Shadows of Dragons

By Rebecca Cross and Rya Wolf

The shadows have fallen. Kira, daughter of Lancelot and Jasin, has been rescued from the clutches of Banczack and Guinevere, but had been forever changed by their cruelty and torture. Gone are the carefree days of her youth, and her sleep is filled with terrible nightmares. Only one man, the priest who had rescued her, truly understands...and he is out of her reach.

Banczack, obsessed with finding his prize, sends garrison after garrison to Camelot in hopes of recapturing her, until Guinevere decides to take matters into her own hands...and the first thing she wants is the power of Avalon.

King Arthur’s team at the Stronghold’s laboratory, struggling to maintain the massive power grid that opens the doorways between realms, are startled to receive refugees from Avalon, a mass of Fomorii soldiers from Guinevere’s castle, and an unusual Dragon covered in yellow and blue feathers...until they realize that they are no longer part of the Stronghold, or England, or even Earth.

The Council of Twelve, still exiled in an alternate realm, are helpless to aid Mankind. All paths are being guarded, and all doors are being watched...all but one, and that is the one the Council are determined to use to contact those who can save them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Cross
• Release date: Jul 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463873748

Rebecca Cross

Rebecca often collaborates with author Rya Wolf under the moniker FarCrutch Productions. Find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest!REBECCA CROSS holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and takes great delight in the written word. She has been an avid reader since she was a child; as a writer, she has created castles full of fiction since the mid-1980s, has contributed several stories to fan magazines, dabbled with song lyrics and poetry, and has piles of half-finished short stories stuffed in cubbyholes and drawers around her house. She enjoys traveling, and when she’s not planning her next vacation adventure, she enjoys a quiet life in the country.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To our high school English teachers,

who taught us how to write...even if we still feel a couple of them should have been served up as sushi.

We’re not saying who feels that way, either.

We’re still not telling.

Ponder away.

Nope.

We Happy Few

Sometimes, just when you come home again, and when things finally feel their safest, you have to go. I’m fine with that, as long as they are with me.

Parents who toss their fledglings out of the nest assure them that traveling with others shields you, in a sense, from challenges you might otherwise meet head on. Well, I’ve put up with twenty-odd years of being challenged. I’ve been alone, and I’ve survived. It’s possible. But I can’t do it again. I’m too old now to start again; if it weren’t for the others, I’d certainly go mad. I’d certainly be dead, I know that.

How many times have they saved my life? How many times have I saved theirs?

I don’t care how strong they think I am, how much in command I am. I’m not, without them. I’m nothing. They make me whole.

So when we go, we go together. We fight together, and if required, we’ll die together. Because when the smoke clears and the last stone of this great castle has fallen into dust, there will still be us, together. My brothers, my sisters. My husband. My Companions.

I ask for nothing more.

PART ONE

The New Breed

Prologue

Bonds Forged by Blood

People only see what they are prepared to see.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

Five Years Earlier

It was the best kind of night for a ceremony…clear, cold, and late.

The moon was crystalline, glowing against the star-studded velvet blanket of the night sky, and the glassy ocean below reflected their beauty. The only sound came from the thin column of cascading waterfall near the shore, the curtain of glimmering water falling from the great green heights of moss-covered basalt rock. Beneath the waterfall was a wide cavern, a cavern that on any other night would have looked like the mouth of the island attempting to drink from the waterfall. Tonight, the cavern glowed with the light of several torches, unseen by any but curious puffins and sheep, for the hour was very late. Despite their curiosity, the animals stayed clear, for the ritual had been going on for some time, and they sensed the occupants of the cavern were not to be trifled with.

Inside, the torches blazed from the roughly-hewn walls, set into niches every few feet until the path opened into a larger grotto, with stalactites dripping moisture from the high ceiling. Men – Druids, actually – cloaked in dark-green robes with deep hoods stood in a semicircle around a small, ancient altar, covered with moss on the sides and stones that supported its weight underneath. The top of the altar was polished and smooth, reflecting the torchlight; its center was carved with an elaborate ouroboros. Two elongated stones sat on either side of the altar, and a young man in a plain white tunic sat on one of them, facing the hooded figures as they murmured an unknown chant in low voices.

Two of the hooded figures approached, one with a white linen cloth embroidered on the edges with green leaves, the other with an exquisite Quaich bowl of malachite, its two handles and pedestal carved like Dragon talons, filled to the brim with a viscous, garnet-colored liquid. The youth took the bowl and drank the contents without stopping to take a breath. When he lowered the bowl from his mouth, the bearer took the bowl away and the youth wiped his mouth with the linen, leaving dark red stains on the material. Both figures faded back into the shadows.

