Dragonfire: Freedom in Flames (Secrets of the Makai Book 3) (3 page)

“Oh, no,” sighed Landon. “We had no idea.”

“I don’t really know. This is a different world to me now. I do not know what has happened in the between.”

Donovan broke the guilty silence. “Why do you seem so willing to trust us now? Surely you have instincts to stay away from humans.”

“Simple really. If the dragon trusts you, I trust you. I fear nothing in the presence of a dragon—it has always been so.”

The blood drained from Tristan’s face, leaving clammy sweat beading on his skin. “The dragon who was here and destroyed everything wasn’t so trustworthy.” Now more than ever, the drive to get outside gave him strength. He stood and circled the makeshift camp, ignoring the concerned stares from the others. The walls of the cavern were no longer jagged—Samara’s presence once again making them smooth. Even though he knew he’d never make it, he had to ask. “Samara, I need the door.”

Sorry, Tristan. Too soon.

Tristan dropped to his knees, exhausted beyond belief.
I’m sorry, too.

“If you don’t make a door,” Donovan said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be forced to break out. I have duties to attend and as far as anyone knows—”

“Don’t,” Tristan whispered. With Donovan’s hearing, there was no need to say it any louder. “She’s not indestructible.”

MOLAJAH’S LAST REQUEST

TRISTAN. RESPOND.
The unmistakable dark voice of Molajah reverberated through the bones of his skull.

Tristan scanned the darkness to pinpoint the source. Where was Landon and Victor? Donovan? He couldn’t even see lights from the lanterns.

If you can hear me, you must respond. We’re out of time.

Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach—

This force around you has weakened. Is it temporary? Where are you?

It’s the same place I was before, when I….
Tristan tried to leave ‘shifted into a rampaging dragon’ out of his thoughts, but it was near impossible.
It’s some sort of training facility. It’s safe, I think. They just want—
He’d wanted captivity for himself as well, so he held back placing blame on the Makai.
She, the room, said I couldn’t hurt her, but I had so much power to get rid of. What am I supposed to do with it?

I can’t answer that, but you’re being concealed, which is fine and helpful in a way, except it makes my connection with you extremely difficult. The last time we talked…was the room injured as well?

I don’t remember.
But it did remind him about Donovan’s request.
You said you owed Donovan a favor. He wants to meet with the council.

The council can no longer be trusted. Jacques and I are both being held for High Treason now, and a revolution among the masses has begun.

Tristan blinked in the pitch-blackness, unable to comprehend the full meaning of his words. He’d never considered what Molajah might be doing in whatever realm they all lived in. He’d simply grown bitter by the fact that the man wasn’t available to answer questions for such a long period of time.
I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Listen close. Do not attempt contacting me or Jacques. We’re both being monitored and I will contact you only if it is safe. Do not respond or believe my queries unless I give you an update on Jacques first—sooner or later, they’ll use me to make you do something you shouldn’t do. Do you understand?

Tristan nodded, his heart pounding against his chest. Molajah and Jacques’ situation must be far worse than he could have imagined.
I understand.

The dragons are divided over the contract. It wasn’t meant to be a form of immortality, but it has become so.

I don’t understand.

The contract we made binds us to this realm. Our bodies have continued in the circle of life, but our souls have not. Once the contract is fulfilled, we will no longer have a purpose. We will no longer be bound to this realm.

Tristan let the words sink in.
You’ll all die?

Heaven, Hell, Reincarnation, Nothing…no one can truly say for absolute certain, can they? All we have is the strength of our faith, and not everyone wants their faith tested. The council had to appear diligent and hopeful that, one day, the honor of fulfilling the promise we made to the races would actually happen. But over time, as humans continued to dominate the earth, the possibility of freeing the races lessened. Even now, no one foresees
when
the world will be safe enough.

So what’s the problem?
Tristan asked.

You. We will always need living dragons to remain in good standing with the contract, but dragons in this century rarely survive long enough to prolong the species adequately and they’ve lost the natural ability to commune with each other and the ancestors.

There are others?

Not enough to assume we have another generation of security,
Molajah continued.
But it matters not. Now, a living dragon has become immortal. That makes you extremely dangerous.

Tristan cringed at the statement, but it was true enough so he let it go.

