The Hearts of Dragons (2 page)

Iren Saitosan dug his
toes into the sand as the gentle waves of the Yuushin Sea lapped against his
shins. The cool water and briny scent invigorated him. All through the winter
and now into spring, he’d spent every day of the past six months on this beach
going through the same routine.

This time, he would
succeed.

Iren put his hands
together and held them in front of him. He pointed his left index finger across
the water and focused on it until it was all he saw.

If he concentrated hard
enough, maybe he could do it. Maybe he could breach the wall that his body had
constructed inside itself, the wall that separated him from his magic and from
his partner, the Holy Dragon, Divinion.

His body had created the
barrier for its own protection. Iren knew that, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t
go through life, a potentially eternal life, without magic.

Admittedly, he found his
obsession with it strange. He’d grown up not knowing anything about magic. But
Rondel had come along and revealed that his left-handedness marked him as a
member of a magical species: Maantecs. At first he hadn’t believed the old hag,
but he’d since come to accept what he was.

Then his body had ripped
that heritage away from him.

“Dammit!” Iren kicked at
the surf.

“How long will you keep
doing this to yourself?”

The female voice from
behind him was melodious like the streams that filled Ziorsecth Forest. Iren
turned and saw the speaker, a young-looking female Kodama in a long, green,
silk dress. Her race’s characteristic green hair cascaded from her head in
tousled locks that reached midway down her back.

Iren let out a long
breath. “As long as it takes, Minawë.”

Minawë answered only
with a concerned look. Iren frowned. Puffy rings encircled the Kodama’s emerald
eyes. She’d been crying again.

Iren had always
considered Minawë a person of great strength. Though she looked twenty, her
elegant face and lithe frame displayed a resolve few could match.

At least they had until
seven months ago. That was when Amroth, overwhelmed by the Fire Dragon Feng,
had attacked the Kodamas. The Fire Dragon had ripped Minawë’s mother from the
life-giving forest and let her succumb to the curse of her people.

Iren stepped past
Minawë. He shook the salt water from his short tan hair, brown leather trousers,
and white silk shirt. “It’s sunset,” he said. “Let’s go back. It’ll be dark
before we reach the tree.”

The pair climbed the
hillside up from the beach. When they reached the top, they beheld the crater
that had once contained the Heart of Ziorsecth, the largest tree in the world.
The massive hole was more than five hundred feet across and two hundred feet
deep. Just looking in it made Iren dizzy.

Only one thing grew
within the crater. A single sapling, barely Iren’s height, sprouted from the
hollow’s center: the new Heart of Ziorsecth.

Iren shook his head. The
original Heart of Ziorsecth had towered thousands of feet in the air. It had
been one more sacrifice to Feng’s rampage. How many centuries would it take
that new seedling to match its predecessor’s splendor?

A flash of white beside
the Heart caught Iren’s eye. The Muryozaki, his old dragonscale katana and
Divinion’s resting place, gleamed in the evening sun. Six months ago he had
left the sword in the crater to aid the tree in its recovery. If he couldn’t
use Divinion’s magic, maybe the tree could.

Rather than cross the
crater, Iren walked around it. He wanted to avoid the Kodamas’ burial ground on
the far side. Minawë spent more than enough time there. Just as Iren went to
the beach daily, Minawë devoted every waking hour to kneeling at her parents’
graves.

Iren understood her
anguish. He was an orphan too. He knew what it was like to feel alone and
abandoned. He’d lived that way his whole life.

Even so, he wished
Minawë could find a way to overcome that grief. She was supposed to be the
Kodamas’ queen now, and her people needed a leader after the terrors of Lodia’s
invasion and Feng’s attack. Yet Minawë hadn’t once returned to Yuushingaral
since Iren had recovered. The dead were keeping her from the living.

After hiking around the
crater, Iren and Minawë entered Ziorsecth Forest. Darkness engulfed them as the
thick canopy cut off the light of dusk. They walked another mile before
stopping at a maple tree thirty feet in diameter.

No matter how many times
Iren walked in these woods, the trees amazed him. More accurately, the tree
amazed him. The entire forest—thousands of square miles—was in reality a single
tree with many stems linked by a shared root system.

Tonight, though, Iren
scowled at this stem’s immense trunk. His fists tightened with frustration.
Minawë raised a hand, and a large section of the trunk opened. Rotating on
invisible hinges, it swung inward and revealed the hollowed-out space of the
first floor greeting room.

Minawë gestured again,
and this time a ball of light appeared in her palm. The orb floated into the
tree and settled near the ceiling. Though tiny, it lit the chamber well. It
cast its radiance over the organically carved wooden table and chairs designed
for comfort and entertaining. In the back, it shone on the spiral staircase
that led to the higher rooms within the tree.

Iren suppressed his
anger, fearing Minawë would see. He needn’t have bothered. She’d been too
distracted lately to notice his moods. They hadn’t even said a word to each
other since meeting up on the beach.

