Desolation (Dragonlands Book 4) (14 page)

Connor followed Hazel through the village, her shoulders square as she stepped with sure feet. She still hadn't told Connor where they were headed, only that he should follow.

"Excuse me," she said, slipping between two stalls. The one on the right was filled with dates and pistachios; the second stall overflowed with oranges and bananas.

Hazel rounded the corner of a building and Connor immediately recognized where they were. A foundry. Men and women with bulging biceps and sweaty foreheads worked in a dark, humid room filled with boiling pots and gleaming metals. The foundry was where Bastian had worked back in Hutton's Bridge.

Hazel spun around, a huge grin on her face. "This was the noise I heard when I focused on Bastian in my mind. Let's look around and see if he's here."

It didn't take long before Connor spotted Bastian's red hair in the back of the foundry. He was standing at a station alone, chewing on a stick of jerky. Surrounded by the clang of metal on metal, they would be able to talk without anyone else hearing. Connor motioned to Hazel and they wound their way around the workers and their tools hanging from the ceiling.

"Bastian," Connor said, waving.

His friend looked up, startled. "You didn't?" His eyes moved between Connor and Hazel.

"Jakob took the choice away from us," Hazel said. "But it's okay. We did what we had to."

"We're leaving," Connor said. "Jakob said they wouldn't hold us here any longer now that Hazel has been changed. Unfortunately Jakob said you can't go with us. He insists you belong to Blythe. Is that true?"

Bastian sighed. "She thinks she has some control over me. However, she's not here. What's to stop me from walking out with you now?"

Connor looked around. "Nothing, as far as I can tell. Are you coming?"

"Absolutely," Bastian said. "I want to get home to my daughter."

"Well, you can't just march into Hutton's Bridge, Bastian," Hazel said. "Farah thinks you're dead. She believes she's an orphan now. And while I know she'll be thrilled to find out you're alive, I don't think it's something we can just spring on her."

"Of course," Bastian said, grinning. "One of you will talk to Farah first. It'll be fine. Now let's go. I'm sick of this place."

Hazel led the way out of the foundry. The three walked side by side down the street looking for an open area where Connor could change into his dragon. The main street branched toward a grassy knoll. Connor jogged ahead of his friends, eager to get going.

"Stop!" a voice yelled.

Connor's shoulders sagged as he turned around. It was Blythe.

She strode toward him, her gown swishing at her feet with every step. "The two of you may leave, but not Bastian. I created him. He needs to stay here with me."

"No, he doesn't," Connor said. "My creator died, and I am just fine without her. There is nothing that says the two must stay together."

Blythe's eyes narrowed. "Bastian will stay here. Don't argue with me, Blue dragon. You will regret it."

"I think I can speak for myself," Bastian said, entering the clearing. He laid a hand on Blythe's arm. "Thank you for bringing me back from the dead. Thank you for giving me new life as a dragon, but I can't stay. I have a daughter. Farah. Remember, I told you about her? You agreed with me that it would be a beautiful reunion when I see her again. I can do that now. Connor will take me home."

Blythe shook her head. "Not yet. You cannot leave."

"You can't keep me here, either," Bastian said. "Let us part as friends. Don't make a scene."

Connor raised an eyebrow. Were the two of them already more than friends? Bastian had a history as a womanizer. Had he worked his magic on Blythe, too? If this was just another lover's quarrel, Connor wanted no part of it.

"No." Blythe crossed her arms over her chest. "You can't leave. It isn't possible."

Bastian rested his hands on Blythe's shoulders. "It is possible, and I am leaving. I will visit someday, if you would like that. But just as you are home here with your husband and children, I have to go to my home."

Connor was even more puzzled now. They didn’t sound like lovers if Bastian spoke so easily of her family. Then why was Blythe so insistent he stay?

"Bastian," Blythe said, lowering her voice to a near-whisper, "if you leave, everything will unravel. You are the one the ancient texts speak of. If you leave us... we will die. You know what it says."

Connor leaned in, desperate to hear the rest of their conversation. Hazel was slowly making her way over to them. Her eyes held uncertainty. He had no reassurances to give her.

"You don't even know for sure that it's me," Bastian said. "Besides, there is no war. Not yet. Who's to say I won't return before the war begins? Then your prophecies might still come true."

"Maybe," Blythe said. The tension in her stance was more than aggression. It was fear.

Whatever ancient texts Blythe was talking about were deeply engrained in her beliefs. Connor wanted to scoff. What bearing could the verses of long-dead people possibly have on the world today? Then he thought of Decarian and the shadow, and he wondered if perhaps Blythe knew things that could help them with these new enemies.

"Can we see these texts?" Connor asked. The others gaped at him.

"We were getting ready to leave," Hazel reminded him.