It is the cause of this revolution. Some would want you fully trained, so that you may bring us all honor when the contract is fulfilled. Some would want the races held forever in a state of limbo, so the contract will bind us here forevermore in our own sort of immortality. And now they know the council never intended for you to learn anything about your heritage, and they certainly never intended for you to know about the contract.

Then why—

The emerald was at risk and the contract could have been broken if we, you, failed to protect it. The truth of our demise became all too clear, yet we’d allowed the situation because we simply did not believe a partnership between us and the living would be necessary until the humans were on their way out of existence. Only then would a living dragon be given the title of Designated, along with the proper instruction to fulfill his duty.

Did they un-designate me?

It’s not as simple as that. When the council suggested vacating the position by killing you, the information leaked to the general populous and started the revolution we’re now in.

But I—
Tristan gulped.
I don’t know what to say.

There is nothing you can say. In fact, it has nothing to do with you at all. Jacques was the only one who saw value in developing a relationship with you, albeit abstract and difficult for you to perceive. The council eventually condemned him for it; for his lack of control over your actions and his ulterior motivations.

They believed I could do better without compromising the contract, but I lacked history with your thought patterns and had only a slightly easier time in communicating. When the time came to vote on your fate, I could not support killing you for the sake of my own immortality. Jacques can claim innocence to High Treason, but I cannot. I don’t want our race to become extinct anymore than any other race did, when faced with the question. So I leaked the council’s secrets with hopes that the dragons will rise and fight for keeping the honor bestowed upon us by the faith of the less fortunate races, and take the status of our own longevity out of the equation when making decisions.

It mostly made sense.
But what if it’s never safe for the races to be freed?
Tristan asked.
Wouldn’t you all be stuck in the same immortal situation you’re in now? And your crime…will they kill you?

We need a new council,
Molajah said.
One less focused on staying immortal and more determined to help our living kin. You might not agree in your current state, but I am proud to witness a living dragon. One who can take our true form and bring the others to life—even if it can’t be done in the next thousand years. My hope for you is to find others, band together, share what you know so you can all be prepared, hiding until it is time.

But how? Where can I find others? How will I know when it’s time?

I can’t answer that. Just know, you’ve essentially taken all the power away from the council by having the map, a clear advantage in communicating with other dragons, and ordained authority to free the magical races and thus end the contract. There’s much speculation over the stability of your human emotions, so think very carefully before you act. Expect to be contacted by those who would want to sway you one way or the other, but do not trust anyone. Have faith in your instincts, for they are strong. Stronger than you realize. Fair well, Tristan. It’s been an honor to know and work with you.

Wait! I can’t do this alone.

You’re not alone and I must face my sentence. If I were you, I’d start by locating as many gems as possible for future reference, but do not touch. We have theories about the power you absorb, but none are easily explained. Just be the dragon you were meant to be, and all will—

Tristan held his breath in the eerie void of silence.
Will what? What sentence? How do I get rid of the power?

“Maybe he’s hibernating?”

Molajah? I have more questions! Please don’t leave.
Though he couldn’t think of what he’d ask. He’d need a day or two just to digest all the information he’d been given. Fear and guilt and mourning squeezed at his throat and lungs. What was the punishment for High Treason? “No! Let me speak!”

“Tristan!”

Tristan rolled from his back to his feet in a sorry attempt to put as much space between himself and whoever was touching him. The green blob of a man seemed to be ushering the two orange blobs of Landon and Victor in the opposite direction. He shaded his eyes against the intense sunlight and looked for a way out between the trees; a way to reach Molajah. But every direction was blocked by vertical bars of speckled birch trees.

“Tristan!”

Tristan spun to face the source of the voice, unable to get a full breath into his lungs. The glowing green man was offering a wooden staff in one hand, and holding the other out empty. Tristan retreated in mirrored steps as the man approached.

“Donovan.” Tristan said the name as soon as it popped into his head. “Don’t push me. Not now.”

The man stopped inching forward. He tossed the staff after a brief hesitation, landing it with a thud in the dry leaves near Tristan’s feet. Tristan knelt slowly, refusing to break eye contact until the staff was safely in hand.

“What is it you wish to speak about?”

Tristan rested his head against the staff. “Molajah—”

“Did you tell him I wish to have an audience with the council?”

