The Hallowed (The Scrying Trilogy Book 2) Page 7

  She turned back to the front of the room, her eyes scanning the space. A long black carpet runner ran down the center. Iron pillars, set apart about ten feet, flanked it on either side. The runner ended at the bottom of three steps that led to a magnificent iron throne.

  Tentatively, she moved toward it.

  The stale air was heavy with dust that made the back of her throat tickle uncomfortably. Shadows moved across the floor as the flames, burning in the iron sconces, hissed as she passed. At the bottom of the stairs lay a broken dagger, the blade shattered, at the top an intimidating throne. The metal structure eluded power but sitting vacant in a room suffocated by a hollow silence, it was a haunting reminder of a long-forgotten history.

  In the wall behind the throne, a circular window, its etched glass cracked, allowed beams of light to cascade down upon the throne seat. The throne’s design was simple. An armless chair with a tall back that splayed outward as it rose. Its metal frame was connected to girders and wires that crisscrossed behind it, constructing an elaborate backdrop. Wedged between the girders were chunks of molten rock, fusing the throne and backdrop together to create an imposing structure made specifically for a dragon king.

  She bent. Her fingers brushed over the broken blade of the dagger. The silence in the room unexpectedly shattered when a voice spoke from the shadows.

  “Impressive is it not.”

  Stevie stood quickly. Her stance defensive. Her eyes searching. The deep, gravelly voice echoed through the room again. Her eyes strained to peer into the darkness, but she could not detect the source of the voice.

  “I have seen many kings sit upon that throne. Good, fair rulers who flourished under their responsibilities, forging relationships with allies and foe; and others who faltered, the burden of their task unbearable. This room, once a sacred place, is now a faded echo of a past long gone. A reminder of our own vulnerabilities.”

  The voice quieted again. The shadowed silence permeated the room as she shifted uncomfortably, her mind searching for a response.

  “Who are you?” She asked. Her voice sounded small within the magnitude of this darkened room.

  The sconces flared as a solitary figure appeared from the shadows stopping when he reached the throne. “I am Dornan and you Arcanist, come from my blood. A line that has stood beside this throne for generations.” He took a step forward, emerging from the shadows completely into the light cast by the large etched glass window overhead. The man was tall with broad shoulders. His short black hair was streaked thick with silver at the temples. His long beard, the same. He was dressed head to toe in black leather, the familiar red dragon head emblazoned on the breastplate. He was a handsome man although his face showed signs of both age and battle. It was marred with welted scars that crisscrossed with creases and lines.

  He walked to the top of the stairs moving down them deliberately until he stood one step above her. His dark cabernet-colored eyes stared with intent into her own brown ones. “You are the future of my bloodline Arcanist, the only one who can ensure our kind never truly dies.”

  She gawked at him, in awe of the imposing power he eluded.

  “Have you a name child?”

  Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed hard. “Stevie.”

  His head tilted, the brow deepening as his mouth pursed in thought. The flames hissed in their sconces, flaring for a moment before some sputtered pitifully and extinguished.

  Dornan’s eyes squinted suspiciously at them. “This world is fading. Soon it will be gone and with it your legacy. Come, time is expiring.”

  “Where are we?” She asked, her eyes imploring him for answers.

  “A place that exists only in time and space and built from memories of our past. A place known only as The Lair.”

  The Lair, it sounded so ominous. Looking around the throne room again, she could sense the silence shift. The past reached toward her, an echo that slipped seamlessly through the stone and metal.

  She shivered.

  The shadows darkened as the light from the window receded to dusk. Dornan stepped around her and walked to the middle of the throne room. Stopping he turned, his back to the massive doors. He beckoned, and she walked to stand in front of him. The metal pillars surrounded them, their bulk a protective circle. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward him until only a few feet separated them.

  “It is time for you to become.”

  Stevie nodded but remained silent. Dornan was an intimidating presence, even more so because he was no longer alive. She was not sure where the Druidstone had sent her, but she was positive wherever she was it didn’t exist on the same plane as the other worlds.

  Dornan’s strong, calm voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Once you receive your birthright, you must search out those who can train you in our ways. Learn how to protect, fight for, and honor not only our bloodline but the dragon. When you have given your sacrifice, your essence will be forever linked to our past. Use it as a vessel for knowledge. The magic of our realm will be inside of you, an elemental power that burns within our kind will be yours to wield. Listen to that power it will guide your magic. The fire element knows our souls. It will not fail you.” Dornan’s eyes searched hers. “But be warned, fire magic is extremely volatile. Without the ability to control it, the magic will eventually consume you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again, her mouth open but unable to speak. Anything she said at this point would be futile.

  He removed a small knife from his belt, its silver hilt intricately carved in the shape of a daunting talon. He took her hand. His thumb rubbed the skin of her palm. The blade glinted in the firelight as he swiftly sliced through the flesh. She winced but remained silent. The sting passed quickly as her blood rose to the surface. Dornan repeated the act on his own palm. Blood trickled down his wrist. Droplets fell soundlessly to stain the stone floor at their feet. Clasping her hand, the warm blood of their open wounds mingled as he began to recite an incantation.