The tallest of the figures stepped forward and lowered his hood, revealing untamed blond hair held at bay with a simple golden circlet adorned with a malachite seal. Rowan James of the Arkadian Family MacLovatt, he intoned, you have fasted since the dark of the moon, partaking only of the sacred herbs and water, and have purged your fast with the blood of Our Lady, the Queen of the Council and Dragon of the Earth. Are you prepared to receive the badge of Her service?

The youth bowed his head. I am prepared.

The Head Druid shook his sleeves back, revealing heavily-muscled arms. The green ouroboros tattoos around both of his wrists were eerily bright in the torchlight. He closed his eyes and made a silent invocation; he clenched his large hands into fists and put them together with the backs of his hands facing outward. The heads of the two Dragons met…as he pressed his elbows together, there was a flash of emerald light and the tattoos came to life, hissing, spiraling slowly around his wrists under the skin…green flames shot silently from each mouth and his fists were enveloped in the conflagration. The Head Druid opened his eyes and, reaching across the table, held out his burning hands. After a few seconds’ hesitation, Rowan stood and took them. He felt as if he had thrust his hands into a cloud of dry ice, and his fingers tightened abruptly at the sensation. The Head Druid squeezed back, a quick sign of reassurance, and Rowan loosened his grip.

Will you promise to uphold the laws of the Brotherhood? the Head Druid asked in a booming voice.

I promise so to do.

Do you swear by the blood of Our Mother Arkady to protect and serve the Guardians of Men?

I do so swear.

And lastly, will you freely give the essence of your spirit to the servitude of Our Mother Arkady?

Rowan’s blue eyes steady. I shall freely give.

Be it so. The Head Druid released Rowan’s hands and the flames around his hands went out. He raised them high above his head; around him, the other Druids raised their hands in identical supplication, and Rowan bent his head in reverence.

Hear us, O Guardian, the Head Druid intoned in the Arkans Draconic language of the Arkadians, and bestow your blessings upon this, your acolyte…come, she who serves our Mother, and lay the rite of the Brotherhood upon him.

The semicircle of Druids parted, revealing a narrow archway behind them, unlit and empty. All heads were turned to the arch, and everyone watched for someone…or something. They waited. And waited. The tension in the air wavered as one of the Druids turned his head toward his leader, his question apparent in his stance.

Rowan raised his head a fraction of an inch, one eyebrow raised. A cue had been missed.

The Head Druid frowned slightly and started to take a step forward, when suddenly there was the sound of a match striking, and a single flame appeared in the darkness. No other sound was made, but a wave of relief seemed to sweep the entire chamber, and the Druids realigned themselves into position as the flame moved from the darkness into the light.

The flame was from a candle, carried by a tall figure wrapped completely in an oversized forest green velvet robe that shimmered in the torchlight. It was impossible to tell if the figure was male or female due to the folds of glimmering material, and not one hint of skin showed; the carrier’s hands were gloved in the same green velvet, and a dark green balaclava covered the entire face, including the eyebrows. The only visible body parts were piercing, jewel-tone eyes of aquamarine that glowed as if lit from within. Rowan found himself staring with his mouth open, and closed it abruptly as the carrier set the candle on the table, pinched out the flame, and sat down across from him.

Rowan of the Family MacLovatt, the carrier said, in a throaty voice that was undeniably female, will you receive the mark of Arkady from her trusted servant?

Rowan licked dry lips. I will receive the mark.

She nodded. Be seated and give me your hands.

Rowan pushed the sleeves of his tunic up his arms and extended them across the cool stone of the table, resting his hands on the carved ouroboros symbol. The carrier reached up and slowly took down her hood, then pulled the balaclava from her head, and Rowan swallowed a gasp as he looked into the scaled face of an elegant black Dragon. As he stared, it – she, rather – neatly shrugged the robe from her body, and her neck elongated and wings unfurled gently from her shoulders. She blinked her lashless eyelids over those incredibly turquoise eyes and, without further ado, grasped one of Rowan’s arms and held it against the table; with her other paw, she brandished one of her sharp black talons, set it against Rowan’s wrist, and made the first incision.

Rowan set his teeth hard into his lip and closed his eyes against the blood flowing down his wrist and into the table carving. The Dragon continued slowly and deliberately around the youth’s wrist, etching the ancient markings deep into his flesh, and the Druids began to chant as the blood began to fill the carving lines on the table. Rowan began to chant with them, forcing the pain from his mind, compelling himself to become one with the ritual. The Dragon finished one wrist, dropped it lightly on the table, and began on the other one. Sweat popped out on Rowan’s forehead. The Druids chant continued, a low drone that echoed in the cavern. The blood filled the carving on the table, beading, threatening to overflow…

Abruptly the Dragon withdrew her claw from his flesh and set her cool pads against the palms of his hands. The blood trembled on the table. The chanting stopped abruptly. Rowan cracked open his eyes and looked at his saturated, throbbing wrists, and he released the breath he’d been holding.