It wouldn’t have been
like that seven months ago. They would have joked and teased one another. The briefest
flicker of a grin crossed Iren’s face as he thought about how Minawë used to
call him “moron.” He’d grown up taunted by everyone, so he knew she didn’t mean
it.

But Minawë hadn’t called
Iren “moron” for six months, not since the day he’d discovered he couldn’t use
magic. In a perverse way, he wished she’d say it to him, just once. He longed
for proof that her mother’s death hadn’t turned Minawë into the shell Iren
feared she had become.

Minawë created more orbs
as the pair entered the tree and climbed the stairs. They passed the second
floor, devoted to cooking, and the third floor, where the sleeping areas began.
Minawë should have turned away there and left Iren alone to go to the guest
room on the fourth floor. Instead, like every night, she went with him to light
the way.

By the time they’d
reached Iren’s room, he couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s all right, Minawë,” he
said. “I can handle it from here.”

The Kodama ran an
uncertain hand through her green hair. “It will be total darkness. Can you manage?”

She meant well. She
really did. That didn’t make it better. “I can manage just fine!”

Minawë jumped back and
covered her mouth. Iren sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please go to bed. I’ll
see you in the morning.”

Tears were in the
queen’s eyes as she left the room.

With Minawë and her
magical light gone, the windowless room became utterly black. Iren felt his way
to the dresser and pulled out a long Kodaman nightshirt. He changed into it and
headed for bed.

But switching clothes had
disoriented him. He smacked into a wall. It took two more minutes of fumbling
to find the bed and crawl into it.

Iren lay awake a long
time. He wondered how many more days he could put up with this. In Lodia, he
would be one of the most powerful men. Even without magic, Maantecs had greater
strength, speed, and resistance to injury than humans. Among the magic-dependent
Kodamas, though, he couldn’t even light his way to bed or open a door. He
needed Minawë’s help for the most basic tasks.

It wasn’t fair. He had
become the Dragoon. He had saved the world from Feng. Why was he being punished
for that?

By the time exhaustion
forced him to sleep, the answer still eluded him.

*   *   *

The dream came again.

It had started after his
battle with Feng. At first Iren had dismissed it as delirium while he recovered
from his injuries, but it had persisted. Now he had it at least twice a week.
Tonight’s was the most vivid yet.

He was inside a small
house, sitting in a simple yet comfortable rocking chair. The rough, blocky
wood under his fingers told him the piece was nothing of merit. Even so, its
subtle motion and quiet creaking soothed him.

A fire burned in the
hearth across from him, and above it hung the Muryozaki in its sheath. A layer
of dust had settled on it. Iren had no use for it anymore.

He was more concerned
with the woman in her upper twenties rocking in the chair next to him. Her head
rested against his arm, her raven hair soft on his skin. Though she wore only
basic homespun clothes, when Iren looked at her, he knew she was the most
beautiful person on Raa.

She was all the more
beautiful for the bundle she held to her chest, the child they had made
together. As she rocked, she hummed a tune, soft and lilting. It rang at once
of joy and sorrow, of love and loneliness, of boundless hope and endless
despair.

Iren remembered the
first time she’d hummed that song for him, though he couldn’t place where or
when it had happened. Back then it had made him smile. Tonight it nearly made
him weep.

Choking back tears, Iren
said, “He will be hated, just as I am hated.”

The woman stopped
humming. She looked at him with bold, deep brown eyes. “He will be loved,” she
declared, “just as you are loved.”

Iren knew better, but he
dared not disagree with her. Instead he smiled, leaned down, and kissed her on
the forehead. “I don’t deserve you.”

She smiled back at him,
and as happened every time she did, all his pain melted away, just for a few
seconds. “You’re tired, Iren,” she said. “Go and lie down. I’ll be in shortly.
Our little man’s almost asleep.”

Iren rose and headed for
the bedroom, but before he’d gone two steps, a knock came at the door. Iren’s
head whipped to face it. No one should be around this late at night.

The woman looked at
Iren, concerned. He gulped as he walked to the door. He couldn’t place why, but
he knew this was no ordinary traveler. Reluctantly, he opened the door.

No one was there.

At that moment, as it
happened every time he had the dream, Iren woke up.

This was it. Life or
death depended on one shot.

Rondel stood inside her
stone prison, now so hot from Serona’s flames that she felt kiln-dried. Her
teeth clenched the hilt of her snapped dagger. With her left hand smashed, she
needed her right hand free to act as a conduit.

She concentrated for
several minutes as she let all of both her own magic and what energy she could
draw from Okthora flow into her right hand. For the purpose of escaping her
cell, it didn’t matter that she had broken her rondel. Its hilt remained
intact, and more important, so did the three rings of kanji symbols stained
into the red wood. Those rings connected her to the Storm Dragon’s magic.

The old Maantec pressed
her palm against the ceiling. Her hand glowed blue from the lightning coursing
through it.

It had to be enough. She
couldn’t risk drawing more magic from Okthora, or he would rip control of her
body away from her. That would admittedly release her from this prison, but it
would cast her into one far worse.

