Reckoning (Book 5)

Megg Jensen

Cover art by Michael Gauss

http://gaussianeffect.blogspot.com
/

Cover design by Steven Novak Illustration

http://www.novakillustration.com

Copyright © 2015 by 80 Pages, Inc

Published by 80 Pages, Inc

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

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Edition: April 2015

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Donovan’s new skin hadn't softened as quickly as he'd wanted. Though the scars from the stitches were fading, he was still fighting against a few stubborn patches. It was never easy breaking in new skin. It took time to make it pliable. The elbows and knees were the worst. Bend too quickly, and he’d tear right through. For months he’d rubbed honey-infused oil on the skin. Donovan chuckled. Honey. The giant beast Decarian had licked Donovan more than once, longing for a taste of the honey he'd grown accustomed to during his imprisonment under the Red castle.

Rising from a chair, Donovan walked around the small cottage, letting the skin contract and expand over his skeletal frame. Every time he ripped an old skin from his body, he shuddered. A small part of him still recoiled at what he had become. Immortality was not the beautiful thing he had dreamed it would be.

Five hundred years ago, as a young boy, Donovan had lain in the wheat field on his parents' farm, staring up at the clouds as they lazily rolled by. His younger brother, Mestifito, lay next to him, silent and reverent. The boy was foolish, always lost in his own thoughts. Still, Donovan loved his little brother and swore he would always care for him.

One day, an old woman came to the farm, looking for shelter. Her stooped shoulders and tottering gait tugged at their hearts, and Donovan's parents offered her a corner of their barn, warm and cozy against the impending winter. They also prepared two meals a day for her.

It was Donovan's task to take the woman her food. Every day, after his chores were done, he spent hours with the woman. She taught him about plants and their healing powers. She spun magical stories about beings he'd never seen, nor heard of. Donovan was entranced by her words, and soon he began ignoring his parents and his little brother, favoring his time with the old woman above all else.

On a warm, lazy afternoon, a beautiful young woman came to see the old lady about a salve. In her short time in Donovan's farming community, the old crone had gained quite a reputation as a healer. Yet, this maiden was no farm girl. Her hair hung in golden ringlets about her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled like the emeralds Donovan had seen embedded in cave walls. Her hands were lily-white and softer than a lamb’s first coat. He’d never seen skin so supple before. The girl smiled and winked at him, beckoning to him with one cocked finger.

Donovan followed her into the barn, curious. She untied the strings on her cape, letting it flutter to the ground. Then, to his horror and delight, she pushed her gown off her shoulders and stood naked before him.

Donovan's heart thudded in his chest. What if the old crone came upon this scene? What would she think, and would she tell his parents?

He averted his eyes from the girl, who stood unashamed in front of him in all of her naked glory.

"It is okay to look," she said. "I have come for you, Donovan. Just for you." Her hand rested on his arm. "Don't you want me?"

Donovan felt conflicted. He thought of the lovely red-headed girl, Magda, to whom he was promised. They were to be married within the next moon. He would begin his adult life with her, pledged to her, and no other, for all time. “I don’t even know your name,” he said.

"It’s Bianca.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I won't tell if you won't." Her breath tickled the sensitive skin of his neck. She reached for his breeches. Her fingers deftly loosened the ties, and Donovan did not stop her, even though he thought he should.

Her green eyes seemed to pulsate, drawing him closer. His mind swam, and he leaned in, drowning in her milky skin.

After, they lay together in the hay, arms and legs tangled and their breath warm on each other’s skin. Donovan buried his face in her hair. "I am promised to another. I will gladly put her aside her for you.”

Bianca laughed. She sat, pulling her dress back over her shoulders, hiding her beautiful breasts. He was both disappointed and relived. He still feared discovery.

"Silly boy. I do not want marriage from you. I have all I need now." She stood, rubbing her hand on her tummy.

"I don't understand." Donovan struggled to pull his breeches over his weakened legs. He'd never been with a woman before, and he was surprised at his exhaustion. "We have done what is only to be done between a man and his wife. Even if we are not bound in the eyes of others, we are bound in my heart."

He reached out for her hand, but she jerked away from him. "You must keep this a secret. Never tell."

"I can't," Donovan said. "It wouldn't be fair to poor Magda. She'll be disgraced."

"Not if you keep your mouth shut," the girl hissed, her green eyes pulsing with a red tint. "After all of the time we spent together, I thought you were the right one. Perhaps I should have chosen your younger brother. He is old enough to copulate."

"I don't understand," Donovan said. "You have only just come here. How can you know Mestifito?”

"Fool," the girl said. "I am the old woman who has been living in your barn. I came here looking for a father to the child I must bear. I chose you. I thought you would be happy."

Donovan blanched. "You are the old woman? How is that possible?"

"Magic," she said. The words floated in the quiet air, hovering between them.

"There is no such thing as magic," Donovan said. "And do not speak of it. The penalty is death."

"Now you understand why it is so important to keep your silence. If you tell anyone what happened here today, they will execute you. Do you want your pretty little head to roll along the grass?" She reached out, running her fingers through his brown hair.