Mother Arkady, the Dragon intoned huskily, grant me the power of your all-knowing magic. And, opening her mouth, she blew green-tinged flames directly at him, and his body vanished into the inferno.

Rowan had closed his eyes at the first blast, expecting searing agony, but all he felt was a tantalizing coolness caressing his skin and wafting through his hair. He couldn’t see through the column of flames, and he also couldn’t move; he was rooted to the bench and his arms were frozen against the table. After what seemed like an eternity or a few minutes (he never could figure out which), the flames subsided, and the first thing he noticed was that the blood on the table was gone, the wounds were sealed, and the green serpents of Arkady were around his wrists, like they had been there forever.

The second thing was that the Dragon was gone, and in her place stood a tall, willowy woman with mussed seal-black hair flowing to her waist, dressed in a black flimsy garment that left nothing to the imagination. Only her eyes – the same iridescent eyes – gave away who she was. She held out a hand to him and smiled in invitation.

And lastly, will you freely give the essence of your spirit to the servitude of Our Mother Arkady?

Rowan’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized just what that part of the vow meant. He barely looked at his new tattoos as he took the woman’s hand and let her lead him through the arch from whence she came. The Druids stood silently as the pair vanished into the darkness, and once the sound of a door closing was heard, they turned and left silently, in single file. The Head Druid, bringing up the rear, extinguished all the torches but one, which would be used for the couple to leave the cavern come dawn. They would part ways and would never see each other again. That was the way of the Brotherhood.

As he left the cavern, the Head Druid glanced back toward the dark archway and finally allowed his features to soften. "Beannacht ort, my son, he said. Welcome to the watch."

♦ ♦ ♦

No one realized the cupbearer and linen bearer were missing until days later. Reports were filed, but leads ran cold, and the two men were never seen again, their files closed as unsolved. No one ever found the real priestess Dragon who was supposed to perform the ceremony; her dismembered remains were left to rot in another part of the cavern that no one visited. No one in the Brotherhood noticed that young Rowan’s tattoos had a reddish tinge that never went away.

But if anyone had looked deeper into the beautiful jeweled eyes of the unknown woman, the truth would be looking back, smiling.

Chapter 1

Truth in Rain

Begin with the end in mind.

– Stephen R. Covey

As far as alternate realms went, it could have been worse. The sky was blue and the sun bright, the warmth abundant, the shade plentiful. Fresh fruit drooped invitingly from the trees and water bubbled laughingly in clear brooks. There were broad stretches of grassy meadows, high mountain peaks, and white-sanded beaches. It was peaceful and it was calm. It would be almost pleasant were it not some form of exile.

A man who was not quite a man – actually, he was a shadow of the monster he had once been – contemplated his own exile as he lounged idly on the fallen trunk of a moss-covered tree at the edge of a copse. The rushes grew tall and thick around it, bent over from their own weight. The thicket opened onto the edge of a cliff, which dropped away to a stunning view of the beach and the blue sea beyond. White, puffy clouds were reflected in the still water; no waves to be seen today. The man stared across the vastness with disinterested disconnect, not really seeing, but staring all the same. He could sit that way for hours, or days. He had, actually; his long time in the realm had given him that bit of patience. There was not much else to do when he’d explored every possible inch of the landscape; or as much of it as he could without crossing the sea and some minor undesirable spots.

This little piece of prison paradise he had been trapped on since – how long had it been? – was one piece of a large atoll. It took roughly five days to circumvent the island, two days to cross it at its thinnest point, and a day’s walk from his present position to the nearest beach. Large shoals, volcanic vents, thin strips of beach, and two much smaller islands comprised the rest of the atoll edges. A large, high volcano marked the farthest island. The center lagoon was dark blue, almost black; the water was bitterly cold.

Two of the other islands were no more than wooded spits. The northernmost island, the one with the volcano, was a much more interesting sight. The steam blowoff from the seawater kept the volcano obscured most of the time, but when the skies were clear – like today – he could see the chiseled sides of the volcano, and the outcropping that housed a massive henge and an Oracle-style gate that seemed to rise above the clouds like an Olympian temple. He had not actually been to that island, much less the henge; he had tried early on, but the pathways to it were a series of trails across very thin beaches that disappeared into the tides. Furthermore, there were predators there of a sort that even he was not willing to face alone.

He’d told none of this to his former mate. What was the point of doing so? Everything was a dead end; he’d already been everywhere that could possibly be gotten to, except the henge and the gate, and...well, he couldn’t go there, that’s all there was to it. Why tell Kierkegaard and the others, get their hopes up? They were as stuck there as he was. He had no faith left in any of the Council, nor in their abilities to get out of that realm. He’d been there too long; he’d given up that dream.