At last she heard the
detonating
crack
she’d been waiting for. Her cell shone white. The
lightning bolt descending from the sky shattered the stone into dust as it
connected with the opposite charge Rondel had built up on her hand to attract
it.

Rondel didn’t get a
chance to enjoy her freedom. The bolt’s energy overwhelmed the feeble magic in
her hand. A shock ripped through her, and everything went dark.

*   *   *

Iren stood again in the
Yuushin Sea’s surf, but everything felt different from yesterday. For one, the
waves were higher this afternoon. Most broke against his chest, and the
occasional one topped his head.

It was easy to see why.
Thunderheads gathered over the Yuushin and filled the southwest sky with black.
The waves would only increase in size as that storm blew in.

None of that bothered
Iren. The tumultuous water suited his mood.

If he focused on his
anger, maybe today he would get a result. During his training with Rondel, he
had learned that strong emotions could make his magic act on its own. His
feelings had killed the leader of the Quodivar bandit gang, and they had cured
Minawë of her race’s curse. Both spells had happened without conscious thought.

Iren stretched his arms
in front of him. Concentrating on his left finger, he recalled his fury at
bumbling around last night in the tree.

Five minutes went by,
then ten, then thirty. Every wave crashed over his head now, and twice the
current almost took him out to sea.

After an hour, he
couldn’t stand the punishing sea any longer. Iren stomped off the beach. He
climbed the lip of the crater and sat down.

On the crater’s opposite
side, Minawë hunched over her parents’ graves. Even at this distance, Iren
could tell she was crying.

In his mind Iren heard
the woman from his dream humming her lullaby. Her voice was strong yet
soothing. She didn’t use magic, and neither did he. When he was with her, he
didn’t need magic. He was a normal person, and she loved him for it.

Iren shivered. He cared
for Minawë. He should be dreaming of her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Every day
he stayed in Ziorsecth, he died a little more.

He made up his mind. He
supposed he’d known it for a long time, but last night had settled the matter.

Iren slid into the
crater and walked to the tiny Heart of Ziorsecth. Next to it lay the Forest
Dragon Bow, the Chloryoblaka. Iren ignored it and instead picked up his katana.
He slid the sheathed weapon into his belt.

Rocks tumbled in front
of him. Iren looked up; Minawë was heading in his direction. “What are you
doing?” she asked when she reached him.

The worry in her voice
was so great that Iren doubted himself. But he’d made his decision. “I’m sorry,
Minawë,” he said. “I have to go.”

“What?” She grabbed hold
of his shoulders. “What are you saying? Why?”

Anger flashed in Iren’s
sky blue eyes. “Don’t you understand? The Kodaman way of life relies on magic.
I can’t live like that.”

“You don’t need magic,”
Minawë replied. “You have me. Let me help you.”

“You mean let you do
everything for me. I can’t even walk through the house alone. Without magic
I’ll be dependent on you the rest of my life. That’s why I have to leave.”

Minawë looked at him
with despair. “Where will you go?”

Iren hadn’t seen that
expression on Minawë’s face since her mother had died. He hated that he made
her look that way, yet there was no escaping it. “Lodia,” he said. “I won’t
need magic there. I’ll be like everyone else.”

“No, you won’t,” Minawë
said. “You’ll be an outcast, a traitor, and a Left. All the humans in Lodia are
right-handed. They’ll find out you’re not human, and when they realize you’re a
criminal on top of that, they’ll kill you.”

“They won’t recognize
me. If they even remember Iren Saitosan, they’ll recall a teenager, not a
thirty-year-old man. Besides, I have to go to Lodia. There’s a place I need to
visit.”

“Where’s that?”

“My parents’ farm.”

Minawë’s sad face turned
to shock. “Your parents’ farm? Why do you want to go there? I thought you
didn’t care about their murders anymore. I thought you’d given up on revenge.”

“I did,” Iren said.
“That’s not why I want to go. My father was the Holy Dragon Knight, even if he
didn’t realize it. If I go there, maybe I can find a clue about how to restore
my magic.”

“That seems like a long
shot.”

Iren shrugged. “It’s the
only lead I have.”

Minawë hugged Iren so
hard he could barely breathe. “If you regain your magic, will you come back?”
Her voice was pleading.

He didn’t answer right
away. The black-haired woman from his dream appeared in his mind’s eye, smiling
in that way that could make all his pain vanish.

Iren pushed the thought
away. She wasn’t real. Minawë was. “I will,” he promised. “I don’t know how
I’ll regain my magic, or how long it will take, but when I do, I’ll see you
again.”

Minawë reluctantly let
go of him. Iren turned and headed up the crater away from her.

The moment he reached
the tree line, Iren broke into a run east toward Lodia. He followed the empty
swath of forest created by the old Heart of Ziorsecth’s own eastward trek.

Even with the lack of
undergrowth, though, his pace frustrated him. It was a tenth of what he could
have managed using Divinion’s magic.

Still, his Maantec
muscles would let him go faster and take fewer breaks than a human. He would
only need a few days to reach the border.

Once he crossed it, he
feared he might never do so again.