The Heart Of The Citadel Boxset (Books 1-3): The Heart of the Citadel

By Susan Faw

This boxset includes books 1 - 3 of the Heart Of The Citadel series by award winning author Susan Faw, plus the bonus novella, The Wizards Of Bastion. 

The world is not normally saved by the one, but by the many. The Heart Of The Citadel Series follows the journeys of multiple heroes and heroines as they fight to reclaim the world of Gaia from the cruel grip of Emperor Madrid.

HEART OF DESTINY

Twenty children are gifted crystal hearts, indicative of forbidden magical powers.

The emperor hunts for them, and on the cusp of capture, ten young women are rescued by dragons. The young men are not so lucky. Partnered with their rescuers, they are trained and returned to their homeland to free their home provinces.

But the emperor has far greater plans than is known.

HEART OF TYR

Infected elemental magic. An entombed witch with a thirst for revenge. A secret map no one can read. Heart bearer Elissa scoffed at her brother's belief in dragons. 

That is until one abducted her on her eleventh birthday. Flown to the isle of Jintessa in its claws, Elissa discovers that not only are dragons real, but also the shapeshifters of legend.

Bonded telepathically to a Djinn Dragonmerger named Druzy and his dragon Mysty, Elissa is given a mission to return to Tyr and free her home from the tyranny of an emperor determined to control all magic.

Hunted by her magically enslaved brother, can Elissa free her people and bring down the barrier, without destroying Ellas, in the process?

HEART OF SHADRA

A gritty rebel with dangerous ties. A secretive mine that buries the truth. A handful of ancient bones with dark origins.

Shikoba, feisty daughter of the tribal queen Aisha, has been trained since birth to defend her people. On the cusp of her final trials, she is swept away by a dragon and a Djinn shapeshifter. 

Shikoba is tasked with the destruction of the barrier that isolates her people from the other provinces, but an ancient evil stands between her and their freedom. Existing only in legend, the Naga is a fierce creature of magic and myth with a secret of its own to protect.

THE WIZARDS OF BASTION

A Wizard's Keep should be impenetrable, right?

Wrong...and all that stands between the wizards and the fall of the keep is one skinny, crippled adept.

DIVE INTO THIS EXCITING NEW SERIES BY PICKING UP THIS NEWLY RELEASED BUNDLE!

EARLY PRAISE FOR THE HEART OF THE CITADEL:

"This is a story that keep you flips g pages til the end. I read this baby with 3 hours. It's always amazing to find books that makes you think about everything after you've read it. Great book!"

-Wilnise

"Holy smokes! Things are amping up and I would LOVE to see the horrible emperor have his defeat in the most demeaning way. He is truly vile. I can't wait to see how his plays out! Mesmerizing and engaging!"

-Phthon

"How can you not love a book with witches, dragons, djinns and wizards!! What really made the story pop for me was how the lives of three girls wound together to have them united in a quest to defeat the Emperor... P.S. I WANT A DRAGON!!"

- G. Themann

What are you waiting for? Scroll up and click buy now to find out why readers all over the world have fallen in love with The Heart Of The Citadel!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Faw
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781989022184

Susan Faw

Susan’s love of stories began before she could read or write. Her earliest childhood memories are of a make believe game she played with her sister, creating and telling an epic story inspired by a picture chosen at random from a National Geographic magazine. Susan spent her summers reading and writing sometimes serious, sometimes humorous works of fiction, imagining the worlds beyond her bedroom walls. Susan is an avid reader of literature, especially science fiction and fantasy. She loves to bring new worlds and fantasy adventures to young adults and inspire them to join her on her make believe journeys.  You can find Susan at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw.

Book preview

Dedication

I’d like to dedicate this book to my good friend Jan Riley, who has been a constant source of review and suggestion as well as also encouragement along the way. Always willing to drop what she is doing to critique, she keeps me on point and true to the journey.

Without you, Jan, writing would be that much lonelier. Fair warning, someday I am going to create a character that is all you, but I will leave you to guess which one it is. ☺

Prologue:

The First Battle

Marion balanced on the tipping point of the limestone ledge, her fingernails digging into the spalling stone, glaring at the raging storm. Bleak, cold, and grey, the clouds shrouded the true tempest stirring, the source of which chased a chill down her spine to lodge in her heart. The painful thumping within her chest distracted her.

Calm, I must find my focus. Marion closed her eyes. I am one with the storm. Its fury and mine are united, inseparable. There is no division for I am the storm, and all who oppose me will die.

