A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) (2 page)

“Bronny? Can you hear that? I think someone’s coming—and it’s not meal time.” Despite wanting to pretend she couldn’t hear him, Bronwyn listened. Muffled voices seeped through the door, and she shuddered. Was it time to die? Fighting the urge to curl into a fetal position and feign sleep, she sat up, wanting to acknowledge she deserved to die. The realmist would not fight this—she had killed in cold blood and wanted to atone. Maybe, just maybe, she would find peace once she joined the dragon in an endless slumber. Thinking back to when she stood on the cliff, the day this journey started, she regretted not jumping off. If she had, none of this would have happened. She would rather the only person she had murdered was herself.
Gods, I hate you, you stupid coward. This is your fault. Why didn’t you jump?
She berated herself.

The door opened, and Agmunsten entered, lamp held out in front. Bronwyn blinked, shielding her eyes with her hand. Agmunsten crouched down and placed the lamp on the floor. He looked into her eyes. “Bronwyn, do you remember me?”

She nodded. “You’re the head realmist, Agmunsten.”

“Yes. I’ve been talking to King Valdorryn, and he’s graciously agreed to pardon you and Sinjenasta.”

“But no. No. He can’t.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“Did you understand what I said? He’s not going to have you killed. You are to be set free, although you must make a promise.”

“I understood. But I deserve to die. I helped kill that dragon. I’m a murderer, and I deserve to be punished.”

Agmunsten appreciated that Bronwyn felt guilty, and he was glad she did, but he didn’t have time to waste. It
had been a monumental effort to get Valdorryn to agree, not to mention the secret he had to concede to convince him. Agmunsten’s legs shook from crouching too long. He stood and looked down at the girl. “Now listen here. I know you didn’t just wake up the other morning and decide you wanted to kill Symbothial. I know Drakon has played a big part in this.” He held his hand up when Bronwyn opened her mouth. “Just let me finish. You will have to deal with your guilt. Look at it as part of your training as a realmist. You didn’t think it would be a life without killing, did you? For the sake of The Circle, Avruellen, and all of Talia, you need to be grateful you’ve been pardoned. I want you to get up and promise me you won’t murder another dragon.”

Bronwyn hesitated. While she struggled to accept what Agmunsten said, hearing her aunt’s name was like a slap in the face. Avruellen would not forgive her if she gave up, no matter the reason. And where was her aunt? Was she okay? She stood gingerly, taking a moment to regain her balance. She looked at Agmunsten. “I promise I won’t murder any other dragons. I’m so sorry.” She cast her eyes down.

“It’s okay, child, but remember: I’ll be watching you. If Drakon or Sinjenasta asks you to do anything else, check with me first.”

Bronwyn nodded and let Agmunsten lead her out of the cell. When she saw that the door to Sinjenasta’s cell stood open, she asked where he was.

“I don’t know. I’m hoping he’s talking to the Master of War.” Agmunsten stood beside Bronwyn to see the empty cell for himself. He hadn’t expected Bertholimous would have elicited Sinjenasta’s promise so soon. The head realmist twirled the end of his beard between graceful fingers and hoped nothing was amiss.

Still tired from days of trying to heal Arcon, he turned slowly and walked towards the stairs that led to the upper levels of Vellonia. “Follow me, Bronwyn. We’re going to see the King of the Dragons.”

Bronwyn was glad Agmunsten took his time. It allowed her to observe the grandeur of the intermountain castle and distracted her from depressing thoughts.  Rich furnishings, placed at intervals, adorned the halls, but the beauty came from the natural surroundings. Polished stone contrasted with rough. Thin veins of gold slashed a glittery path across the walls, and Bronwyn was reminded of the shimmering skin of the sacred lake. Where she expected to see low, constricting ceilings, there were soaring domes where hundreds of candles burnt in small nooks carved out by the dragons.

Agmunsten stopped, eyes widening. Bronwyn bumped into his back. “Oops. Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Is this where the king is?” The young realmist couldn’t see any doors and wondered if the king hid behind an invisible door that operated by power from the Second Realm.

“No, dear. Something’s happened. The king will have to wait.” When Agmunsten moved this time, it was with the haste of an eager young man.