“Yes, and he said the council can’t be trusted. He’s on trial for treason.”

“When?”

Tristan turned away, facing the trees instead. There was nothing he could do for Molajah, except die to be there in person. Which would completely defeat the purpose of Molajah’s sacrifice. “Right now.”

“Perhaps he will be found innocent of these charges.”

“He’s not denying the charges.”

“Does he have a plan?”

Tristan shrugged. “Something about a revolution. He hopes others will take down the council. Samara being down is the only reason he was able to contact me.”

“It is unlikely that Molajah was executed in the same moment the room regained enough power to operate. Come with me.”

Tristan glanced at Donovan, daring to hope. Was he being freed? Even if only temporarily? Donovan produced a pair of dark sunglasses. “If you think this is bright, it’ll be even brighter outside. Assuming it is daylight.”

Tristan put on the dark shades and felt the immediate relief.

“Roo—Samara. Let us out.”

“Not a wise decision, Donovan,” replied Samara. “He’s showing signs—”

“We don’t have time to wait. We’ll be back.”

A simple white door appeared through the birch trees. Tristan concentrated on slowing his heart rate, focusing on Molajah’s wellbeing rather than his own anxieties. He followed Donovan, who no longer appeared green through the dark lenses.

They stopped at the door with Donovan’s hand closed around the knob. “Don’t use the glasses if you don’t have to—they’ll just be another crutch. The tunnel is dark.”

Tristan took the glasses off. The birch forest seemed a breathtaking fire of its own, harvest yellow and gold leaves flickering in a reddish sun.

“It’ll still be here when we return.” Donovan opened the door and stepped into the dark tunnel.

Tristan looked past Landon and Victor, searching the forest for signs of Samara. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she replied.

“I hope you’re okay and….”

“I’ll be here.”

Tristan nodded and stepped through the door, leaving it open for Landon and Victor to follow.

EVER FAITHFUL

THE SPIRAL STAIRS OF ROCK twisted in a counterclockwise direction, with flaming torches mounted on the inner curve. Tristan leaned against the rough wall to catch his breath, grateful for the coolness seeping through the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

Donovan’s footsteps faded up the stairs and Landon and Victor stopped behind him.

“Go on. I’ll catch up,” Tristan said.

“That’s alright. We can wait.”

“Is everyone okay? Where’s Pink?”

“She’s fine.”

On cue, the little pixie flew in somersaults above Landon’s hand and landed on Victor’s shoulder. Tristan smiled, then remembered the last thing he’d heard her say. “Hibernate?”

“It’s just something dragons do once in a while.”

“They do? But—” The idea of falling asleep for… “How long?”

Pink launched herself into the air and spun circles around Landon’s head; it was impossible to not be amazed by the tiny creature.

“Ugh!” Landon held out a hand for her to land on. “You’re making me dizzy.”

She landed with the grace of a butterfly.

“How long, Pink?” Tristan asked again, afraid there was a reason she hadn’t answered right away.

“I don’t know for how long. Months? Years? Dragons don’t share information about themselves.”

Years. Tristan forced air into his lungs. Years. “How long have I been down here?”

“A couple of weeks, give or take,” Victor answered.

Landon and Victor both looked worried for him, but they seemed reluctant to speak.

“Well, maybe that’s why I couldn’t get moving? The dragon parts feel like hibernating….”

“Maybe,” Landon said. He didn’t sound like he was buying it. “Whatever your state was, it wasn’t restful.”

“Or rejuvenating,” Victor added.

Donovan’s stern voice echoed down through the stairwell. “Need I remind you that we’re in a hurry to reach the outside?”

Apparently he
did
need reminding. They had to make contact with Molajah again, before it was too late.

Guilt filled his limbs like cement. Molajah and Jacques were his best resources for real information in this mess; the contract, the gems, the surge of powers he had to maintain somehow…not to mention general dragon knowledge. How was he supposed to know he hibernated? Both men could be facing their deaths and here he was trying to catch his breath. And failing.

He glanced at Pink. “When we have time, I need you to tell me everything you know about dragons.”

The little pixie nodded and dashed to the safety of Landon’s thick ponytail. Before Tristan could see what frightened her, Donovan was scooping him up and heading upstairs.