Lightning flashed, highlighting the underside of the angry clouds before being swallowed whole. Hail fell, at first pea-sized, but it grew larger with every heartbeat, pinging off the bronze-capped turret. Marion focused on the hail once again, as it increased in quantity and size, a mirrored reflection of her clenched fists. The storm could not support its weight and the stones fell away into the night, a deadly missile attack that would break bone and flesh of any caught out in the open air or on the battlefield below. Perhaps the wizards could shield the soldiers in time. She hoped not.

The violence of the storm matched her mood. She was hungry for destruction, for revenge against those who sought to destroy her home, her way of life. She would not be denied.

A bolt of lightning flashed by on its way to ground, so close that her hair stood on end despite being tucked beneath the deep cowl of her dark green cloak. The brilliant light of the redirected spike of energy washed over the curving relief of a gargoyle, all fangs and muzzle, its great head curving into the spine of a neck decorated with sharp spikes. It was perched beside her on the edge of the rooftop. The gargoyle lifted a leg and stretched it out as though to catch the bolt before it disappeared.

Beryl, what were you going to do with it if you caught it? Marion said with a snort of laughter.

The gargoyle’s head turned, stretching its lips into a grin that displayed a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Smoke drifted lazily from its nostrils. One glistening green eye peered at her.

I would have sent it back at the traitors who deflected it toward us, then laughed as they tumbled from the sky, Beryl rumbled. The gargoyle was not a gargoyle after all but an exceptionally angry, full-blooded female dragon.

A face leaned out around the dragon. It belonged to a black-haired youth with shining green eyes to match Beryl’s. Chryso sat on the castle wall next to the dragon. His face was just visible in the gap under Beryl’s chin.

Are we going to sit on this wall all day? he asked his voice sharp with impatience. What are we waiting for? He glared out at the storm. I want to finish that traitor, once and for all.

Marion stared out at the roiling clouds and did not answer. Her eyes drifted closed once again, and she reached out with her mind, searching the storm...searching...searching. There. It was the tiniest of sparks, but it was there. She latched onto it with her mind and opened her eyes.

It is time to merge. Marion stood up on the wall then climbed into the leather-padded saddle strapped to Beryl’s back. Chryso stood and touched Marion’s hand. At the contact, his body became transparent and he merged into Marion’s body. Joined, they were stronger, faster, smarter than when they were separate. Together, they could draw on their combined knowledge and history and react in ways they could not do separately. Marion began to sort Chryso’s sensations from her own and organize the sensory information before her.

With a sizzling smack, a bolt of lightning struck the precise spot where Marion had just been sitting. Stone blasted into the air and the upper crenaline bowed outward then tumbled away into the yawning distance below. The heat of the lightning strike singed Beryl’s wings. With a roar of pain and anger she dived, spiralling away from the wall. She levelled out then rose, flying into the midst of the storm where the battle raged hottest, guided by their triad-merged minds.

She rose up through the clouds, winging her way toward the distant target at the heart of the storm to confront their worst enemy. This was an ancient enemy and a recent foe, the betrayer of hope.

He knows I am coming, thought Marion. She could feel Chryso’s agreement. He will expect a direct attack and will have energized the clouds to defend against it. We must use that against him. Charge the cloud as the lightning is released. Are you ready? Affirmative sensations vibrated along the bond.

Beryl snarled and tensed under Marion’s saddle. Beryl’s scales shifted as she drew them tight around her body, clicking into place like armour. Marion pulled her iron-tipped staff from her saddle bag and elongated its rune-enhanced body until it was a full ten feet in length. Muttering a spell under her breath and waving her hand over its length, the staff flared bright red for a second and then a thin rope trailed away from its base, streaming out behind them before being swallowed by the dense cloud.

Lightning flashed, skipping from cloud to cloud, searching for their presence. Beryl twisted and dodged the bursts, hiding their location from the searcher. The problem was that their quarry was also on the move, diving from cloud to cloud and hiding amongst the clouds in much the same way as they were. Having conjured the storm, they controlled its form and shape and power.

A cloud to the right flashed and for the briefest of moments, a silhouette was illuminated. A great dragon, double the size of Beryl was highlighted in relief, wings spread and claws extended, before it vanished.

Damn! yelled Marion. Chryso swore an oath of equal vehemence as Beryl twisted and dived. Flame gushed and filled the void where they had been seconds before. Beryl flipped over to fly upside down, extending her feet. With a satisfying thud, her razor-sharp talons found the soft folds of skin under the wing of the diving dragon. It screamed and was gone, swallowed by the raging storm. Marion twisted in her saddle, keeping the rod raised and pointed toward the focal point of the storm where she knew their enemy hid.

