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Prologue
Her eyes glimmered like pools of crystalline flame, a mix of oranges, reds, and yellows. The only source of light in the heavy darkness, they cast a faint glow as if they were lamps. Thick, roiling clouds blanketed the night sky, blocking the light of the stars and sister moons alike.
It unnerved Teesa, being unable to see the vast crimson moon of Fynra. Like the rest of her fire-breathing kin, she looked toward its light for comfort, and as the great ruby scaled dragon listened to the absence of night sounds around her, she grew more uneasy. Barely a day left, and her eggs would hatch. She would watch her first brood stumble through the sands, mewling and searching for the Syndai children that would bond with them, heart and soul.
With a mighty groan, she stretched her cramped wings, the sound of creaking leather and snapping tendons echoing loudly around her in the darkness. The voices and songs of the night beasts should have filled the emptiness, yet her keen ears heard nothing save the soft breathing of the sleeping mothers from deeper within the Warren. Her vast heart gave a flutter, as if something, far, far away were reaching out with magic to caress the great muscle. The feeling made her twitch and a growl flowed from her maw like liquid fire.
A shape darker than the shadows themselves slipped towards her, the matte black scales of a second dragon blending into nothing. Teesa suddenly found herself staring into a pair of massive eyes, glowing dimly red, their light just enough to show the crown of horns and the faint curve of fangs peeking from the upper jaw, all the same matte black. The crimson dragon hissed in surprise, tail lashing violently before she realized who stood before her.
"Tkora, please. Do you wish to give me heart pains?"
The great black dragon rumbled softly, and Teesa bristled when she realized the other was laughing at her. "Child, you give yourself heart pains with all of your worries." Shifting her massive bulk, the eldest of the dragons sprawled in the soft white sands spilling from the Egg Warren, turning her burning gaze towards the western horizon.
Sniffing daintily, the crimson dragon sat beside her mentor. She followed the other's gaze. "All of my worries . . . Bah. You feel these worries tonight, do you not, great mother? You feel the silence . . . "
Tkora's tail flipped once in agreement. The younger female was right; she not only heard the silence: her ancient bones could feel it down to their marrow. It was as if the land held its breath, preparing for a mighty blow. The feeling sent a very visible shiver down her massive body.
"I feel you are right, child. It is a calm before a storm," the great black dragon murmured, her nervousness sending tiny licks of blue energy dancing around her claws. Teesa's eyes were drawn to the little bolts of power, and she felt her own worry claw at her.
Tkora was the largest dragon in the land. She had lived for centuries, borne dozens of young. Hers was a magic more powerful than any other black dragon alive, and she held all that massive power with such restraint and control that few ever witnessed it. For that power to dance free now meant that Tkora was more worried than her glowing eye betrayed.
Fearful even.
Swallowing her own sudden, panicky fear, Teesa spun and disappeared into the Warren, kicking up sand as she did. The scent of her nest carried her past the other mothers, their gentle rumblings a comfort to her senses. If they could still sleep, maybe her worries had no founding other than those of a first-time mother.
Finding her own nest, she purred, sending a blast of warm breath over the circle of seven eggs. The leathery shells glittered like the finest gold, some lighter, many darker, as if tarnished. Curling her body around the nest, the crimson mother took comfort in the feel of the cave wall at her back.
The Warren was very deep, filled with the purest sand, and she had been lucky in procuring the deepest space for her own. Being so far beneath the earth gave her comfort, as it did her green-scaled kin. However, no green mothers had taken the mating this year, and the others were not so content to wallow in the clutches of the earth. The two blue mothers and Tkora had placed their own nests as near the entrance as possible, crowding each other.
Heaving a sigh that sent a wash of sand into the air, Teesa wrestled her childish worries aside and slipped into the anxious sleep of an expectant mother.
~~~~~~~
Malak shivered in delight as the realization of his long quest neared fruition. The Shattered, a dozen of the most powerful beings to live on this wretched world, circled the immense stone tablet, its edges crumbling with age. It had taken him far too long to find and train them, but now, his patience would be rewarded.
They murmured words of power, of magic, impossible syllables falling from their lips. Sickly green light shimmered around their bodies, gathering in intensity as the words grew louder and more feverish. The Shattered proved more powerful than he had imagined, yet the man narrowed his eyes when the green light suddenly flickered, reminding him of a flame weakened by a light wind rather than strengthened by it.
