Embracing the Flames (16 page)

“Correct, correct,” he answered with a glint in his eyes. “All the Magiums inhabit the Rebell Islands, which all float above us.” He pointed sharply to the four floating islands. “The Orient Magium,” he denoted, pointing to the east, “the Polar Magium,” pointing to the north, “the Nymph Magium,” pointing to the west, “and the Pyre Magium,” he finished, pointing to my homeland. “Pyre Island, as you can see, is by far the largest island of the four.

“And here?” I asked hesitantly, pointing to a black void at the center of the map that spread out vein-like through the lands below the hovering islands. It looked like a murky swamp, lifeless and full of danger.

“That is where most of the Dark Saar dwells,” he scowled. “The Swamp of Outlaws.” His tone dropped off, menace replacing his previously happy demeanor. “All those that are filled with darkness have been cast off there. Necromancers, Shadows, Harpies, Warlocks, Rogues, the Dark Saar. The Undermarket is held there. According to Astral, it is where you must go, but for what he didn’t say. I think—”

He kept talking, but his words became incoherent. I suddenly felt sick, my thoughts buzzing like nagging flies.
Me…go there? Maybe for my death. Maybe to meet Zordon.

I imagined the inky veins spreading across the map, running down the table and onto my body, swallowing me whole. Screams of torture and horror filled the air.

“Rory?” Fenn eased, rubbing my shoulders. He sensed my distress.

My head swayed as I tried to remain conscious. That feeling was there again. That pull. “Fenn…I need to lay down.”

Without hesitation, he lifted me off the stool and tucked me against his chest, rushing me back to the portal. “How do we get out of here? She needs to rest,” he stressed.

“What’s wrong?” Lexi asked, concerned.

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. The pull was too strong to fight against. I should have listened to Fenn. I should have waited to come here.

“It’s happening,” Fenn said, overwrought with fear.

The fear that had settled in the pit of my stomach had triggered something in me. The dizziness came on quick as I felt the pull of my Oraculus.

“The tie,” Alister commented, “it mustn’t be broken.”

“What are you saying?” Fenn growled, his grip tightening around me.

“It means you shouldn’t meddle. What will be, should be, simply put.” He turned from Fenn and headed back over to the map. My vision blurred again as a sharp shooting pain lanced through my brain.

“Damn it!” Fenn shouted, turning back to the portal. “I’m just going to jump.”

“Wait,” Lexi desperately called out. She paused. “What if he’s right?” she said, indecision weighing on her face.

“Fenn,” I mumbled, barely able to resist the pull.

“I don’t care if he’s right. He’s not the one in danger,” Fenn said vehemently. “She is. She is the one who pays.”

I tried to reach up and caress his face, but I had no strength left. My energy was gone. “Stay here,” I managed to get out before everything went dark again.

Chapter 11

You’re Immortal?

I WAS STANDING A FEW feet off to the side of Zordon, nestled among two large cypress trees and a few rotten logs, deep inside a muggy swamp. It smelled like road kill.

I instantly dropped low, praying that I wasn’t seen. I held my breath and then silently sighed when Zordon addressed the crowd of Dark Saar that stood before him. His black energy sizzled in wisps as he turned and spoke to what must have been the leader of the Dark Saar.

“Zane has survived death,” Zordon declared savagely, a bitter smile curving his lips.

My hand shot up to my mouth, stifling my gasp.

“You see? Here is your proof that I am a son of The Fates,” he boasted, as he turned sharply to face the army of Dark Saar, unveiling a curled up Zane.

The moment his words registered, everything came crashing down around me.
He wasn’t just created, he was a Fate’s son? He’s immortal? How is that possible? The fifth Fate died for creating the Draconta.
I felt bile rise up, threatening to spill.

I glanced back over at Zane who laid moaning in mud, his chocolate brown hair and eyes blending in with what was caked on his skin.

“Dark magic could easssssily have brought him back from the black veil,” hissed the leader, his ghostly dark image swirling and curling as if he was made from the very essence of smoke. He loomed over Zordon as he stared daringly into his eyes. “I’ve heard of your dealingsss with the Necromancersss. You have Irisssssi.”