A blinding flash and a sonorous boom struck simultaneously. The sizzling bolt of energy stabbed the rod and the lightning emptied down the staff, following the trailing wire to where it touched the castle below. The reflected light blinded them, and Marion threw up her other arm to shield her eyes. When the lightning vanished, she lowered her arm to see a steel armoured dragon with milky white eyes bearing down on their position. Beryl spied the Opaleye at the same time and screamed in challenge. A man stood on the back of the dragon, a fully charged blivet grasped in his hand. Energy rippled around the weapon, discharging a trail of sparks into the air around it with every motion.

Marion looked away from the sparkling mythical weapon, knowing that to look on it was to deceive one’s eye. Created in the fires of a sacred volcano, the blivet was a weapon of another dimension, out of phase with the reality of the world of Gaia. She focused on the holder, the enemy they sought. Broad of shoulder and black haired, the man’s pearly white teeth flashed as he drew back his arm.

Abort! He has a blivet. Abort! she screamed, as Beryl jumped to obey.

The blivet soared out of the man’s hand and, with impossible speed, closed the distance to strike Beryl on the right flank. Beryl roared as her body froze, limbs and wings stiffening to stone.

Shift! Chryso yelled, pulling on their combined magic to begin the process, but the magic of the weapon interrupted the shift in mid-process. With a bang and a screech, the triad bond collapsed and they separated, free falling with sickening speed toward the ground.

Tumbling head over heels, Marion quivered, struggling to shake off the stunning effect of the blivet. She had only received a tiny amount of the numbing energy, but it was enough to leave her with no feeling in her fingers. She ignored her useless appendages and shrank her staff with her mind, then focused her mental energies on the earth rising to meet them. The staff flashed and the milling clouds rushed to the surface and then rose to meet them, a fluffy pillow of white. As they dropped out of the storm into the brilliant sunshine, Marion took a quick look over her shoulder. Chryso and Beryl dropped out of the clouds just behind her, and she shooed some of the cloud tops over to form beneath them.

With a puff, she sank into the soft net of clouds, bouncing on the surface.

The Opaleye soared out of the clouds and winged its way toward the castle walls on which they had been recently perched. Its rider lifted a hand and waved a lazy goodbye, and dragon and rider disappeared behind the peaks of the mountains that surrounded the central Citadel to the west. Marion’s eyes twitched with fury as she watched the dragon vanish, frustrated with her helplessness and inability to give chase. They had failed. She had failed. There was no longer a choice. Into exile she would go. She was powerless to stop the emperor at this time. She waved her staff, and the clouds softened, lowering them to the earth. As they broke through, the stench of battle reached her nostrils. Fires burned in the lower village of Ionia, the smoke a thick haze drifting over the building tops and snaking between the mountains, hugging the valley floor. Castle Ionia rose out of the smoke, hardly unscathed. Chunks of stone were missing from its towers and fires burned in the windows, winking out as they were extinguished from within the castle. The bridge was full of Citadel soldiers entering the ancient school. It was obvious that the school was lost, and her sisters were either in hiding or had already fled. The servants and those of no magical power would not be harmed. The battle was being waged against magic, not against humanity.

Marion sank the rest of the way through the clouds and set herself, Beryl and Chryso down in a wooded area several miles away from the battlefront. The paralyzing numbness of the emperor’s attack was beginning to dissipate as she worked her fingers to and fro, wriggling them to encourage the blood flow to her fingertips.

Beryl limped over to her side, favouring her flank where an angry burn shimmered in the dim light of the concealing canopy. Chryso ran over to Beryl and placed his hand beside the wound, chanting and moving his hand over it without making contact. Beryl whimpered, nosing his shoulder to push him out of the way. Chryso held up his left hand, halting her without breaking his chant. The puckered, torn skin began to mend, as sweat broke out on Chryso’s forehead. He leaned forward, placing both hands on either side of the wound. His profile shimmered, phasing with the puncture, as he called forth healing from his homeland. The skin puckered and drew together, smoothing, but the wound resisted his efforts. Gasping, Chryso pulled away from the meditation and staggered back.

I cannot heal it completely. The wound is out of sync with this world.

Beryl draped a wing over him to thank him for his efforts. She watched Marion approach with one bloodshot green eye.

It is much better, she said with a blink. Thank you for your efforts.

Marion passed her hands over the wound. The healing is as complete as what is possible in this world. Well done, Chryso.

Marion’s hands dropped, and she turned in the direction of Castle Ionia, the tips of the golden towers gleaming in the reflected late-day sun.

We have failed. The emperor has won this round. Go back home. You can do nothing more here. At Chryso’s squawk of protest, she raised a hand, halting him. I will go into seclusion. From there, I can work with my sisters to develop a plan. If we are to be successful in our next attempt against the emperor, we must be ready. We must recruit and train witches that can combat the emperor’s powers. We are not trained in combat. It was never part of our calling. We are healers. She frowned up at the sky, thinking. But that must change. There is much to prepare, she said, turning back to her agitated companions. This is how it must be. Return to Jintessa. Tell the Djinn what has transpired here in Gaia. There will be more students. The school must close.