Frowning, Malak rubbed his hands along his arms as something unseen crawled across his flesh, tickling at his own power. The air above the tablet seemed to pulse as the Shattered finished the first stanza of the spell, and the tang of ozone and rot filled the Walker’s nostrils. His familiar shifted nervously behind him, the minor demon, if it could even be called that, chittering to itself in its own, foul language. He had unfortunately acquired it on Rhek, but the creature had proved mildly useful, and so he had kept it.
The pitch of the combined voices suddenly changed, twisting until the language was the same as that of the little demon hiding amongst the folds of his cloak. All at once, the twelve voices coalesced into one voice, but it held an echoing quality. The one voice, yet many, gathered in Malak's ears, and if he had not prepared himself for this moment, he suspected The Shattered’s words would have driven him mad.
Another shiver of anticipation shimmied up his spine, distracting him. For centuries, he had been trapped on this foul planet, hiding away from the one who had barred his doorway between the planes. Demth, the unexpected protector of this world, had not taken kindly to his intrusion, nor his intents. As a Walker, Malak held the power to travel between planes and take what he wanted from the magic of whatever worlds he landed upon. Few of his species existed, and his true purpose, why he held such abilities, was unknown even to him, but he enjoyed his existence, reveling in the power and freedom. Already he had travelled hundreds of worlds, and his power had been great.
However, his luck in world choice had run out when he’d landed on Rhek, a planet infested by evil magic in a way that covered the land like a disease. The creatures there could only be described as demons, bloodthirsty and intent only on spreading their dread infection.
Malak had barely escaped with his life to this lush world, the world of Andema, but the doorway he had created between worlds refused to close. The infection had followed him through, effectively blocking the doorway.
It was then that he first encountered Demth. The god, for that was the only way the being could be described, had moved with a swiftness that astounded him, sensing the intrusion almost immediately. Ethereal in his presence, Demth confronted Malak, charging him with a crime most severe; allowing an entity of another planet into a world where it did not belong. As a Walker, Malak knew the crimes his species could never commit, and he had taken great care never to commit them.
Until that day.
However, his crime had been an accident, and he had nearly begged Demth to believe him. The god was stronger, and Malak had sensed it, fearing the retribution. Yet, he held true to his conviction and had claimed his innocence. The god held strong. Biased as he was in his accusations, being the protector of Andema and fearing the evil he felt leaking through the Walker’s doorway, Demth stripped Malak of his world walking powers. Eradicating the swiftly moving infection, the god closed the doorway in the only way he could, using his own essence.
Frowning at the memory, Malak stared at the tablet. The Seal of Demth, an apt name for the lock that kept the doorway between Andema and Rhek closed. For centuries, his freedom had been stripped from him, and his resentment had grown with such intensity, it was nearly its own entity. He had suffered, all from an accident outside of his control.
Yet, Demth had made one mistake. Malak still held his siphoning powers, and all this time, he had casually been stripping the land of its magic, never taking too much at a time to be noticeable. Centuries of amassing such power, however . . . Andema was a rich world when it came to magic.
Voices suddenly hissed in his ears, their sibilance wrapping about his spine and caressing him. Whispered promises of riches and glory, the likes of which had been stolen from him by Demth, entered his mind. All he had to do was destroy the Seal, and Demth would be too preoccupied with the infection to keep his concentration on containing Malak’s Walker powers.
The final and third stanza of the spell broke through the whisperings, and Malak suddenly felt suffocated; the air seemed as thick as oil, filling his lungs with filth and stealing his breath. The Shattered had disappeared amidst their power, the noxious green light so vibrant Malak had to shield his eyes. Though they recited the words unfailingly, their once calm voices now held pain and fear, as if great claws ripped into them deeper and deeper with each syllable.
The little demon squealed in terror, its claws digging into the Walker’s calf. Snarling a curse, he kicked at the foul beast and it disappeared with a small pop, leaving nothing but its rank scent behind. In the same instant, a great wind whipped around the Shattered and a deep, ominous rumble shook the ground so violently, Malak lost his balance.
"M'esh'on, M'esh'on, Rrak in Ourra. M'esh Rrak thresk. M'ESH'ON, M'ESH'ON IN OURRA DSHA!"
Staring at the Seal with fevered intensity, the Malak licked his lips as the last phrase fell from the mouths of the suffering men and woman, and he watched as the world exploded.
~~~~~
Jā, ne!
I like the use of description and the overall language you're using. I'm intrigued by the hints of plot and the culture that seems to be solidly developed here.
ReplyDeleteGive me more.