Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (16 page)

Still Aaron’s scream continued. It was harrowing. Fraul thought his own heart would rip from him. He covered his ears but he couldn’t force the pain to dissipate. He wanted to reach Aaron, help him, but he couldn’t move.

Only one thought dominated his mind: Aaron was pain, he had lived with pain for centuries, but whatever he was feeling must be pulling the skin from his bones for no one could survive what was driving that scream.

- - -

Aaron was reliving every betrayal he had ever known, but not one at a time. All of the emotions came together and mingled into one. Hate thrived, pulsed and howled: anger at the countless betrayals, anger he could only do so much. The love grew, soared and shouted: the betrayed’s first comfort from the betrayer, the betrayed’s love held for the deceiver. But the pain, fates on fates, the pain! It wasn’t only the betrayeds’ pain, it was also the first, intense, shocking realization of the betrayer’s identity. The pain not only lived, it thrived. It not only breathed, it grew. It not only cried, it screamed.

The pain, love, and anger were always with him, but tears always washed the anger away, love always concealed the dark clouds of anguish, the pain was never the pain of the first realization, and it never, never grew.

He collapsed on the ground. He thought his heart was going to rip open. He thought surely he would die. Then his brother’s betrayal rose above the others with tortuous speed. His brother crashing down the door, beating him to the point of death, chaining him to the ground; his brother raping Kyra, passing her to his men, laughing at his inability to reach her; his brother skinning Kyra before his eyes, lips sneering in victory; his brother coming at him with a knife as Kyra’s broken body fell to the floor; Kyra, blue eyes still shining with life, slowly turning silver; the silver light blinding him, breaking his chains, killing his brother, resonating through the world with thunder; Aaron crawling to her, holding her as she cupped his face and whispered what she would have him do:

“Aaron, you must be our Avenger. You must be … ”

A silver light engulfed him, and for the second time Kyra died in his arms.

Then there was nothing. Thoughts he had held only heartbeats before were gone. He knew they existed. He remembered feeling … something. He searched for them, knowing he had lost something precious.

There was nothing but emptiness. Who was he? The answer didn’t come. He groped for any memory. He scraped his chest, trying to uncover what he had lost.

The emptiness overpowered him. He tried to regain his last memory. Why was he on his hands and knees? Why did he feel so alone? But he couldn’t.

He felt a movement and raised his head. Silver eyes stared down at him, flickering with emotions he couldn’t feel. But the woman was beautiful, far more beautiful than any memory could be.

She reached out and touched his cheek. Memories crashed into him, filling his marrow with feeling. Aaron steadied himself with his hands and gazed into her silver eyes, desperate to hold on to consciousness.

“Kyra?”

A silent silver tear slid down her cheek. He brushed it away.

“Did you think our love could ever be crushed, Aaron, even by magic? You needed to give everything you had. That’s why I’ve told you for centuries you wouldn’t remember. But nothing could break our bond, my love, not even draining you of all feeling.” Kyra ran her hands through his hair. He felt her power tickling over his new soul free of the pain of others, free of the anger of betrayal, and free of love’s anguished cry.

A flicker of images still lingered, but they were a story, not actuality. The reflections were lore, not truth. Yes, he remembered, but no, the memories weren’t his own. He drew in a breath, buried his head in the flat of Kyra’s stomach, and wept. She stroked his hair, letting him feel the relief he could have had years ago.

“Why did I need to do this?”

“The world needs your feelings, Aaron.” Kyra opened her palm, revealing two flawless, polished stones, one white as snow and the other clear as light.

“All our love and all your betrayeds’ love is in the white stone. All our pain and all your betrayeds’ pain is in the clear stone. All your righteous hate is in your blade.”

Aaron looked at his sword. The silver blade had turned deathly black. It was so black at first he thought the blade was gone.

“You have little hate, my love. Our tragedy happened too fast and then we died. You had no time for hate. You were too busy feeling pain. The betrayeds you avenge are the same. They haven’t gone past the pain to feel anger. The anger you do feel is your own anger at the betrayer, your own righteous hate. It isn’t strong enough to form the stone. You must find the man who can help you form the stone.