Agmunsten bustled in the open door, and Bronwyn hung back. She took a hesitant step into the room to see Agmunsten already sitting on a chair by the bed, his hands placed on another man’s head; white hair poked out between his fingers. Bronwyn felt a sense of familiarity as she studied the patient. Her musings were interrupted when she realized someone else was in the room.

She turned to see a young man, about her age, staring back at her. A rat sat on his shoulder. Even though she knew she had never seen him before, she was drawn to him. There was something whispering that she knew him. Her blood vibrated in her veins, telling her it was obvious if she just looked. She had a flash of a hulking dragon towering over him, its mouth big enough to eat him in one bite. Bronwyn shuddered. It was the same dragon from her nightmares—the ones that left her screaming out for Avruellen. She blinked, and it was gone.

A raspy voice, barely louder than a whisper, spoke. “Ah, Bronwyn, meet Blayke. He’s my apprentice. And the little fellow is Fang.” He paused for a breath. “Do you recognize me, child?”

Brownyn turned to see Agmunsten’s hands relaxed in his lap. The other man, the one who had spoken, leaned back into his pillows, but his eyes shone with the brilliance of the symbols of the Second Realm.

Her mouth made an O, and she thrust her chin forward. “You’re Arcon! I remember now … from the meeting of The Circle.” For the first time in many days, her forehead was crease
-free, her worries forgotten for a short while.

He chuckled, “Indeed I am. Your aunt’s not here?”

“No.” She looked down at her boots.

“Is she all right? Do you know where she is?”

“No, sir, I don’t. The last I saw of her was when Sinjenasta took me away.”

Arcon sat up and leaned towards her.

Agmunsten stilled Arcon’s question with a shake of his head and a hand on his arm. “That’s enough for now, Arcon. You and I have things to discuss. I need to tell you what’s been going on. The apprentices should be receiving some lessons, I think. And I know just the person, or dragon, to do it.” He turned to Bronwyn and Blayke. “Okay, come with me.”

“Um, Agmunsten?”

“Yes, Blayke.”

“Can we have dinner first? I'm starving.”

“Mmm, me too.” It was the first time Bronwyn had felt hungry since entering Vellonia.

Arcon laughed until a coughing spasm overtook his mirth. “See what I have to put up with?”

“Hmm, that reminds me,” said Agmunsten, “I should introduce Bronwyn to Arie. You can all have dinner and lessons together. Get some rest, Arcon, and I’ll be back soon to finish our chat.” He sent a mind message to Arie to meet him in the smaller dining hall.

As they walked, Bronwyn asked Blayke, “Have we met before? You seem kind of familiar.” Bronwyn smiled. “That’s right! You’re Arcon’s apprentice. Zim ate you at the meeting.”

Blayke looked at her, his cheeks red. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. At least I didn’t murder someone.”

It was Bronwyn’s turn to blush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m always talking before I think. Auntie says it will get me into trouble one day.”

Blayke smiled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here and, well, you know? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

“It’s okay.” Bronwyn shivered as she remembered Symbothial’s screams. “I was on the way here with my aunt, Avruellen, and Sinjenasta took me away. We came here and bonded; then he had to kill the dragon. I said I didn’t want to do it, so he tried by himself. The dragon was drowning him, and I couldn’t let him die, so I jumped in and killed the dragon.”

“Wow, you make it sound so simple. Don’t you feel guilty?”

Bronwyn stopped walking and looked at Blayke. “Of course I feel guilty. What do you want me to say? That I’ve hardly slept since, that I can’t get the image of blood or screaming out of my head, that I wish the dragons would just kill me?” Bronwyn almost screamed the last; pressed by her sides, her hands formed hard fists at the end of stiff arms. She wanted to be back in the cell, alone with her misery and self-pity.