“Indeed. But I don’t have Na’shir and he bound them from using their magic. Which is why I brought this along with me as extra security,” Zordon retorted, stepping aside to show a chained creature held down by the magic of Zordon’s men.

“A Harpy,” hissed the leader, turning to face his army. “He bringssssss us a Harpy,” he repeated, licking his lips in response to the cheers from the army.

The uproar shook the very ground we stood on. I embraced the tree in hopes that the earth wouldn’t open up and swallow me whole.

The Harpy was screaming bloody murder as Zordon’s men ruthlessly dragged her through the muddy waters. The brown sludge cemented to her bird-like bottom half, the feathers sticking to one another as she desperately tried to claw at the men. Her shiny black hair flowed past her hips like an oil spill in the mud.

“Well, Zzzzzordon, let’s take this delicious treat to the altar,” he dictated, signaling his army to follow as he led the way.

Maybe this was what Alister meant. Maybe Astral wanted me here for this — to find out that Zordon is a son of a Fate. I felt queasy and lost. Astral had said my dreams weren’t real. The dreams I had of The Fates. He lied to me. I don’t know what hurt worse, knowing that Astral never trusted me, or knowing that Zordon just became undefeatable.

Zane was still in a curled-up heap on the ground, life barely visible through the short, jagged breaths that escaped his lips.

I counted the agonizing seconds until everyone had stepped over and around him. He needed my help. The Dark Saar chanted and shouted laughter and songs that teased the Harpy’s last moments of life. After a few more torturous minutes, their voices died off.

“You can come out now,” said Zane meekly after the crowd was beyond earshot.

I froze.
He saw me. Who else saw me?

“Relax, Aurora, no one saw you. Believe me, if they had…” he paused, his eyes dropping to the mud, “let’s not go there.” He weakly extended his arm and said, “Here, come help me up.”

I rushed over to his side, feet sticking and sinking into the mud. It was stiffening between my toes, discoloring the red of my scales.

“Nice dragon form,” he stated with a wry smile, giving me a once over and perking his eyebrow.

I pulled him up out of the mud but threatened to let go if he kept it up.

He ignored my threat and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, his face inches from mine. “Well, well, Aurora Megalos, I believe if your face wasn’t already red, I’d see a hint of a blush.”

I huffed and rolled my eyes. “You’re seriously coming on to me right now?” I scoffed. “I think being on the brink of death has disoriented your priorities.”

He tried to laugh, but the trip back from death took its toll, fatigue instigating a coughing fit. I lightly patted his back, my stomach turning from the droplets of blood that spewed from his cough. “How did you come back? I thought you were the blood sacrifice.” I whispered, debating if I even wanted to know.

“Blood sacrifice?”

“After you died, Astral revealed a small part of the missing piece of the prophecy. It stated that a blood sacrifice of a firstborn would have to be made in order for Zordon to obtain the Stone.”

He sucked in a breath. “Wow. That’s a lot to hear when you wake up from death.” He paused, digesting all that I had said. “I have no answer to that.”

I didn’t either and it didn’t rest well with me. Zordon wouldn’t need the Stone for immortality, he was born with it. It must be to port him to the Hall, but why? If he is a Fate’s son, wouldn’t he have access?

It was too big a question to leave open to fate. “Never mind that,” I said, shaking the thought. Now was not the time to worry about it. “I saw you that day. You were dead. How?”

“Zordon said it best. ‘I am a son of The Fates,’” he mimicked, wincing as he grabbed the side where Zordon had plunged his staff into his rib cage. “I guess I inherited some of their magic. Don’t ask me why or how because I only know what you know. I’m just glad to be his son…for once.”

“I’m glad too,” I admitted as I stopped our walk in the mud to hug him. He tensed for a moment, surprised by my actions, but then quickly melted into the hug. “I thought you were gone. I felt so guilty for agreeing to send you back to him.”

He squeezed me tightly and then continued walking in the same direction as the others. “You shouldn’t have been there, you know. You could’ve been killed.”

“I can’t exactly help it,” I said defensively.

