Embracing the Flames (11 page)

At first, I did as he said, running from the pure fear of death, but then I heard Fenn’s pained cry. I stopped suddenly, muck flying up around me, and I turned back, thriving on anger and rage.

My dragon spirit was already eager to push forward, fueled by the desire to kill whoever was hurting my mate. I couldn’t let anything happen to him. I knew I had to let my dragon side take over in order to protect him. With regret, I let go and slumped into the darkness that came with not being in control.

When I came to, I was lying on the soft grass underneath the Jacaranda tree. Fenn was huddled over me. “Aurora, wake up please,” he said, his hands shaking. He was breathing rapidly, sweat draining down the sides of his face.

My first thought was to make sure he was okay. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he confirmed, his lips caked in blood and both eyes swollen and black. “You saved my life.”

I tried to sit up but was hit by an overwhelming pain throughout my left side. I reached over and felt dampness on my conjured shirt. Slowly, I brought my hand up. It was covered in blood. “I’ve been stabbed,” I panicked.

“I know,” Fenn rushed out, his voice unsteady. “I’m going to open a portal and take us back, okay? I wanted to get you dressed first.” His face was pale, and he was shaking all over. I tried to reach out to his misted eyes in an attempt to ease his worry.

“Okay,” I said, taking his hand instead. As I stood, I felt faint. “I’ve depleted myself,” I admitted. A nauseous wave struck me hard. I stumbled forward, unable to hold myself up any longer.

My vision started to falter, and my heart pounded against my chest in a rush. “Something’s happening. Oh, no.”

Fenn was right there, catching me before I hit the ground. “I need you to go get Astral,” I muttered as the pull of my Oraculus weighed on me. “Zordon—”

“Hang on,” I heard him call. And then, as usual, everything went black.

Chapter 7

A Glimpse at Darkness

I DIDN’T NEED TO OPEN my eyes to know that he was nearby. That gift was part of the curse that bound us together. I could feel his taint prickling along my skin, evoking a shudder as I quickly pushed myself up to sit.

My eyes watered over as the paralyzing pain of my wound exploded throughout me. Blood was everywhere. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I dragged myself across the orange clay. My vision wavered, adding to my nausea.

If I wanted to survive, I knew I needed to keep moving.

I rubbed my fingers against my temples, praying myself conscious and centered. After a moment, a bit of calm set in, and my hearing became stronger. Tortured voices surrounded me, helplessly screaming in fear. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the many dark-skinned victims.

Zordon stood only a few feet away from me. He was cloaked in a veil of darkness and twirling his obsidian wooden cane impatiently. Black sparks shot out from the opal resting at the tip of his cane.

We were in some kind of village. I quickly glanced around, in search of some shelter from Zordon’s prying eyes. Women and children were running from hut to hut as Zordon’s men raided their homes, pulling the men from inside and throwing them into a large cage pulled by a carriage. Other men were being beaten and tortured in front of the village as examples of retaliation.

I was about to stand up when I felt a hand on my foot. I turned, ready to strike, but the woman that grabbed me pressed her finger to her veiled mouth, quieting me. She motioned for me to follow her into her hut made of bamboo and banana leaves.

Just as she pulled me around the corner, Zordon turned in my direction. I ducked behind her curtained window, my heart racing, pushing more blood out of my wound.

“What’s going on?” I whispered, terrified. The lady was dressed in gypsy-style fabrics that wrapped around her dark skin. The bottom half of her face was covered by a sheer purple piece of fabric decorated with an intricate jewel design. Ringlets of white hair fell to her waistline, winding like vines of ivy. She had a necklace with a round opal encased in a metal claw that caught the glare of the sun with her movement. 

“You must be quiet!” she whispered thickly, her accent heavy and Arabic-like. She rolled her R’s and heavily emphasized the end of each word, making it slightly difficult to understand. She sounded like Shiron.

She risked a glance out the window, hearing the screams of her village unfold. “He is raiding my village.” Her voice cracked as she looked vacantly around the hut. “He is making prisoners of my people to fight his war.” She spat each word as if hexing him.

“Who are you?” I tried to quiet my voice. “I mean, what kind of magic do you use?” But I already had an inkling of what she was. Her hands held the same power as Shiron’s.

“We are Necromancers, born from the pools of hell and gifted with the touch of death.” Pride emanated from her as her demeanor grew dark. She raised her hand to show her palm glowing a poisonous green color. “Our magic is the darkest in this realm.”