Then why had he led the others on? Why did he indulge them in their belief that they could make this indomitable insanity right? Because it gave him the only excuse he could formulate to interact with them. It gave him the only respite from his loneliness.

He shifted restlessly on the trunk, and finally let himself slide to the ground, where he leaned his head against the soft moss. He lifted his eyes to gaze directly at the sun overhead, and looked away just as quickly, blinking irritably at the spots in his vision, rubbing his eyes against the intense glare. In the old days he would have stared deeply into the sun, unblinking, joining in the dance of the solar flares, weaving through the colors of the corona…He sighed gustily. Damn this thra’akine form!

It wasn’t worth the effort. He closed his eyes and let his body relax, listening to the wind rustle in the overhead branches. He was nearly asleep when he heard the first distant rumble.

His eyes opened lazily. The sky overhead was no longer flawless blue, but an odd purplish green; what made it stranger was that there were no clouds. That meant no rain, which meant…His heart began to pound as his eyes scanned the open sea before him; as he watched, a bolt of white lightning struck the water far out near the horizon. The rumble followed close behind, and with it came a strobing effect that could have been the bolt’s light dancing on the water. It wasn’t; he’d seen this before, and it was heading this way. And he was in the open, unprotected…Panic slammed through his veins, jolting him so violently that he leapt from the ground as if he’d been electrocuted by one of the bolts. Seconds later he was moving, running hell-bent for the far-away henge where the Council gathered.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Council were dozing in the midday heat, gathered within the confines of what they called their henge. It was laid out like the great Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain – a circle of tall, rough-hewn stones, with crossbeams and archways, standing around a smoothly-paved stone center with unidentifiable patterns. In the very center of the circle was a Seal, an area of concentrated Earth energy. Although their wanderings took them in several directions, the Council never strayed too far from this area; the power of its leylines vibrated through their cores, even in their thra’akine forms, and somehow promised an escape from this prison.

The powerful, heavily-tattooed Jaredh, who had taken the watch, was the first to notice someone approaching in the distance, and he climbed to his feet. His movement was quiet, but still brought the others awake.

[What?] CéVaer demanded, scrambling less quietly to his feet.

[There.] Jaredh pointed, and the others followed his gesture.

CéVaer frowned at the approaching runner. [What’s he about?]

[He looks frantic,] Dinara observed, her smooth brown brow furrowed. Behind her, Kierkegaard watched silently, but her fine blond brows were also drawn together. What on earth could frighten someone like Thaddeus?

They drew aside as he burst through the gap in the stones and collapsed to the ground, gasping so hard for air that he had begun to wheeze, and terror rolled off of him in waves. The Council shuffled uneasily, looking around for the danger.

Kierkegaard pushed forward and crouched down beside her former mate, grabbing him by his shoulders. [What is it?] she demanded. [What happened?]

He struggled to get up, but couldn’t; his gasps had turned into hyperventilation. Kierkegaard checked the urge to strike him, then gave in and did in anyhow. His head rocked back and he glared at her, but the surge of annoyance was enough for him to bite in a lungful of air and spit one word out as he flung his hand behind him to point at the direction he had come.

[There!] he croaked.

Turning, they all peered intently at the rolling hills, the trees, the horizon. A towering mass of black clouds had formed there, signifying approaching rain. Flashes of lightning popped in different areas of the mass.

[That!] Thaddeus spit out again, still trying to get his ragged breathing under control. Gods, how he hated this weak form! [Storm,] he gasped. [Big one.]

Jaredh looked annoyed. [A storm?] he repeated. [You fear a little rain?]

[No, dolt,] Thaddeus spat, [the lightning! We are – we are not protected, we – we cannot – the flashes will –] His mouth worked like a fish out of water.

[The flashes will what?] CéVaer demanded, shaking him. But it was too late; the lack of oxygen caught up with Thaddeus and he fell back, unconscious. CéVaer made a sound of disgust and dropped him back on the seal.

[Lightning,] Vaitare repeated from behind him. [We are in the open. That’s what he meant by saying we aren’t protected.]

It took several moments for the implications of her words to set in. Since their forced entrance to the realm they had never experienced anything but warm, clear weather. They hadn’t thought to seek, nor to try and build shelter...and of course, Thaddeus hadn’t thought to tell them they might need to do so. The approaching storm was moving and growing exponentially, and forks of lightning were flashing from its midst, piercing the ground below it. There was no time left to prepare something. They could neither outrun nor outmaneuver it. The bald declaration of their mortality struck them to the core.

[By the Saints,] Maelmaedoc grumbled, [is nothing easy in this accursed place?]