"I know, but if Blythe has information about ancient beasts, it might help us defeat whatever attacked us in Hutton's Bridge." Connor wrapped an arm around Hazel's shoulders. "We came north looking for help and information. Perhaps we can find some here."

Blythe's eyes grew wide. "Outsiders have never been allowed to view our sacred texts, much less know about them. It is a carefully guarded secret in the Meadowlands."

"These are two of my dearest friends," Bastian said to Blythe, his voice suddenly soft and cajoling. That was the Bastian Connor knew—the one who could sweet-talk a woman into anything. "Won't you let them take a look? It will help their children and my daughter. Imagine if your children were being threatened and you didn't know how to help them."

Blythe wrung her hands. "Do you promise not to defile them? To be reverent?"

"Of course," Connor said. "We will respect your sacred texts as if they were our own."

Hazel took Blythe's hand. "Please, from one mother to another, help us."

That seemed to be the final push Blythe needed. "Very well, then. Follow me."

Blythe headed back toward village, her shoulders less square and sure than when she'd approached Connor. He felt bad that they'd pushed her into doing something she didn't want, but what harm could come from it? There was no risk, only the chance of reward. If anything in those texts gave a hint as to the nature of the shadow, then Connor wanted to know.

Hazel grabbed his hand, swinging it in rhythm with their steps. Trepidation seeped through Connor's veins as they walked back to the village they'd come so close to escaping.

Blythe led Connor, Bastian, and Hazel to a building constructed of stones of every size and shape, bound together with a mortar of sand and broken seashells. It stood two stories tall, coming to a peak at the top. A large bell hung in the apex. Blythe rushed them all through the door, then closed it tightly behind them.

"We are not supposed to enter the sacred space except on holy days," Blythe whispered. She reached for the nearest torch and motioned for them to follow her. "We leave a perpetual fire burning at all times to give the spirits light. It is not meant for us. But, today only, I will allow an exception."

"When is your next holy day?" Hazel asked.

"Not for another forty days," Blythe answered.

Stone benches flanked both sides of the aisle they traversed, leading up to an altar. A huge stone stood in the center, nearly as tall as Bastian and wider than the four of them standing shoulder to shoulder. A strange symbol was engraved into its face.

"What's this?" Hazel asked, her fingers reaching out to trace the intricate lines. Before she could touch it, Blythe slapped her hand away.

"Don't. It's sacred." Blythe looked at them. "Don't touch anything. You don't know the power of the artifacts."

Hazel nodded. Connor grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Hazel smiled back, but her lips were tense and her eyes narrowed. None of them had grown up with religion in Hutton's Bridge. It was an antiquated notion. Their problems were all made by the magic of men, not mystical beings. Any type of worship was foreign to them.

Blythe pushed on a brown stone in the wall. It slowly depressed, accompanied by a loud grinding noise. The wall moved, and a doorway formed.

"Can I have some help with this?" Blythe asked. Bastian pushed alongside Blythe, and the door creaked far enough open for them to slip through sideways.

Blythe set her torch in an iron sconce, lighting up a small anteroom. Three walls were flanked with bookcases stuffed full of folios, scrolls, and vellum texts.

"I know it appears haphazard," Blythe said, "but they are in a particular order. It's hard to make it look neat when there are so many different sizes and shapes of texts." Her fingers skimmed over the various editions, stopping when she located a large book bound in soft, pink pig skin. "This is it."

Blythe heaved the book off the shelf, toppling multiple scrolls that had been resting atop it. Connor doubted their organizational system was as precise as she claimed. Her arms heavy, she lobbed the book onto the table where it landed with a thump. Dust plumed into the air.

Blythe waved her hand, then sat on a chair. "Gather round."

Connor, Bastian, and Hazel shuffled behind Blythe. She thumbed through the brightly illustrated pages of animals, symbols, and long treatises written in a language Connor didn't know.

"It's somewhere in the middle," Blythe said. "Be patient. I'll find it."

As she paged through the text, Connor began to see images he recognized. Kilrothgi, the huge, furry beasts that had wandered the fog outside Hutton's Bridge and nearly killed him, were depicted, as well as a variety of other beasts Connor hadn't seen. The next page showed a myriad of monsters bowing down to the leviathan Decarian. His arms spread wide and his chest puffed up. A hideous smile distorted his muscular face as he looked down on his minions.

"We aren't sure yet if that thing is real or not," Blythe said. "It may be a depiction of an invisible god. We've only been able to verify the existence of four of the species groveling before him." She let a nervous laugh slip. "I hope it's not real."

Connor’s stomach twisted into knots as she continued to flip pages. Blythe readily admitted she wasn't sure how much of the contents of the texts were real and how much was part of the Green’s mythology. Yet he knew Decarian existed. He'd seen and smelled it under the Red castle. If the people in the Meadowlands based their beliefs off the things they read in these texts, then maybe they weren't so far off of their assumptions.