  Dragon fire

  Circle of light

  Bless new blood

  With smoke and flame.

  A fire sprang from the floor, circling them in flames that licked maliciously at their feet. She tried to remain calm but the heat emanating from the flames was stifling. Dornan’s grip tightened as he continued to chant. His eyes closed. He seemed oblivious to the fire that raged higher and higher around them.

  Dragon fire

  Blood of old

  Ember burns

  ‘til ash prevail

  The fire was now a raging wall of flame, surrounding them on all sides. It crackled and spit. The heat was unbearable. Sweat ran in rivers down Stevie’s skin, soaking her clothes until they clung like wet rags to her body. She coughed, as she tried to inhale much-needed oxygen, but the singeing heat tore at the back of her throat, scorching the skin as she gulped. Dornan could feel the panic swell inside her as the flames crept upward, suffocating the air and stealing the oxygen. He pulled her in closer, so the only thing she could see was his eyes.

  Dragon fire

  Flaming pyre

  Seeds of wisdom

  Covet thy own

  As the last of the incantation echoed through the flames, Stevie felt a tightening in her chest. Flames licked at her skin and a smoke began to billow from the pyre.

  Her eyes remained locked on Dornan, his presence quashing the rising panic. His dark irises reflected memories of a long-forgotten past, secrets hidden for millennia. A sense of peace engulfed her. A calm pulsated from the world she saw reflected in his eyes, the world of her ancestors. Heat sizzled in the air and flames licked and spit around them. Smoke choked her breath, but she felt only serenity.

  As the ancient magic began to push her toward her birthright Dornan released her hands. The deep red of his eyes faded behind
the engorged flames as he stepped backward, disappearing behind the smoke. She could no longer sense him or feel his presence. She was alone. Her life slowly slipping away. She closed her eyes against the stinging smoke. As she breathed her lungs filled with the suffocating heat, but there was no panic, only tranquility as she listened to the deceleration of her heart.

  It was uncanny, being cognizant of your own death, having a keen sense of awareness of the very moment you inhale your last breath. A chorus of whispers exhaled in the flames as her heart took its final beat.

  Chapter 8

  Drow was pacing the floor. His hands clasped behind his back, brow furrowed, eyes cast downward. Dane watched him from where she sat cross-legged on the stone floor, absently stroking Diego’s fur.

  After a few moments, she glanced back at the red cocoon of magma. It slithered silently around Stevie, its movement sensual and intentional. Her gaze strayed to Gabby, who had taken an interest in an old book she found on one of the shelves. She didn’t look restless, merely bored as she flipped the pages mindlessly. Killenn and Rafe stood near the door, their heads close, whispering in hushed tones. Warriors born from fire and earth.

  She rubbed the back of her neck kneading at the tight muscles. The transformation seemed to be taking a long time, and she was beginning to worry. Other than Drow’s constant pacing, no one seemed concerned her friend was mummified by lava at the room’s center. Stretching her legs out, she pulled herself up. Diego rose with her. She ambled toward the cocoon. The heat from the magma strengthened with each step until sweat glistened on her exposed skin and her thin tank clung to her torso. She stared at the bright red lava, its provocative movement evoking a strange hypnotic lull. The heat emanating from the core was extreme, but as her fingertips grazed the surface, she realized it was only slightly warm to the touch.

  Diego whined beside her shaking out his fur in frustration. She glanced down meeting his gaze. His golden eye imploring her for an answer.

  “She’ll be back soon,” she whispered.

  He bowed his head and yawned. Stretching his hindquarters he lay next to the lava cocoon. He rested his massive head on his paws, his eyes full of sadness.

  Dane left him to watch over the cocoon.

  She circled the altar coming up behind Drow. He had ceased pacing. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted toward the cocoon as if he were listening to something only he could hear.

  “Drow,” she said softly, unsure if she was disturbing some ancient ritual. He didn’t move. His eyes remained closed. If he heard her voice, he was unwilling to acknowledge her presence. She waited a few moments before turning to go back to where Diego lay.

  “It is almost complete.”

  Startled by the sudden response, her head swiveled. He was facing her, his hands once again clasped behind his back. His dark red eyes focused directly on her brilliant green ones.

  “Excuse me.”

  “I can sense one of my own has emerged. The transformation to immortality, to the world of the dragonkin, is almost complete.” A nod of his head indicated the cocoon. “It should open soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You care about her. The Dragon Gypsy?” His stoic expression did not reveal much but the lift in his right brow indicated he was curious.

  “She is a good friend.”

  “So even in your world, fire and earth are intertwined?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  A shadow passed over his features. “The elements have a specific identity in our world: fire ignites, earth grounds, water sustains, air binds, and spirit is the one that balances them all,” he said, motioning toward Gabby.

  Dane smirked. The irony that Gabby was the balancing force.

  “The elements work in unison but only fire and earth can exist within one another. Together they generate powerful magic.” Drow backed away and raised his hand. His long fingers curled in toward his palm. He looked at his hand. His lips moved silently. Flames leaped from his skin, forming a rotating ball that flickered and danced in his palm.