Blayke and Agmunsten stopped. Blayke stared at her with his mouth open, and Fang peeked out of his pocket. Agmunsten walked back to Bronwyn and placed his hands on her upper arms, his voice low and soothing. “Bronwyn, look at me. I know you feel guilty—and so you should—but you can’t let it smother your spirit. Killing is part of the realmist’s job, probably the worst part. I don’t know why, but what you did was something that had to be done in order for Talia to survive. Don’t blame Sinjenasta either; he does what he’s told. You have my permission to wallow for another day, but then I want you to stop obsessing and focus on what we need to do. You need to build your strength as a realmist. The Circle needs you and Blayke to be ready when we face the gormons. If you’re not, we will all die. Self-pity will weaken you.”

“I don’t know if I can.” She searched his eyes for strength she could borrow. She wished Avruellen was there. The occasional dragon that walked past ignored the humans, preferring not to get involved with their trifling problems.

“You’re not the only one who’s had to kill, I’m sorry to say. How many people do you think I’ve killed—or your aunt? Do you think she’s guilt-free? Look at Blayke. What do you think he’s endured to get here? Do you suppose he’s made his own mistakes? Had his own guilt to contend with? We all carry burdens, and we all have to endure. Better a few of us feel some guilt than the gormons consume all of Talia. You did what you had to, and those that matter understand. Come on; it’s time for dinner.” He gently squeezed her arm and led the way.

Agmunsten took them to the smallest dining room of the three in the dragon castle. Two long timber tables sat parallel to each other. Carved into both ends of the rectangular room were hearths Bronwyn could have stood up in. The rough-textured walls had been painted a deep ochre. A row of windows looked out to the valley where the moonlight silvered the trees, and small squares of honey-colored light peeked back at them from scattered dwellings. The ceiling was lower than
in many of the other rooms, and Bronwyn estimated that the tallest dragons would have to stoop in order to fit.

Candles in wall sconces bathed the room in a warm glow. At the far end of the room, a boy with shoulder-length hair the color of caramel,
and with simple, gray clothes hanging off his reedy frame, sat opposite a green dragon whose scales reflected the cheery flames in the hearth. Bronwyn almost clapped her hands when she saw Sinjenasta lying in front of a crackling blaze; head resting on massive paws, midnight-dark fur shining in the fiery radiance. The panther looked up.

The dragon spoke. “Hello, Agmunsten. I see you’ve brought some youngsters with you.”

Agmunsten’s laugh was short. “I haven’t just brought them with me. I’m leaving them with you. I was hoping you could take them to see Arcese after dinner. I’d like them to learn about Talia’s lifeblood magic you dragons use. I don’t know much about it, and we can always use another perspective.”

“Of course, Agmunsten. It would be my pleasure.” Bertholimous nodded, his giant head moving with a measured grace Bronwyn never would have suspected dragons possessed.

Agmunsten turned to Arie. “I trust you’ve been behaving yourself?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. I behave better than you, most of the time.”

“Ha! Well, so you do. I’ll see you later. I’m going back to talk to Arcon. Thanks again, Bertholimous.”

Agmunsten departed, and Blayke climbed onto a bench seat next to the dragon, while Bronwyn sat down next to Arie, both apprentices’ feet dangling inches off the floor. “Hi. I’m Bronwyn.” She forced herself to look Bertholimous in the eye. The desire to apologize about Symbothial’s murder was outweighed by her fear and shame. Bronwyn thought every dragon must hate her—the girl who was a constant reminder of the dragon’s death. She wanted to be anywhere but Vellonia.

It seemed he had read her mind. “I know, Bronwyn.” The dragon’s deep voice held no malice. Its melodic timbre felt like the soothing caress of a cool stream on a hot day. “I’ve had a good talk with Sinjenasta, and he explained everything. I would just avoid the queen for a while if I were you, although, she will likely call to see you soon.”

Arie patted her back. “Don’t worry; we’ll make sure she doesn’t eat you.”

Bronwyn saw Blayke’s smile and thought they must be joking—but what if they weren’t? The need to vomit became imminent.

Sinjenasta spoke in her mind,
Little cub, fear not. No one will be eating anyone. Take a deep breath. It’s okay
. The panther’s eyes partly closed in the semblance of a smile.

Blayke spoke, “I’m hungry. How long till dinner?”

“Don’t look at me when you say that!” Bronwyn laughed for the first time in weeks, and everyone joined in. Bronwyn felt, unexpectedly, that she was amongst friends.