Prophecy was a different matter. It was one thing to record history and yet another to predict the future.

"This is it. The next page." Blythe's hand hovered over the vellum. "I want you to be prepared for what you are about to see. It may be disconcerting."

Connor leaned over Blythe's shoulder, and he noticed Bastian and Hazel doing the same. Despite their skepticism, they were curious what had Blythe so nervous.

"Go ahead," Bastian said, breaking the tense silence. "Whatever it is, we'll be fine."

Blythe turned the page. It fluttered down, exposing a two-page illustration.

Hazel gasped. Bastian stumbled backward.

Connor leaned forward, his eyes trained on the scene. "This is the prophecy you spoke of?"

Blythe nodded. "The text on the following pages explains what you see here. It gives some background as well. It tells us everything we need to know about the people in the picture."

Connor held back the urge to touch the page. A blood moon hovered over a battlefield. He wanted to trace the lines of the people lying dead on the ground, consumed by a raging fire. He wanted to study the strengths and weaknesses of the demons in the sky, wreaking havoc on the land he knew and loved. He wanted to yank on the dragons in the corner, who were flying away from the devastation, leaving their home to burn.

"This won't happen," Hazel said between choked tears. "It can't. We won't allow it. I am a dragon now. Connor and I will fight. Bastian, too."

"Then you will die," Blythe said. "We are changing all of our people to give them the opportunity to fly away when the enemy comes. We will need an army, yes, but only one that will hold the enemy back long enough for us to fly away with our children and elderly. Those who survive will join us to the west."

"To the west?" Bastian asked. "Where? There is only sea."

"No," Blythe insisted. "There is land. The book tells us so. That land is our salvation, our future. Anyone in the Dragonlands who remains human will die at the hands of the enemy because they will not be able to escape." She looked up at Hazel. "I'm sorry we had to force you into becoming a dragon, but it was for your own good."

"What?" Hazel's voice cracked. "So I can run away? A coward? No, I don't think so." Hazel stood tall, her shoulders back. "I will not flee. I will stay and fight."

Blythe closed the book without ceremony. She returned it to the bookcase, carefully setting it underneath the scrolls. "I choose to live. Others will fight to give us the chance to leave. Bastian is one of those. He is strong and brave. We need men exactly like him."

"I still can't reliably turn into a dragon," Bastian said. "What if I can't by the time the war comes? Then what? Will I be left to die with the rest of the Dragonlands?"

"You will be able to change by then," Blythe said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

Bastian shrugged it off. "How do you know? Wait... more prophecy?"

Blythe nodded. "There is more in the book, but I cannot share it with you. Our elders say too much knowledge is harmful to the mind."

"I'm not staying because a book written hundreds of years ago says I should," Bastian said. "Will you stop me? Will you call an army to keep me here?"

"No, I won't," Blythe said. "You may leave, but mark my words, you will be back, Bastian. Your fate lies in the Meadowlands. You were reborn here and you will..."

"What?" Bastian's eyes narrowed as he moved closer to Blythe.

Connor grabbed his friend's shoulder, but Bastian shook him off.

"I will die? Is that what you were about to say?" Bastian asked. His fists shook at his sides.

"You will command the Green army against the enemy. And, yes, you will die here. Leave now, if you must, but you will be back."

"No, I won't." Bastian turned and stalked out of the room.

Connor turned to Blythe. "Is there anything we can use in the coming fight? Any hints on the weaknesses of the enemy?"

"Connor, please," Hazel said. "Don't give in to her delusions. Let's just leave. There's nothing here for us."

"Blythe?" Connor asked again. "Why did you bring us here?"

Blythe lifted her chin, looking Connor straight in the eyes. "Because you needed to know the truth. I see that you believe me. There is something in that book that spoke directly to you, yes?"

Hazel tugged on his arm. "Let's go."

Connor looked at his wife, then back at Blythe. The woman was right. He had seen Decarian. He knew truth was written in that text. As for the future, he wasn't quite willing to believe it could be seen from the past. He wasn't willing to discount it either.

If the drawing was true, a great and devastating war was headed toward them. It meant Tressa wouldn't succeed in her trip to Desolation. The beasts would break free. They would attack and thousands of people would die.

Connor opened his mouth to respond but found he had nothing to say. He lowered his eyes, unwilling to look at Blythe or the walls of bound texts. Instead he followed his wife out of the church and to the field where he changed into a dragon. Bastian and Hazel climbed silently onto his back with no words between them. Connor set off for the south, for Hutton's Bridge, and for the human children whose eyes he had seen pleading with him from the fires of the image. He wouldn’t leave them. They’d fight the shadow on their own.