Donovan steeled his hands into fists at his sides. "It will be your head that rolls."

Before he could take another breath, Bianca’s fingers wrapped around his throat. Donovan tried to swallow but couldn't. Panic rose in his chest.

"I thought I could trust you. Clearly, I chose poorly." The young woman's grip tightened. Her size belied her strength. "You will have to pay, then. But how?"

Donovan's eyes frantically searched the barn. He was looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

Bianca chuckled, her once-melodic voice tinged with insanity. Her green eyes pulsed once more, turning completely red. Her pink lips parted to reveal sharp, pointy teeth. Before Donovan could take another breath, before he could beg her to stop, she pierced the skin of his neck with her teeth.

Fire shrieked through Donovan’s veins. His eyes rolled back. He should have felt pain. Instead, the sensation was more pleasurable than losing his virginity in Bianca’s arms. This new experience made him feel like he’d left boyhood behind forever.

Donovan pushed Bianca away. Her teeth ripped from his skin as she stumbled backward. Blood coursed down his neck to his shoulder and dripped down his arm. "What have you done?" he gasped.

Bianca scrambled on her hands and feet, making her way toward the barn door.

Anger twisted in his stomach, drowning the compassion he’d lived by his whole life. Something had taken a hold of him. In mere moments, Bianca had changed him. He tried accessing his heart, but it had burned up and turned to ashes. Donovan was a new man. He knew things he’d never dreamed could be possible. Dark knowledge flooded his mind.

"Oh, no you don't." Donovan held up a hand, magic coursing through his veins, and the barn doors swung shut, bathing them in darkness. "Now, tell me exactly what you wanted with me, and I'll consider letting you live."

"I needed to plant a seed in my womb," she said, tears crackling in her voice.

Donovan smiled. Now who had the upper hand? "Did it work? Are you pregnant with my child?"

"It is too soon to tell," she said. Her red eyes glowed in the darkness.

Donovan walked languidly to where she cowered in the hay. "It is not.” He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. Something whispered deep inside him, telling him long-forgotten secrets. "You would have felt the pain of implantation. Like a dragon, latching on with its claws."

The woman didn't answer. She breathed shallowly.

"Did you?" he demanded.

"Yes." It was only a whisper.

"Then together we shall fly to the east, discover a new land, and raise our family." He took her hand in the darkness. She stood, pressing her body against his.

"I chose wisely." She covered his neck with wet kisses.

"I have been awakened,” Donovan said. “We fly tonight under the cover of darkness. Leave behind this village with its antiquated notions of magic. Except for one thing—we will take my brother Mestifito with us. I cannot bear to be parted from him."

"Anything you desire my love. Anything."

Pia's screams ripped through the otherwise peaceful Hutton's Bridge. Bastian sat on a log with Connor, wringing his hands.

"I don't remember it taking so long when Farah was born," Bastian said. He looked toward the village hall, which had served as an inn before the fog had fallen over their village.

"With our youngest, Calvin, it took three days." Connor patted Bastian's shoulder. "Don't worry. Pia and the babe will both be fine."

Bastian was grateful for the soothing words. Unfortunately, he knew as well as Connor did that childbirth could be like a battle. There were no guarantees anyone would get out alive. Pia's continued shrieks did nothing to alleviate his concerns. Granted, the woman could be dramatic at times. But Pia's screams were genuine pain.

Though their affair had lasted only one night, Bastian did care for the former prostitute. She had carried his child to term when she could have easily ended the pregnancy. She had given up her livelihood to travel to Hutton's Bridge and live in the fog with the refugee children and their caretakers.

Not without voicing her irritation at least once a day, of course. Bastian chuckled. Pia spent the majority of her time grousing, but not once did she ask to be returned to Ashoom. She was settling in to the calm of everyday life with them.

The Dragonlands had been quiet in the months since Connor destroyed the Red castle. Almost too quiet. Bastian couldn't shake the feeling something was still out there hunting them. He refused to let his guard down. Maybe he never would. Months of peace could not erase the destruction he'd witnessed since leaving Hutton's Bridge through the fog a couple of years ago. Nor could it change the prophecy the Green dragons so strongly believed in.

The Green still considered him their warlord, sending him messages via pigeon at least once a week. Bastian read them, then tossed the parchment in the fire. He had no use for their prophecies or their pleas to meet with them. Instead, he hid in Hutton's Bridge, waiting. For what, he did not know. In the meantime, it seemed right to be with his daughter and the mother of his soon-to-be-born babe.

Another wail interrupted his thoughts, followed by a separate cry, high-pitched and demanding.

"It's here." Bastian stood, wiping his damp hands on his pants. He hadn't realized how nervous he'd gotten as time passed.

"Go on," Connor said, hugging his friend. "Find out if you have a son or another daughter."

Bastian jogged toward the village hall, passing the children who played ball. He waved to his daughter, Farah. She dropped the ball, kissed Vatra, Connor's dragonling, on the cheek, and ran to her father.