  Dane’s eyes widened. “You have Warlician magic?”

  “No, my power comes directly from the ancient fire Dragon. Only the Velkia blood has this power among my people. It is not a weapon, but a tool until it is infused with Warlician earth magic. Bring forth your energy.”

  She moved closer extending her hand toward his. The green energy surged beneath her skin recognizing her intent. An energy ball emerged, rotating leisurely in her palm, waiting. Drow placed his hand near hers. The red flaming ball flickered, its intensity brightened the closer it got to her energy ball. The two balls arced toward one another, melding together in a flash of sparks, forming a golden ball that flamed voraciously from its inside.

  “How?” Dane stammered.

  “Fire and earth magic are drawn to one another. Our ancestors discovered this long before the Great War, but it was never used until then. It was how we were able to defeat the hordes of daemons the ancient dark summoned to our lands.” He pushed his hand toward the flaming gold ball and in response, it moved away from him. The energy morphed as he spun his hand. It flattened, spreading out until a small portion of the temple was draped with the flaming gold energy.

  “Your energy makes the earth magic spread, thinning and expanding it to cover a large area.” His outstretched hand flexed, his fingers clenching to form a fist. The blanket of yellow light responded, erupting in a flaming explosion. An incinerating fire burned up the yellow energy and everything in its path.

  Dane watched in awe as the remains of a small table and chairs collapsed lying in a smoldering heap of ash and embers on the floor. Turning her head, she caught Drow’s gaze. The stoic expression had returned but a subtle glint in his eye remained.

  “It can be extremely effective when our magic is intertwined.”

  “I would say. This could be helpful in defeating the ancient dark.”

  Drow shook his head. “Unfortunately, as the last royal, the scope of this combined power is limited. I have no confidence that it will be of any use in the battle to come.”

  “Unless Stevie is from your bloodline and has the same power.”

  “Even then it won’t be enough. During the Great War, my entire family was alive, and we had hundreds of Warlician warriors. The area over which we could disburse this magic was extensive. We had the ability to strike down hundreds of daemons at once giving our warriors a fighting chance. With one or two royals and a handful of Warlicians, the combined power will be weak and limited.” He pointed to the burning furniture. “If the ancient dark unleashes a dark army again, we will be greatly outnumbered, and our magic will not be of much help.”

  “Then why show me this?”

  “As a way for you to understand the intensity of the magic your friend will possess. Fire magic is passionate but often erratic. Dragon Gypsies must learn to control their power when they are young, but even the best of us lose control now and then. Earth magic grounds all our magic, not just the magic energy that the royals possess. I suspect our new Dragon Gypsy will require your help once she returns.” He motioned toward the lava cocoon. “If she already trusts you, it will be that much easier.”

  Dane opened her mouth to respond but Drow had already retreated. His hands clasped firmly behind his back as he returned to pacing. Her gazed drifted back to Gabby who was still mindlessly flipping through the leather-bound tome. Leaving Drow to his thoughts she walked to where Diego lay, taking a seat on the concrete floor beside him.

  The scent of charred wood drifted from the pile of smoldering furniture in the corner as the last of the embers sputtered. She thought about what Drow had said. If Stevie had no control over her new powers when she emerged she doubted any advice she offered would help. It made more sense that Drow and Killenn be the ones to offer guidance. She gazed
at her hands, the green energy still simmered under the surface, waiting for her intention.

  A cold breeze crossed her face its wisps tinged with a wet mist. The cocoon above her hissed. Diego rose, hackles raised, teeth bared. A guttural growl escaped from his throat as he pawed nervously at the ground.

  “What’s happening?” She yelled, jumping up.

  The others came quickly surrounding the cocoon. The swirling lava began to petrify turning from a bright, red, malleable substance to a black, encrusted rock. Steam rose from the cracks that formed on the surface as the cocoon began to fracture.

  “She is returning to us,” Killenn said, just as the cocoon groaned, shattering like a fragile egg.

  Ash and dust drifted into the air.

  Dane coughed, as she inadvertently sucked in the particles. The air surrounding them was thick with residue making it difficult to breathe or see. Her irritated eyes stung. Tears seeped from the corners and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. As the ash floated languidly toward the floor, Stevie emerged from the dust.

  “Stevie, are you ok?” She stood with her head down, eyes closed, her breathing was shallow, her skin pale. She didn’t move or respond to Dane’s inquiry. Dane shrugged, as she glanced at the others her expression marred by concern. Drow’s calm eyes found hers and he bowed. A simple gesture but one she took to mean, wait.

  Stevie gasped. Her head and shoulders shuddered as she took in a considerable amount of air. She blinked wildly, her eyes darting from one person to the next. Dark cabernet irises had replaced her brown ones. She rotated her neck and shoulders, shaking out the stiffness. “Intense,” she whispered.

  Dane exhaled when she realized that she had been subconsciously holding her breath. She grabbed her friend in a hug. “Hi,” she said as tears welled in her eyes, the stress of the last hour finally releasing.