“I can walk,” Tristan mumbled, though he felt himself slipping into a quiet darkness within seconds. Then he was being placed on his feet.

A shaft of daylight sliced through the darkness, searing his vision as Landon opened the giant wooden doors. Tristan fumbled for the sunglasses just as Victor handed them over.

“Clearly you prefer the night,” Donovan said, “as do I.”

Tristan paused on the stone landing, taking in the trees and shrubs surrounding the clearing at the base of the stairs. A sense of déjà vu kept him from walking any farther. Donovan stood motionless beside him. Victor stayed behind, Landon glanced up at him from the ground.

“Anything?”

Tristan shook his head. He was about to send a mental plea when he remembered Molajah being specific about not making contact. And he wasn’t to contact Jacques either. But why? He let his mind open and reached out, searching for whispers or clues.

Making himself available above ground was all he could do to help strengthen whatever connection they needed to communicate. But his attention kept coming back to the nearest shrubs. He leaned on the staff and made his way down the steps.

Pink zipped ahead of him and zigzagged through the trees. Everywhere she went, the leaves seemed to follow in the happy wake of her wings.

They sure aren’t taking very good care of him.

Tristan glanced over his shoulder to view the Makai castle. The outside of the building resembled a long-forgotten hunter’s lodge.

He looks awful.

Something seemed missing from the view he’d expected. Donovan was still standing at the top of the stairs, which were now made of aged wood instead of stone. Victor sat on the bottom step beside Landon.

Who is speaking?
Tristan asked, careful to keep his thinking private.

Could it be?
Several tiny voices overlapped with excited whispers.
Were we wrong to let them care for you? Do you wish us to help you escape?

I can’t see you.
Tristan spun in a tight circle, shielding himself even though the voice didn’t sound or feel threatening.
I don’t understand.

Are they punishing you?

No. Who’s speaking?

Are you ill?
A chorus of concerns and speculations came from every direction.

No, I’m not ill. Not technically.

Then, you are punishing yourself?

Tristan cringed at the question.
Why would I do that? Tell me where you are.

Pink returned from her loop around the clearing and hovered a few inches above a shrub. She pointed down with her index finger and flew away.

He’d known the plants could communicate with each other, and with Dorian. And the little cactus appeared to have heard his plea for help. Dorian had even received his message, even if somewhat skewed by the time it reached her. Yet with all the evidence, he found it hard to believe the voices were coming from the surrounding shrubbery.

You can’t talk to a dragon that way!
someone called with a screechy voice.

What’s he going to do, fall on me? He can barely stand.

He probably will fall. Those with thorns—blunt your tips!

Is he dying?

His skin is so transparent.

I thought the humans were helping him.

Tristan spun again, surrounded by all the comments.
They are helping me and I’m not dying.
Tristan faced the original shrub Pink had pointed out and knelt before it, partly because his legs were about to give out, and partly because he had to focus on one source of information.

“Do you have contact with Molajah?” Donovan asked. “Tristan?”

“Give me a minute.” Tristan touched the scraggly shrub with the tip of his finger. The upper almond-shaped leaves were a silvery purple while the undergrowth was a vivid green.
Do you have a name?

Pōkerekere.

Pōkerekere.
Tristan did his best to pronounce the name the same, but mostly failed.
Do you know a girl named Dorian?

Of course. She was here not long ago. Are they withholding food from you?

No. I just—

You are starving yourself? Purposely?

No!

Then why are you so weak and frail? Dragons are not known for being so.

Tristan tried to deny it then snapped his mouth shut. Pink landed on his shoulder and hissed in his ear. “Tristan!”

I’m doing the best I can
, he thought angrily, shooing Pink away.
What do you know about dragons?

They are fair, loyal, intelligent. I see none of these things in you. Have you judged yourself unworthy of good health?

Tristan glared at the motionless plant and clamped his jaw shut.
I need to speak to Dorian, if you can send her a message.

Answer my questions first.
The volume of whispers rose for a few seconds, then died into silence.

I’m still adjusting to the idea of being a dragon.

So you believed you were human, now you know you’re not. How long will it take to stop living a lie? You’re a dragon! The only choice you have in the matter is whether you want to be strong or weak. Wise or foolish. Agile or clumsy. Is your goal to be a breathing bag of bones? You must be the sorriest excuse of a dragon I’ve ever seen—

“Tristan!” shouted Pink, tugging on Tristan’s earlobe. “They’re here.”