I swallowed hard and glanced around, noting the jars full of reagents and herbs. Crimson fabric hung from the roof to create a cascading sheer wall around her bed. Dolls and bones swung from the roof like wind chimes. It was an eerie garden of voodoo.

She looked down at her glowing hand, speaking blankly. “We won’t fight in anyone’s war. Our leader, Na’shir, brought us here to start anew. To live a peaceful and pure life. We all turned our backs on death’s door. We don’t use our gifts anymore.”

“Why doesn’t Na’shir fight back? Mage magic doesn’t work against you, right?” My voice was tinged with hope. “Surely you can take a stand against Zordon.” Earlier images of Shiron caused a shudder. I clutched my bloody side as a spike of pain struck me from moving.

She must have noticed my wincing. Her face softened. “You’re hurt,” she stated, dropping to her knees as lightly as a feather. “Let me.”

I moved my hand aside and groaned, wincing again. I could feel the heat from my amulet trying to help the healing process, but it wasn’t happening quick enough. She ripped at the seams of my shirt, exposing my wound. “You have lost a lot of blood.” She placed the back of her hand against my sweaty forehead. “You’re ghostly pale. I feel death looming around you. Soon you will be no stranger to death.” She sounded apologetic as she brushed my hair aside. Somehow I knew she wasn’t talking about my wound…it sounded more like she was predicting the future.

Recognition filled her irises. “Ruby hair and green eyes full of fire,” she commented, mystified.

I braced myself, waiting for her to stand and announce to Zordon and his men I was here. I would be the perfect bargaining tool to keep her people safe. I would make an even better bounty possible.

But when she stood, she offered me her silken hand. “Come, sit so I can fix this.”

“You know who I am, don’t you?” I asked skeptically, wobbling towards her bed.

She didn’t answer me right away. Maybe she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Maybe it was too tempting to turn me in. The truth to that idea scared me.

I cautiously sat down and picked at the handmade quilt while nausea sat in the depth of my stomach. I kept my other hand pressed firmly against my wound, hoping that I wouldn’t stain her bedding with the blood that continuously seeped through my fingers.

Her back was to me as she dipped a towel into a clay bowl full of water. She squeezed it out and then kneeled once again in front of me, dabbing at my side. “Yes,” she finally answered, her deep brown eyes moving to meet mine, “I do know who you are. You are the deliverer. You are the Progeny.”

There was no threat in her eyes, only concern. “We must clean this, and then you must leave here. He will find you. He will smell you out as I did. You are full of purity and goodness. It’s like candy to my kind.”

She turned back to her table and opened a few jars with various herbs. Other jars held things like eyeballs and rotten Harpy claws. I crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t go for any of those.

She placed the herbs into a mortar and began the task of grinding them into a thick, foul smelling paste. She smiled as she knelt in front of me, placing the bowl in my hands. “Hold for me while I heal your wound.”

I bit the inside of my lip, trying not to cry out from the pain of her fingers that pushed the herbs deep into my side. My eyes crossed a little as the stinging sensation morphed into splendid relief. After bandaging me, she took the bowl and rinsed out the blood-stained water.

“Why don’t you stand up to Zordon? Fight against him?” I asked again, my voice muddled with exhaustion.

“When Na’shir brought us here, he made us take a blood vow that we would not use our power against others. Until he undoes the vow, we cannot fight back. We are helpless.” Her eyes misted as she turned from me, the sheer cloth that wrapped her flowing effortlessly with her movements. “Come,” she beckoned, lifting a small latch behind her medicine table. It opened to the back of the hut.

I followed her to the door and stopped. I felt bad for leaving so quickly. For not helping. “What’s your name?” I asked.

She smiled and said, “I am Irisi, wife of Na’shir and Priestess of Death. You must go now. Follow the hill down and port your way home, Progeny.”

I grabbed her forearm and said, “Thank you. I hope we will meet again one day.”

Her eyes glinted with foresight. “I believe we will. Take care of yourself.”

I stepped out of the hut, squatting down as she closed the latch behind me. Zordon’s men were everywhere, ransacking the huts and throwing things into the streets like trash. I started to crawl down the hill but stopped when I heard Zordon’s voice. He was just on the other side of the hut.

“Are you going to invite me in, Irisi?” he asked, her name sounding like a vulgar taste on his tongue. Something in his tone told me he suspected I was there. Or maybe I was simply afraid that he would find me.

“And have you stink up my hut?” she spat with disgust. She must have been standing near the medicine table. Her voice was right next to me. “What do you want with me? You’ve ransacked my people, taken my men for prisoners. What more do you want?”