"Is it time now, Papa?" Farah slipped her hand in his. It wasn't so small anymore. At five, she was growing so quickly Bastian could hardly keep up with all of the changes. Her blond curls bounced on her shoulders.

"Yes, didn't you hear the baby cry?" Bastian gave Farah's chin a light pinch.

She laughed. "No, I was too busy playing ball. My team was winning!"

"Of course they were," Bastian said. "Kurt made all the little ones play on the opposite team. You're lucky he let you play on his."

"It's because he's sweet on me, Papa. Someday Kurt and I are going to be married. Then I'll be like Pia and have a baby!"

"Don't even think about that now. You're just a little girl." In less than ten years, she'd be old enough to have children of her own. Bastian couldn’t wrap his mind around it. She seemed so young, but in a world where people rarely lived past forty due to disease or battle, they had to live hard and fast.

The two made their way into the inn. Bastian peeked in the doorway. "Can we come in? Farah and I want to see the newest addition to our family."

"Of course! Please!" Hazel, Connor's wife, pulled the door open all the way. "Pia is doing great and so is your baby."

"Boy or girl?" Bastian asked as he followed Hazel through the common room and up the steps to a bedroom.

"You'll see for yourself," Hazel said. She pointed to the first door on the left. "There they are."

Farah burst past them into the room, but Hazel grabbed Bastian's elbow. "Yes?" he asked her.

"Be gentle with Pia. The birth was very difficult. She needs help, Bastian. I need to know now if you will be the one to give it or if the healers and I will need to step up."

Bastian looked at Hazel with wide eyes. He hadn't expected that question. When Vinya gave birth to Farah, she'd been up the next day cooking and cleaning. Bastian shouldn't have been surprised after all of Pia’s screaming. And yet, he hadn't given a moment's thought to Pia's health, just the baby's.

"I will do whatever is necessary," Bastian said. "My duties around Hutton's Bridge are light. As long as I have someone to supplement care while I attend to chores, I think I will be able to do what is needed."

Hazel's soft smile warmed his heart. He'd said the right thing. Now he just needed to live up to it.

"Thank you, Bastian,” she said. “You're a good man. Not many men would ask a prostitute to keep their child, much less take care of her after the birth. Especially considering..."

Hazel didn't need to finish the sentence. Bastian knew she was thinking of Tressa, just as Bastian did every moment of every day. He hadn't seen her since the battle on the Isle of Repose. Still, he couldn't stop wondering how she was since Connor had taken her to the Black in the Charred Barrens after finding her nearly dead in the snow of the Barrier Mountains.

He could have gone to her, and yet he chose to stay in Hutton's Bridge.

Bastian took a deep breath, then stepped into the room. Pia lay in bed, covered to her waist with blankets, the babe cradled in her arms as it suckled on her breast. Farah stood next to them, cooing at her new sibling, her hand gently stroking its head.

"Bastian," Pia said, her eyes droopy and tired. "Come in and meet your son."

He stepped quietly to the side of the bed. The little boy's head was covered in flaming red hair. A lump formed in Bastian's throat. A son. A perfect little brother for Farah. The little boy's mouth was wrapped around Pia's breast, taking his first meal.

"He's strong like his father." Pia gazed up at Bastian, her eyes asking a question he wasn’t ready to answer.

He could make no promises to her, even though she'd given birth to his son. Bastian wouldn't marry unless it was for love. His first marriage to Vinya had been purely for the survival of the people of Hutton's Bridge. He'd experienced love with Tressa, and he refused to settle for anything less.

He did not love Pia. They both knew it. Even a moment like this wouldn't change his mind.

"Can I hold him?" Bastian asked after the boy had unlatched from his mother.

Pia offered the baby to Bastian. A small trail of breast milk seeped from the side of his mouth. Bastian wiped it with the blanket his son was swaddled in.

"He needs a name, Papa," Farah said. "Can we call him Goat? I love goats! They're my favorite. And he kinda sounds like one with those silly noises he makes."

Bastian ruffled Farah's hair with his free hand. "No, we aren't naming him Goat." He looked to Pia. "Do you have a name you'd like to give him?"

She shook her head. "He is your son, Bastian. You should name him."

Bastian looked down at the little baby, his mouth set in a blissful smile and his eyes gently closed. "I'd like to name him after my uncle. He was the physic here in Hutton's Bridge. He cared for everyone from birth to the grave. Adam. What do you think?"

Pia smiled. "I like that."

"It's not as good as Goat," Farah said, a scowl on her face.

"Adam," Bastian said. "It's settled. Your name is Adam."

To show his appreciation, baby Adam spit up, leaving milk all over Bastian's sleeve.

"I think he hates it!" Farah said, laughing. "Should have named him Goat."

Bastian wiped his son's chin again, purposely ignoring Farah. He wished he could feel as light as she did, but the reality of the world outside Hutton’s Bridge weighed heavy on his hear. Bastian hoped his son would grow up in a Dragonlands filled with peace, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something out there was watching them.