the long winter and spring to follow.

Tristan squatted next to the clump of dried weeds. “You don’t look much better.”

I can tolerate this inferno heat for a few more days, and then this form will provide for young seedlings and they will carry my memories when the winter has passed.

“I see. The thought of dying doesn’t bother you?”

I am not dying. I am cycling as generations before me.

Tristan gaped in awe. He couldn’t even apologize for something so selfless and...natural. Dorian was completely right. “Can you suggest a way for me to find my friend?”

I only see a small portion of the sky, but between all of us, your friend has surely left a trail.

“I would think so.” Tristan stood, shading his eyes once again. The desert expanded as far as he could see, with sweltering heat waves distorting the horizon. “Has anyone seen a falcon recently?”

Tristan’s hopes soared as the question rippled outward in all directions. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an impossible task? He could cover square miles in minutes and be home before nightfall.

And then the question came back to him.
What is a falcon?

“What? What is—?” Tristan clenched his hair in his fists, already damp with sweat. “Really?”

Do not be angry
, said the clump of weeds.
It is a flying creature, yes?

“Yes.” Tristan took in a deep breath. This could still work. “A falcon is a bird, with wings. Dark feathers. Only my falcon is a tad bigger than most falcons. He has golden eyes and white feathers on the joints of his wings. The longest feathers on his wings and tail are striped with light and dark—”A chorus of questions had him stuttering for a better way to explain.

Why are feathers different sizes?

Different colors?

How does something stay in the air?

I saw a white bird with gray spots a while back.

I saw an owl once—it swallowed a four-legged rodent right in front of me and left a foot!

“He looks like this!” The idea of being a composer, or creator, had bothered him before, but this was different. This was a perfect opportunity to use the ability for something absolutely necessary. He created a replica falcon, careful not to invest anything personal in the process.

He made slight technical adjustments to the wingspan and color, and tried to match everything exactly to his memories as the bird circled overhead. But it had been so long since he’d seen the bird in flight. Maybe too long. He sent the bird gliding in a wider circle, slowing it down so everyone could get a good look. “Have you seen this bird before?”

There was silence for a moment, and some whispers of explanation as a few more plants awoke from various states of dormancy.

Yes!
came a shout. Others followed and soon, the whole area was cheering.

“How long ago?” Tristan’s heart leaped with excitement. “What direction was he flying?”

He was just here, not long ago!

“Which way?” Joyful elation had him springing on his feet. He’d go after the falcon with the sagebrush tracking his path, and would return to this exact spot in record time. It would be impossible to get lost. Speed would be the biggest factor—how long did he have? He was already losing perspective of time.

That way! Right toward the sun!

Tristan frowned. Without fingers, how could they express direction? The sun was no help, being high noon. “Who saw him last?”

I did!
Just about everyone echoed the statement.

I see him right now!

“Where?” Tristan spun to follow the voice. Gliding above sagebrush, about fifty feet out, was the replica falcon.

He’s coming around again, right above me!

“No, no, no!” It was no use. “That falcon is just the example. I’m looking for one exactly like it.” He dissolved the bird instantly, giving him only a slight stab of pain in his chest for having created it.

What was so wrong with that one?

Why do you want a falcon, anyway?

Tristan shut his eyes and debated throwing a fit. Where would the falcon go? What was his plan? “Water. Where’s the nearest source of water?”

Water arrives every morning just before the sun rises.

“No. Where is the nearest spring?”

Spring only comes after the long winter, never before.

“I need a source of water. A creek, pond, or puddle. A place where animals can drink.” Silence burned into his flesh worse than any sun. He could barely breathe. “Okay—how ‘bout this. If I wanted to walk in the direction where the sun rises, which way...?” Did a specific direction really matter? He tried again. “In the early morning, before the heat sets in, are there visible mountains on the horizon?”

No answer. Tristan threw his head back and held back a roar of defeat.

They are afraid to make you more angry,
said the clump of weeds.

“I am not angry. I’m frustrated. I’m in a hurry, and I don’t know which way to go. If I walk away from this spot, will any of you remember me in an hour? A day? Would you be able to help me find my way back?”

Oh, yes! We would not forget a dragon.