[What are we to do?] Arkady whispered, her tranquil blue eyes huge. [We’re in the open, there’s nothing close to hide under –]

[There is,] Faigan assured her. [Mother, the young ones can –]

[Protect us, I know.] Kierkegaard gestured. [Everyone to the Seal! Zaeta’ar, Jaredh, bring Thaddeus. Everyone kneel or sit, but either way, go to ground, and gather together as closely as you can.] She turned to the three Dragonets. [You three – The lightning cannot harm you, we need the shelter of your wings.]

[Our – our wings?] Shihaada quavered, watching the multiple fingers of lightning dancing on the plain. [Against that? Are you certain, lady?]

[Very certain, child,] Kierkegaard averred. [Now please – cover us.]

The trio took points around the huddled Council and stretched their necks out to rest their heads on whatever laps or knees they could reach. They tucked their feet and tails under themselves and stretched out their wings, creating a canopy of protection.

Within minutes the fast-moving storm was upon them, soaking everything instantly in the deluge. The lightning was so bright that its illumination could be seen through the thick leathery wings of the Dragons. Bolt after bolt of lightning rained down, and they cringed closer to each other at the deafening cracks of thunder. One fractious bolt grazed Tarquin’s back and crackled along his wings, and he yipped in surprise, as did the others as the surge of electricity darted across them before running to ground.

[Are you all right?] Dinara asked.

[Yes,] Shihaada answered breathlessly.

[I’m all tingly,] Tarquin told them.

[You’ll be all right,] Kierkegaard soothed, [it’s almost over –] The rest of her words were drowned out by a tremendous crash of thunder, and a blinding flash of light rendered them all sightless. The ground shook. Within the circle of arms and bodies, Thaddeus made a sound of barely-suppressed panic.

[Look!] Zaeta’ar ordered. [What is that flashing?]

[Don’t look at them,] Thaddeus ordered tightly. [Nobody move. Stay protected.]

[It’s like strobe lights,] Zaeta’ar continued, ignoring Thaddeus. [There’s dozens of them, they’re –] He stopped talking abruptly and sat up, quickly pushing the young Dragon’s wings away.

[Nixau!] he cried, his voice reverberating across the henge. [NIXAU!]

That got their attention; the others also pushed the young Dragons aside, and stared out beyond the henge, watching as a lone young woman ran toward them in the pouring rain, her dark hair plastered to her face. On the grass, flashing circles of light appeared all around her, blinking on and off quickly before they vanished, and she dodged them as she ran, her eyes huge with terror.

[How did she get here?] Kierkegaard demanded. [Where did she come from?]

[The lights,] Thaddeus whispered, [it’s the lights, they’re – no, don’t go out there!]

But her was too late; Sha’hpaar had slipped under Micah’s arm and darted out into the storm, crossing the slippery cobbles and pushing through the stones, racing low to the ground to get to her sister…she reached her side and threw an arm around her, practically dragging her back toward the henge and back to safety. Nixau stumbled across the slick cobbles and several hands reached to draw her into their protection, thrusting her into Kierkegaard’s waiting arms.

[Dear one,] Kierkegaard crooned, pulling her close, [my child, my sweet girl!] The others drew in, touching their lost sister, rubbing her rain-chilled arms, and she kissed them all, tears mingling with the raindrops on her face.

[Wait,] she said suddenly, her hand patting her chest, [wait, I dropped them, I had them –]

[Dropped what?] Kierkegaard asked.

[That?] Sha’hpaar pointed out onto the grass, where a shapeless white blotch showed brightly against the grass. Strobes of light flashed all around it, and the thunder boomed loudly overhead. Before Nixau could confirm anything, Sha’hpaar was moving; despite Thaddeus’s snatch at her soaked chiton, she streaked out onto the meadow again, grabbed the item, and turned to run back…

...a strobe circle appeared under her feet, freezing her in place…

…blue tendrils of electricity shot up her legs, outlining her body in a halo of energy…

…she looked at them, stunned, and drew back, throwing the small white package in her hand toward them as hard as she could…it fell just outside the circle with a clatter…

The thunder roared…and the light went out abruptly, taking Sha’hpaar with it.

[NO!] Maelmaedoc screamed, lunging forward, but this time Thaddeus’s hand found its grip.

[Stop!] he commanded. [Nobody else move, nobody! Until the ground beyond the henge is clear, you risk the chance of falling victim to the seals.]

[Seals?] Kierkegaard demanded, holding the soaked Nixau tightly against her as if she feared the girl would vanish again. [What do you mean, seals?]

Thaddeus nodded tiredly, and motioned to the Dragonets to cover them. [I will explain later, my dear…right now, we must ride out the storm. Children, if you would…keep us safe.]

♦ ♦ ♦

The minute the clouds broke apart and sunlight appeared, Kierkegaard grabbed Thaddeus by his toga, yanking him up from the ground by sheer furious will. [When were you going to tell us about these storms and seals?] she shouted. [Just how much do you know? And how much more aren’t you telling us?]