Tristan scowled at the shrub, fighting the urge to rip it out by the roots and set it on fire. The color seeped out of his vision as an internal pressure threatened to burst fire from his skin.
Do you have a death wish?

No. But clearly you’re in no condition to escape as a human…but as a dragon? This is your chance! Now! While out in the open!

“Tristan!”

Tristan flicked the annoying buzz away from his ear. “Pink!” He scrambled to pick her up off the ground, his eyesight returning to normal, and spotted three ghostly figures at the edge of the clearing. “Oh.”

He blinked several times, using the staff to haul himself to his feet. The chatter emanating from the surrounding plant life became a distant hum.

A fourth ghost appeared.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in a misty cloud; three men and a willowy woman who stood a full foot taller than anyone else. The men varied in height, age, and style of clothing, and remained still and silent while Tristan studied each of them.

“What is it?” Donovan asked, stepping in beside Tristan with a long sword drawn and ready. He scanned the surroundings, but didn’t seem to see the line of people standing a mere ten feet away.

“Ghosts—”

“Molajah?” ask Donovan.

“No.” Tristan tensed as the oldest man stepped forward, removing a fur cap from his hairless head. His lips were moving, but there was no voice to hear.

“Fill me in, Tristan. I’m at a serious disadvantage here,” Donovan whispered, tensing along with Tristan. Landon and Victor took places on his left. “Perhaps a tactical retreat.”

The ghosts seemed enthralled with Pink as she fluttered toward Landon, then changed her mind and returned to Tristan’s shoulder. “There are four, no, five,” Pink whispered, loud enough for Donovan to hear.

“Five what?” Donovan asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.

“Humans. They seemed to be waiting for something. One is speaking, but he makes no noise.”

“Well, Tristan? You know how to read lips. What is he saying?”

Tristan had learned to lip-read at an early age when he needed clues to tell the difference between what was said and what was thought. Though the trick didn’t seem to be helping him now. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s speaking a different language.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a gift of tongues?”

The woman began speaking and three more people appeared. “I don’t know.” Tristan took a step back. “There’s more now. They keep coming.”

“See if they understand you.”

“What do you want?” He wished he could sound strong and determined to find out. Instead, his quivering voice sounded like he didn’t truly want to know. “Where’s Molajah?”

The ghosts glanced at each other and huddled into a tight group. Then one by one, they disappeared.

“I don’t like this….” Tristan shot a frustrated glare at the shrub. “Molajah!”

“They all left,” Pink clarified, leaping from Tristan’s shoulder to the safety of Landon’s hair.

“Maybe they left to find a translator?” Victor asked.

If you were a real dragon, they wouldn’t need a translator,
said the shrub.

Tristan growled as he headed back to the dilapidated building, scaring himself more than anyone else with the rumble in his chest.
Don’t forget our deal—I need to talk to Dorian as soon as possible.

You don’t have to go back in there. We’ll help you—

Help me how? You’re just a bunch of plants stuck in the
— as soon as the words crossed his lips, he remembered a cage of roots entwining around him like a coffin, pulling him underground. His heart raced at the flood of images. Memories.

They were escaping through the dark tunnels of the castle—Landon, Victor, Donovan, Alpheus, a woman in long skirts. They were trying to get out before the building caved in…but the walls had stopped crumbling. They were freeing him...letting him go after accusing him of attacking them. Some sort of trick, because he couldn’t exactly run or get away in the condition he was in. He could barely walk without Landon’s help.

“Let’s get inside while we can,” Donovan suggested. “Obviously they can sense your presence, so we should regroup and come back with a plan for handling the situation.”

“Something’s wrong,” Landon said.

You can’t trust them—they’re humans! They’re the ones destroying the Earth.

Tristan jerked away when a light touch on his back attempted to guide him toward the steps.

But the ground at his feet was solid and level. There were no snapping trees crashing in clouds of dust, no explosions of dirt where snake-like roots tried to impale Landon, Victor, or Donovan….

“Where’s Alpheus?” He couldn’t even remember the last time he’s seen the man.

“He and Eleonora went to Scotland,” answered Donovan. “They’re searching the smaller villages for useful folklore.”