“When you saw me you remembered our love, as I knew you would. Nothing can break true love away from your soul. It’s in you,” Kyra said, putting her hand over his heart. “Nothing can ever shatter it. But your pain is gone, as it should be, so you can live again.”

“I don’t want to live without you,” Aaron said. Although his role as the Avenger was now complete, his love for her was growing again, faster than he would have liked it to.

“Yes, you do. You’re a man, and now you can live freely, without bounds. I’m the Quy. I love you but can never love you. I’m not human. I’m the power. That’s how I was able to hold on. That’s how the Maker granted us life.

“I remember our love, but only with idyllic charm. I don’t want it back. I don’t know how to want it. I love you, but I love everyone. I’m the Quy. You’re a man. I want you to live again, breathe again. I want you to find someone who can love you without bringing you pain.”

Aaron touched her hair, feeling its silky weightlessness, knowing she spoke the truth. She was the power, not his Kyra. The happiness he had felt only breaths ago dissipated. She didn’t love him as a man. She loved him as a child. “You didn’t bring me pain, Kyra. Others brought me pain.”

“I did bring you pain,” she said. “I unintentionally hurt everyone I touched. Women met me and it pained them. Men met me and it pained them. Only you weren’t harmed, for I loved you. But my love brought you pain. I want no more pain to come to you. I want to be inside your mind and feel your joy of living. For in that I’m with you, as I’m with everyone with the power.

“I love even the dark ones, Aaron, because they love me. I just am. But if I can be in your mind like this … ”

She cradled his face in her hands, shut her silver eyes and tilted her head back, exposing her long, slender neck. Aaron’s heart twisted, remembering his Kyra in life, but as quickly as the feeling came it was taken by a sudden jolt in his mind. He felt the power of the Avenger being born in a new way. He shivered, not from uneasiness but from feeling her within him.

A small smile reached his lips. He touched the thread and felt her, his Kyra, existing inside him.

Although he felt her he knew it would never be the same. His smile withered. She remembered their love with blissfulness. He remembered it with longing and need. It hurt, but as he looked at her his spirits rose. The Quy, pure beauty, had once been his bride, not out of necessity but out of love. That love had been the catalyst to birth the power.”

“Take these,” she said, placing the stones in his hand. “You can strengthen them even further. They’re replete with love and pain, but they aren’t saturated. You can make them stronger when you form the fated stone. Your sword is the catalyst that can accomplish that end. It has turned black. Your purpose is to go and use it. Find the other defender who can form the stone. Once the stone is formed, its magic will draw you to the one with need. Then you can save me from the darkness.”

Aaron’s mind reeled. Strengthen the stones? Find the other? Save her from the darkness?

As he opened his mouth to speak, Kyra began to fade from vision.

“But how will I know?”

“You will know, my love,” she said, brushing her lips against his. “You will know.”

Aaron watched her fade, desperate to stop her, but paralyzed by her kiss. It shivered through him like the morning mist, brushing each nerve with tantalizing sensuality.

Only when the last silver fleck had disappeared from the air did he open his palm to study the stones. They were perfectly formed, blinding in their brilliance. As he held his former feelings in his palm he sensed their power and wondered how he had been able to survive with those emotions inside, and how they could become any more saturated. He felt the power in his sword as well. Where would he find a man with righteous hate, a man who could form the stone?

He placed the stones in his belt pouch, thanking the Maker he wouldn’t be the one to bear the burden of wielding them when they were complete. Whoever it was had to be far stronger than anything the Lands had ever seen.

Ren woke with a start, the dream slowly fading from vision. His heart banged hard against his chest. The darkness had been reaching out to claim him. He had fought it, slashing the air as the black cloud came closer, but his resistance only made the cloud stronger, and when the black mist touched him the fingers of hate and greed wrapped around his spirit. He tried to pull back, but the darkness was too strong. Slowly, he had started to change.

He reached up and touched his face, ensuring himself the dream wasn’t reality. It had felt like a thousand maggots were sluicing underneath his skin, but it had been his own face bubbling, forming into something else. Ren tried to calm his rapid breath as he recalled the painting of Barracus in the Oracle. He shivered on the cold ground. He would do anything to repudiate that horror.