[I’m sorry,] he gasped, tugging at her hand, [I came as soon as I could, I –]

She threw him back to the grass, snarling. [You’re sorry! You damned black-hearted bastard, don’t you see how it took her? How dare you keep such information from us, how dare you!]

Thaddeus had the sense to stay down. [In all my time here I’ve only seen maybe twelve or thirteen storms,] he admitted. [And those seals – I’ve only seen them after the storm passes. It happens so infrequently that I didn’t think to tell you. I swear to you, I wasn’t hiding anything.]

[How do you know what they do?] Vaitare asked. [What else have you seen?]

Thaddeus sighed. [I was not the only one here when I came,] he grudgingly admitted. He balled his fists and put them to his eyes. [There were Elves here. And Halflings. There may be others, but I haven’t seen them.] He gestured around them. [The first storm I saw threw lightning and seals with precision, as if someone were aiming them. The lightning strikes here but the seals don’t appear inside the henges. Nearly everyone outside was struck and the seals appeared under them, and they disappeared.]

[Just like Sha’hpaar,] Maelmaedoc spit at him.

[Yes, just like her.] Thaddeus sighed. [I did try to stop her.] When the others just glared at him stonily, he continued. [I got hit by lightning during one of the other storms. Thought for certain I was going to die. But that’s how I knew the henges would be safe – I was in a henge, and the seal didn’t appear in there. Good thing there were still one or two Elves and Halflings. They cared for me until I healed.]

The Council looked at each other. [Where are they?] Jaredh inquired.

Thaddeus shrugged. [They knew who I was. They really didn’t want to stay near me. After what I did to them in the other realms, I couldn’t blame them.]

[And yet they did the right thing, knowing who you were,] CéVaer mused quietly. [Huh. They’re nicer than I would have been. I’d have let you die.]

[You mentioned other henges. Are there better places for shelter?] He nodded. [And you know where they are?] He nodded again.

She picked up the package the young thra’akine had thrown and grimly tucked it into her chiton. [Then take us there,] she ordered. [We have to find a way to get Sha’hpaar back.]

Chapter 2

1Idiopatheia

Acceptance of what has happened is the first step

to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune.

– William James

No! I don’t want to talk about it! Kira snarled, as she paced away from her parents.

Marcus had advised Lancelot and Jase that a poisoned thorn needs to be removed before the venom ruins the mind forever, and urged them to get Kira to talk as soon as possible. They had waited three days, so Kira could sleep and her body could heal a little more. But on the morning of the fourth day, they had firmed each other’s resolve, physically ushered Kira into their personal apartments, closed the door, and attempted to extricate some further information from their traumatized daughter. They would have had an easier time of roping the moon. It wasn’t going well.

Kira, you’ve been through hell, Jase said quietly. We want to help you.

The girl rounded on her, her eyes flashing angrily. I don’t need your help! God damn that priest, I should have known he would spew! Did Dalton sing like a canary, too? Did he?

He’s worried sick about you, hon, Jase replied sorrowfully. We all are.

So what, you wanna look up close and personal, is that it? Kira taunted bitingly. Wanna check things out, see where all the scars and tears and burns and God knows whatever else – I won’t be needing the ol’ syrup of figs for a while, that’s for certain!

Jase flinched visibly and squeezed her eyes together. Stop it.

"Stop it? Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m the one who’s got to live with it! Forever! No one else does! I don’t need the entire world knowing what’s happened!"

Lancelot shook his head. Unfortunately, we may not be able to make that go away.

And just what the fuck do you mean by that? Kira challenged.

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably under her glare. I’m certain that Banczack’s warriors were out telling people that you were pregnant with his child. They probably leveled a high price for information on you. He looked at her sympathetically. Even though it’s no longer true, there will still be a certain amount of psychological effects on the peasantry. They’ll be afraid of you, because of your importance to him. Those who aren’t afraid will pity you. And people will talk, and fear will prompt them to tell where you are. As disgusting as that is – it’s Human nature.

Kira’s mouth worked silently as she stared at him. She’d be known far and wide as Banczack’s missing whore! God – this was intolerable! She shook her head to clear it and her throat suddenly unjammed. I’m going to tell you right now, she snarled vehemently, sticking her finger nearly up his nose, "you better tell everyone that I don’t want, nor do I need their pity! One wrong look, one wrong word, and I’m going to pound someone into the ground. So you make it clear, crystal fucking clear, that the subject is off limits! Period. End of statement."

Jase shook her head. You can’t control everyone, honey.