“How do you know I’m a dragon?” He certainly didn’t look like one; he glanced at his hands to be sure.

Whispers circled the area, but they had no real answer, other than it felt like a truth they could not argue against.

“Have you seen a dragon other than myself, recently? As in, during this hot season?”

Nobody had.

Tristan’s optimism sank to a new level. Maybe Jacques came through at a different location. Maybe he came through at night, when the majority of the plants were at rest. Or, the very worst possibility that had been waiting in the back of his mind to be acknowledged: the council had tricked him into entering this barren wasteland willingly, so they could keep him prisoner forever without actually killing him.

“If someone happens to come looking for me, feel free to send them my way if they seem trustworthy.” His starting point made no difference; he had no intention of returning.

If Tristan could walk a straight line, he could have traveled twice the distance. As it was, he’d zigzagged for hours around the scraggly shrubs, often veering off course just to find a spot wide enough to squeeze through. He had the sense to pull his arms into his T-shirt, but the back of his neck and face were fried, and an afternoon windstorm had sandblasted him from behind.

Everything about the land looked the same as it had when he’d started, with the exception of the ground shifting from colorful, sandy pebbles to white, powdery sand with cracks an inch wide. Daylight faded and he was no closer to finding his way out. It was probably foolish to think the way out would be something he’d recognize.

Donovan would kill him. If he ever got back. Maybe no time will have passed, and he wouldn’t have to tell anyone.

Something tripped his step, probably his own foot, and he fell to his chest, unable to get his arms out in time to catch himself. What was the point? Especially at night, when it was too dark to see. He drew an arrow in the sand, so he wouldn’t have to remember what direction he’d been heading, and closed his eyes.

The temperature plummeted. A twig snapped in the distance; Tristan leaped to his feet with his eyes shifting into night vision mode before the sound had registered. Barely visible on the horizon, an orange spot crept silently through the shrubs, slow and steady. His stomach growled with hunger.

Starlight shined brightly across the desert. And though his body resisted movement, lethargic and sore, his mind was wide awake. He focused on the orange blob and took off at a run, maneuvering easily around the sagebrush, even bounding over a few to close the distance.

The creature seemed to sense the approaching danger and fled faster.

The thrill of anticipation filled Tristan with joy. The desert was suddenly a place of pure freedom. The brilliant stars, the never-ending sky, the wind blowing across his bare skin...like being set free from a lifetime of hollow gloom. He threw out his arms and vaulted over a large cluster of sage, never quite hitting the ground on the other side.

He soared higher and higher, then swooped down toward the four-legged creature with such speed, a long whoop of laughter tore from his throat. He sped past what looked like a large cat, then spiraled in the sheer joy of flying.

When he circled around, he noticed three smaller specks of heat huddling as one, about a quarter mile away. Tiny creatures scurried everywhere, darting from the shelter of one sagebrush to another. He landed on his feet next to the spot that had caught his attention earlier.

A sudden hope sparked in his thoughts. Maybe this would be a reasonable way to find the falcon, searching at night for the right heat signal.

He knelt to peer beneath a pile of twigs, where three frightened kittens began meowing loudly.

“Hello little kitty-kitties. Did your mama leave you behind?” Tristan wriggled his fingers in the sand until the first kitten couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. It pounced on his hand with its tail in the air. “Ahhh,” Tristan cooed, a little uneasy when his eyes shifted back to normal. He was practically blind in comparison. “Can I keep you?”

He sat cross-legged and let the kitten gnaw on his finger. Its body fit perfectly in his hand, and the other kittens climbed onto his lap to join in.

Behind him, something prowled.

Tristan gathered the kittens close to his chest and rose to his feet. It was then when he realized something heavy dragging him backwards. He twisted to see behind himself, almost pulled off balance in the process. Something snagged on a sharp branch and he felt a twinge in his back—the more he twisted, the sharper the pain and the more clear the situation was.

Even in the dark.

No matter how much he blinked, the concept of having a wing, two wings, attached to his back.... No wonder his shirt had gotten so uncomfortable.

The rumbling growl grew louder.

Tristan had no interest in the kittens, other than they were cute and in need of protection. So if the mother cat, probably the mountain lion he’d accidentally run off while flying.... With wings? His heart raced. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?