“Where is Na’shir?” he asked thirstily.

What did he need him for?

I heard her hiss. “You think I would tell you?”

There was a weird thud, and then Irisi painfully moaned. I tried to open the latch, but it wouldn’t budge from the outside. How could I help her without getting caught? “If you are smart, then you will tell me,” he threatened.

I heard her spit and then scream.

“Gabe,” he summoned. My stomach froze with fear. I inched forward and peered around the corner of the hut, hiding behind a wooden carriage filled with barrels.

Gabe appeared through a portal, bowing his head regally to Zordon as it closed behind him.

“My Liege?”

Zordon dropped Irisi’s limp body onto the clay outside her hut. “Lock her up in my room. Don’t worry about her death touch; Na’shir has made them vow to refrain from using it. We are done here for now. We need Na’shir if we are to build an army from the dead. Round up the men and prisoners and bring me Zane.”

Gabe’s face went white as he knelt down to pick up Irisi’s frail body. He handled her delicately. I felt sickened by my lack of courage. He went back through the portal and moments later appeared with Zane by his side.

“My son,” Zordon said disdainfully. Zane knelt to one knee and bent his head down. Then his head slightly lifted to the side. His eyes met mine. They filled with anger. He stood, meeting Zordon’s gaze.

“My Liege,” he replied stiffly. Thankfully, he refrained from looking at me again.

“You have returned to us from the brink of death,” Zordon stated, looking over Zane’s head and into the crowd of prisoners that steadily grew. “Did you learn anything of use while being under Astral’s roof?”

“No, my Liege. He wiped me clean before I left.”

“But of course.” He walked a small circle around Zane and then stopped behind him. “I have a task for you. Something that will bring honor back to your name.”

“My Liege,” he repeated, waiting for his orders. I held my breath, praying that it would be worth Zane returning.

“You see,” he picked up his staff, continuing his circle, “I have a problem. You are aware of the deal I made with the Dark Saar, are you not?”

Zane nodded, continuing to stare off into the horizon.

“You are also aware that they are a very, very suspicious kind. They don’t easily give their trust.”

Zane nodded again, grinding his teeth.

“It is your job to help me gain their trust.”

“Of course, my Liege. Anything to help you.” He did well hiding the resentment that I knew he was feeling.

“Good. I’m glad to hear you say that.” And then I saw Zordon’s hands fly up, holding his staff like a sword. I felt the rush of dark energy as a blast of light crashed into Zane’s chest. He swung his staff back and plunged it into Zane’s ribcage as black energy circled around Zane, popping and sizzling like firecrackers.

Zane’s cry of death pierced through my need to remain hidden. I stood and screamed out in horror. The rush of energy from Zordon was so overwhelming and dark. So dark that I felt myself slipping into it. I felt strange, tapping into a side of me that I had never touched or even knew existed. I was ready to torture and kill Zordon. But Gabe appeared, tackling me behind the wooden carriage. My breath flew out of me from the force, and stars danced along my vision.

“Aurora, what are you DOING here?” he whispered fiercely. “You must go, NOW!” He shoved me towards the edge of the hill, weaving a portal.

“But Zane,” I said, choking back a sob.

“Don’t worry. Please, go!” He shoved me through the opening.

I fell to my knees in the middle of Astral’s living room. The image of Zane’s bleeding body surfaced, and I vomited, tears cleaning my clay-stained face. Fenn was right there next to me, holding my hair. I had never witnessed anything so evil. A piece of my innocence was suddenly missing, gone forever. To watch a father kill his own child, I just couldn’t digest it.

Fenn’s words rolled out in a jumbled rush as he took in my frantic state. “You made it back! What happened? Did he hurt you? Rory, please, answer me,” he pleaded. My body-shaking sobs were enough to put the fear I felt into him, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I saw, because to say it would mean that it really happened. I didn’t want to believe that it had.

“I’m going to go get Astral, okay, just breathe.” I didn’t move, hoping that I would wake up from this horrific nightmare. We had sent Zane to his death...

I felt dizzy and disoriented as I crawled about the living room. One second I could see the chair by the fire, and the next I was back in the clay, crawling through a pit of the blood of the innocent. The taint of Zordon’s magic still flowed through my veins, confusing my thoughts. The darkness was there, inside of me, waiting to unleash. I thought it was only Zordon’s evil, but now I understood that the hatred I felt for him was darkness in itself.