Kira ignored her. You said they’d be afraid of me, she stated. "Make it clear that I’ll be really pissed if I hear someone whispering about me. If I even remotely think that someone is talking about it behind my back, I’ll kill ‘em. And don’t think I won’t. She glared furiously at Lancelot. You say it’s Human nature...well, so is murder. So help me God, I’ll do it."

Kira, Jase admonished, that’s not even funny, so stop it.

I’m not close to being funny, Kira snarled, turning toward the fire.

Listen to what you’re saying, her mother implored gently. You’re not thinking rationally. You need to be reasonable –

"Don’t tell me to be reasonable!" Kira shouted, grabbing a heavy silver candlestick from the mantle; turning abruptly, she hurled it at Jase with all of her strength. Jase dove for the floor and the missile banged against the wall, chipping pieces out of the stone. As if the force of the blow were a signal, Kira’s fury was unleashed; she proceeded to rampage about the room, smashing, overturning, and destroying anything and everything she could. She made no sound, save for the harsh, heavy gasps of her breathing. Lancelot and Jase watched helplessly; the meltdown was expected, but neither parent could have predicted the violence with which it came. They did nothing to stop it, allowing the warring emotions to run their course in whatever outlet was necessary.

Finally the riot burned itself out, and it was as if a huge tornado had chewed its way through the room. Trinkets lay in pieces, furniture was overturned, lanterns were smashed, books were torn apart, and pillows were ripped. Feathers floated gently to the floor. Kira leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, pressing her fists into her eyes.

Jase motioned for Lancelot to stay put and she silently padded across the floor to her daughter. She reached out a tentative hand, awaiting the onslaught, but instead Kira hunched her shoulder away from Jase’s hand as it touched her. Jase let her arm drop, but didn’t back away. The first skirmish was over, but the war still raged on. She waited a few minutes, then reached out again; this time, Kira didn’t flinch as Jase’s hand stroked her back.

I’m sorry, Kira whispered hoarsely. I’ll clean up.

Don’t worry about that.

They stood that way for a long time before Kira finally pushed away from the wall. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. I can’t do this, she pleaded in a small voice. "I can’t. You have to make it clear that I’m off limits as a topic of conversation. You asked me to be reasonable, but there is nothing reasonable about this – this – psychotic universe you have dragged me into. I can’t help what happened to me. For anyone to say otherwise is unfair, and so is talking about me behind my back."

Jase stroked her daughter’s hair. Honey, I’ll do what I can, but it may not amount to much in controlling the gossip. She looked over her shoulder and Lancelot, prompted by the glance, came forward.

I’m not kidding, Mom, Kira replied quietly, yet harshly, pushing Jase’s hand away from her head and directing her words to her father as he stopped beside them. "I’m the only one who’s going to talk about it. Me. It’s my problem."

Okay, Jase replied, but since you’re my daughter, that means it’s my problem too.

And mine, Lancelot added. And your brothers, and Marcus, and Thalia, and Tash. Everyone in our immediate group is involved.

That’s too many, she choked out. She turned away from them, kicking a few broken pieces of pottery out of the way.

We’re all here to help you, Jase reiterated softly, holding out her hands in another attempt to soothe. If you can’t talk with us, then go to Talon, or Marcus. Hon, you cannot hold this in and try to fight it alone. You’ll self-destruct.

Kira didn’t turn around. Do you think I care? She buried her face in her hands. I don’t. They certainly taught me that there – to not care about anything, because it just gets used against you.

Lancelot stood and approached her. Marcus has told us everything that he felt was necessary. We need that information so that we can help you get through this, he explained, laying a hand on her shoulder. She started violently, and Lancelot jumped back as her elbow just missed his sternum. I’m sorry, he apologized quickly as she turned on him.

"Don’t sneak up on me like that! she ordered. Get away from me!"

I didn’t mean it, Lancelot began and reached for her, but she shrank away, staring at him like she didn’t recognize him. Kira, are you all right? he asked, frowning in concern at the expression on her face. Kira?

He’d do that whenever he could, she whispered, when he would – when he – Her voice died away and her face froze with horror as her memory was flooded with images.

Banczack leering at her as he casually slit her tunic...her flesh tearing under his first assault...her thighs bruising from his unrelenting, battering abuse as he held her helpless on the mattress...her cries of despair as her senses burst with chaotic sensation...the bloody, pulpy mass of premature fetus, hot and sticky, sliding into Marcus’s trembling hands...screaming, screaming, she was always screaming, and it would never stop...

Kira suddenly realized that she had collapsed on the floor, with her knees up against her chest and her arms over her head, and the scream in her mind was actually echoing in the room, tearing her throat to shreds. Both her parents had their arms around her, trying desperately to pull her back from the brink of insane psychological overload.

It’s okay, baby, Jase was crooning, stroking her tumbled hair soothingly. It’s all going to be okay.