He stopped his wobbling. “You can’t or you won’t?” The words sounded like more of an accusation than a question. “I overheard Astral talking about your connection with the Oraculus. My hearing has always been keen…maybe because of who my father is. If he ever found out—”

I scowled at him and then exhaled sharply. “He won’t find out unless someone snitches.” Though I didn’t intend it, my tone was harsh.

“Lucky you for you then, everyone in your circle seems to be trustworthy.”

“What’s going on here?” I asked artlessly, looking straight ahead to change the subject.

He watched me for a moment, his eyes appraising my expression. “My father is trying to bargain with the Dark Saar…which is nearly impossible. It’s astounding that we’re all even still here. I didn’t think they were going to take the bait.”

I couldn’t help asking. “And the Harpy?”

“The Harpy is a sacrifice. They will use the blood to determine whether or not Zordon is a son of The Fates. With Harpy blood in your system, you can’t lie.”

“That’s horrible,” I gasped, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes and no,” he said after a moment. “Harpies are a feral, vicious race. They steal everything they can…however they can. Even if the goods come by murder. They were cast off to these lands.” His voice dropped a bit lower as he leaned into me. “Shadows, Harpies, Giants, the Dark Saar, all the forbidden races reside here,” he whispered. “This is the absolute worst place to be.”

Reflexively, I glanced over my shoulders, muddled with the feeling that we weren’t alone.

He stopped. “I need you to weave a healing spell,” he requested, nearly toppling over a nearby moss-laden rotting log.

“I’m completely depleted,” I confessed, dropping my gaze. “I’m sure you are too.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled it towards his side, placing it along his rib cage. I felt where the hole was, swollen and sticky with blood. I gasped, trying to pull my hand back, but he held me firmly.

“But you’re still—” I gasped.

“I’m still wounded,” he verified, suppressing another cough. “Even though I typically heal quickly, Zordon’s magic is dark. Whatever he hit me with, kept me from healing. I think there is a limit to the strength in my blood. I need you to heal this for me. Otherwise I will be dead weight to you,” he continued on. “And you need me as much as I need you right now. So I want you to close your eyes and pull what little power you have left.”

I suppressed a sigh.

“It can’t get any worse from here, Aurora. You have already appeared near him.”

“But we may need what little we have left to escape,” I countered.

He continued to stare at me with one eyebrow perked.

I slumped over, knowing he was right. He would be dead weight. “You better get us out of here.”

I let my energy mix with the power of my dragon.

“Mendaro,” I chanted, trying to refrain from using all of my energy at once. I relaxed my mind, focusing on the image of Fenn’s face. The thought of him was the only thing that calmed me.

With my hands glowing bright blue, I repeated, “Mendaro,” feeling the strength of the command as the energy coursed through me and into Zane. His head flung back as our energies merged, his own hands lighting up red. His power rushed up his arms and down his side, meeting with my own as the hole sealed shut.

When I pulled my hand away, his energy was still on my skin, a tingly sensation coursing through me. I furrowed my brow, confused by the feelings that snuck in with his energy.

“Well, that was weird. Why did your energy mix with mine like that?” I asked, watching as he took his shirt off and tossed it into the mud. In a matter of seconds, his shirt disappeared, gobbled whole. His thick muscles flexed as he leaned forward to inspect where the damage had been. I couldn’t help but notice the curve of each muscle. I felt my face turn crimson.

He looked up after he finished scrutinizing his skin. The corners of his mouth turned up, and his chocolate eyes sparkled with appreciation.

“You will feel weird from the connection we just shared,” he said remotely. “Weird as in you know me on a deeper level than most. Don’t fret, it will pass,” he finished with a chuckle, noticing my stare. “An exchange of understanding happens when energies merge. It’s like you get a glimpse of the person without even looking.”

I felt naked as his hungry eyes roamed my scaled body.

“Don’t do that,” I whispered shakily, turning away from him. He was right. Something inside of me did recognize him on a deeper level. He had a darkness in him that matched my own. A common hatred and a common need to feel clean and whole.

“Sorry, you’re just so…” He looked at a loss for words. “Never mind,” he finished, turning and moving forward. “Come on. We need to catch up.”