A twig snapped. The kota came awake and sniffed the air with rabid intensity. Ren tensed, fearful the Adderiss had returned, but he heard no further movement, only a deepening silence.

Ren tried to see through the darkness, but the twin moons had vanished behind the clouds. He could only see past the first shadows of the surrounding trees. He tried to hear something to give him an indication as to where the threat would come, but all he sensed were hard eyes peering through the trees.

Blood pounded in his temples. He was tired of surprises and tired of death. At the thought of Bentzen and Markum something ignited within him. Enough was enough.

Ren jumped to his feet and drew his sword. The dragon’s eyes glowed with his rage: one pair white, the other dark: two sides of the spectrum; two beings he could become.
Which will it be, Chosen?

He ignored the voice and culminated the anger inside him. The black eyes pulsated with power. Ren made two arcs in the air and settled into an attack stance.

“Show yourself!” he demanded to the night.

The camp immediately came alive. He heard the soft release of swords. The tip of Neki’s curved blade entered his peripheral vision, glimmering in the light of the twin moons. The ruby glowed with brilliant intent: luck in battle. But the emerald, the stone to ward off evil doings, was torpid.

Although the torpid stone should have brought Ren comfort, it did not. The hairs on his head stood on end. For precious heartbeats only the sound of crickets greeted them. Ren studied the trees directly in front of him, sensing something. Ren gripped his sword tighter.

Three men appeared out of the depths of the forest. They were robed in gray cowls, long hoods shielding their faces from vision. They held their hands below their chins. Only the tips of their fingers touched, leaving a chasm exposed to the air, symbolizing an unanswered prayer.

Ren stood in silence as the three Druids released their unanswered prayer and lowered their hoods. Three pairs of eyes focused on Ren: one set dark, one set light, the other a murky brown. In the Druid fashion their heads were shaved except for one long strand of ebony hair starting at the top of their skulls and descending to the base of their necks. Their skin was dark, almost almond in color, and blended into the night. Once unveiled, their hands returned to their unanswered prayer position.

The dark-eyed leader stepped forward. He wore a thin mustache, signifying his importance. Only those high in the Druid ranks were allowed to sprout any hair beside their jet-black tufts.

He was tall, almost three hand spans taller than the others, and well built, with kind, intelligent eyes. Ren had only seen a few Druids in his life, but he had seen enough to know the dark-eyed Druid was an exception of his kind. Druids were slight men with fragile bones and less masculine features.

The other two Druids fit Ren’s remembrance: small men with hard eyes. The one with the murky brown gaze reminded Ren of a petty thief he had once caught in the castle. There was no love in those eyes, only greed and envy. The third had no distinct features. If Ren hadn’t been looking at him he might have gone unnoticed.

Ren’s eyes flickered back to the leader.

The leader gave a small nod of greeting. “You’re the Chosen.” His voice was so deep it almost shook Ren’s bones. “You must come with us. The One is waiting for you at the Obelisk.”

Ren blinked in shock. The Obelisk, the temple of the Druids, resided on the Druid island of Dresden. Ren stared into the leader’s eyes. They held no malice, no deception, only a profound desire to help. But why would the One be with Druids? Animosity between wizards and Druids had been waging for centuries. The Druids would shut the One from the power faster than dragons could spew fire.

Galvin stepped past Ren, casually resting his broadsword on one shoulder. “Ren isn’t going anywhere.” Although Galvin looked nonchalant he gripped the sword so hard his knuckles were white. “You don’t have the One any more than I have the One. Be on your way.”

Ren put a hand on Galvin’s shoulder, indicating for him to hold his position. The Druids remained impassive. Their eyes never veered from Ren.

“Why would a wizard be with Druids?” Ren asked.

“Safety for him and safety for you. I believe you’re hunted, yes?” the leader asked, raising one eyebrow. “The Obelisk is the only place no one will search. It’s the only place your enemy won’t go.”

The leader’s voice resonated in a droning timbre. Ren had to concentrate to understand where one word ended and the other began. Druids were known to be sedate, their meditations running together even in waking movement, but the leader seemed more tranquil than most.