It was the wrong thing to say. With a surge of fury, Kira flung them both off and surged to her feet, working again into a raging frenzy. Her eyes were blazing with unshed tears and barely suppressed madness.

"HOW CAN IT BE OKAY? she roared. How can it ever be okay again? I want to kill anyone who looks at me the wrong way! I want to slit my goddamned throat until my head falls off, I want to shred my fucking flesh right off of my skeleton! This isn’t okay! I’ll never look at another man without wanting to beat the living shit out of him! Do you know what they do? Do you have any fucking clue what they can do to you?"

Sweetheart, it won’t always be that way! Jase pleaded, aghast.

Oh, like you know! She swung on Lancelot, who had nearly landed in the fire when she had shoved him away. "As for you, you’re a goddamn man! You know I’m telling the truth! You’re responsible, you do this kind of shit all the time! How many unsuspecting women have you beaten and ripped up and – and destroyed in your lifetime?"

That’s enough! Lancelot shot back, getting angry himself, but Kira wouldn’t let him finish. The months of terror, pain, and frustration had finally found an outlet.

"SHUT UP! she shrieked. You shut up, you rotten, filthy son of a bitch!" She was nearly foaming at the mouth in her rage, and she grabbed a small table that had somehow survived her earlier onslaught and hurled it at Lancelot, who immediately ducked, shielding Jase with his body. The table flew across the room, where it shattered into splinters with a tremendous crash.

"Don’t you dare tell me that’s enough! You don’t know what it’s like, to be forced to do something you – and then your body turns on you – you don’t understand a whit! You’ll never understand!" She grabbed the fireplace poker and, holding it like a javelin, advanced on Lancelot. Her eyes were blazing in Dragonspawn mode, feral and unfocused as she brandished the heavy iron tool menacingly.

Kira! Lancelot barked sharply. "Kira! Stop it, right now!"

Oh, Jesus, Jase whispered, horrified.

I’m going to kill you right now, you motherfucker, Kira ground out harshly, in a voice that raised gooseflesh on their skin. You’ll never lay another hand on me again, never. Lancelot crouched as she darted at him, raising the poker over her head. He barely dodged out of the way, and the metal whizzed over his head, striking the stones of the fireplace hard enough to draw sparks. Like a panther, Kira doubled back and brought the poker down again, but this time, Lancelot was ready. He ducked under her arm, twisted, and wrenched the poker from her grip, flinging it across the room to join the broken table. As he turned toward her, his arm came around and his open hand struck her face with all his force behind it. Kira’s head snapped back, and Jase cried out before she could stop herself as Kira dropped to the floor in a heap. Lancelot immediately dropped to his knees, panting from the exertion, and reached out hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to touch her or not.

Jase had no such reservations. She launched herself at her daughter and pulled her close. Though Kira dwarfed her mother, the situation was nowhere near comical. She immediately curled herself into a tight knot in her mother’s lap, buried her face against her chest, and let the floodgates down. Jase gathered the destroyed young woman in, and Lancelot crawled up beside them and added his strength to the huddled pair.

I can’t stand it, Kira sobbed. I – I –

Sshhhhhhhh, Jase soothed, rocking her. Save it. Catch your breath. I’m here.

Several minutes passed before Kira finally got control, but her breath still hitched and she still shook like every nerve had overloaded. Finally she managed to look up at Lancelot; her eyes held none of the earlier madness, but they were now full of tragic vulnerability that went right to his heart. He put his fingers gently across her lips as she tried to force an apology through them.

Hush. It’s all right. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. I’m sorry I had to hit you, he continued, but I didn’t relish being skewered. He tried to smile at the feeble joke and failed miserably. Clearing the tightness in his throat, he peered into her face and asked, Do you...want to tell us anything else right now? Or do you want to listen to us now?

Kira wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pushed away from her mother’s lap. Jase let her go reluctantly. I don’t have anything else to say, she said. I’m not going to discuss it, all right? Not – no. I can’t.

All right, Jase replied, you don’t have to. But I want you to just listen right now, because I’m going to tell you about us.

Kira paused. What?

Something ugly kindled in Jase’s sympathetic eyes. Honey, you keep telling us we don’t understand. You’re not the only one to be handled badly by those bastards. No two people understand more than me and your father.

Kira looked at her mother for a long moment, then at Lancelot. What do you mean?

Lancelot’s eyes were steady. You remember our conversation in the diner – when I told you about your mother’s wound, and how I caused it? She nodded. Banczack’s father, Thaddeus, did that. He nodded at the expression on her face. That’s right. He had me in an iron grip. I knew what was happening, but I couldn’t stop it. Just like you couldn’t. It was bad enough for me, but unfortunately, I wasn’t his target. His gaze slid over to Jase, and Kira’s eyes followed.

Both of us were taken by Thaddeus,