But, Marion, what of us? I cannot live in your world without the triad merger. No Djinn can. We are not human. We are shapeshifters. And the dragons will not come to you without being bonded to a Djinn Dragonmerger. You will be alone once again.

It is too dangerous here now, Chryso. If you both stay, you will die. The emperor knows you are here. He will not cease hunting you, and you know he would kill you and enslave Beryl. You must go!

Chryso frowned at her, shook his head, and then reluctantly nodded agreement. He climbed onto Beryl’s back and, when settled, glared down at Marion. Remember, Marion. If you die, we die. We are bonded. If you must transfer the bond, be sure that the bond holder is worthy of the transfer. We are trusting you with knowledge that is very sacred. My kin will not understand this. Bring the sisters you trust to bond with us. Show us that the trust goes both ways. Only with this trust in place will we prevail in the future. Come to me in Jintessa.

Marion studied her Djinn bond mate and nodded. It will be as you ask, Chryso, you have my word and my bond. But it will not be now. In the future, we will come to the Djinn. Time moves differently here than in Jintessa. I will be old when we meet next.

With a final nod, Chryso handed Marion her satchel, then shifted into the form of an eagle and flew up onto Beryl’s back. As soon as Chryso was settled, Beryl launched into the sky and was quickly swallowed by the dissipating storm. Marion watched them go until they vanished from sight.

Good luck, my friends, and safe travels, she whispered as she shouldered her pack. Picking a path at random, she marched into the woods.

The world would not hear from them again for two hundred years.

Chapter 1

Grandpa’s Tale

Emily pressed her grimy face up against the bars of the window, peering out at the cobblestones of the street visible beyond its stripes. A driving rain pounded the road, dancing on the stones. Lightning arched across the sky, silhouetting the people running to and fro, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Grandpa, what’s going on? Why is everyone screaming?

Her grandfather clasped her around the waist with one arm and with the other hand tugged the blackout curtain tight across the bars. You need to stay away from the windows, Emily. It’s too dangerous. Come, I will tell you a story.

A piercing wail filled the room. It rose in crescendo, so sharp that seven-year-old Emily clapped her hands over her ears, and then it ceased abruptly. The echo faded to the ear but not to Emily’s heart.

Mama! she wailed and buried her face in her grandfather’s linen shirt. It scratched her cheek, but she didn’t care. It smelled of safety and love. The curtain over the iron bars was no barrier to the screeching villagers, running in terror from the evil descending on the town of two thousand.

It was a suffering that had been predicted, even prophesied, but for all of that impossible to bear. More than two hundred years had passed since the Great Purge, an event designed to eliminate magic in all its forms from the world of Gaia. And it had worked. The results of those bloody battles were so catastrophic to magic and those that could wield it, that few now alive remembered the event. Lightning forked across the sky, but it was benign. The real threat was the lightning blooming in the hands of the dark cloaked and hooded figures roaming the streets, striking anything that moved. The hair on Emily’s head rose with the crackle of a close bolt that shook the house. Dust shimmered in the air with the blast, before falling to the floor, loosened from the mud mortar of the clay brick walls.

Shhh. Quiet, Emily. Her grandfather rubbed her back and carried her back to an overstuffed horsehair chair set in the corner of the underground shelter. He lowered himself into the chair, settling her onto his lap and smoothing back her hair. He then drew a soft blanket over them both.

Emily, he commanded. Listen to me. Ignore what is happening beyond these walls. What happens there has happened before and will happen again if we do not heed the lessons of the past. Look at me. When her head rose, her hair tangled and her face streaked with tears, he smiled at her. I want to tell you stories of the past that you have never heard before. Your mother hid the truth to protect you. Tears welled again at the mention of her mother, great shimmering crystals clinging to Emily’s lashes. He put a finger to his lips to halt them. Listen, Emily. There is so much to tell. Put aside your fear and listen to the stories. They will drown out the night and all that moves there. Focus on me. When she nodded, he wrapped her in the blanket and pulled her against his chest then began to speak.

"In the beginning, there were ten young women and ten young men boys who were gifted with crystal hearts of power, such as you wear. These hearts set them apart from their friends and sometimes even from their families. Each recipient had a special magical gift that was discerned at birth by the midwives that assisted their delivery into the world. Certain births had a higher probability of producing a child able to wield magic. Early testing of the auras of pregnant mothers allowed them to narrow down the likeliest candidates, and exceptionally skilled midwifes were assigned to these births. These healers, women of renowned skill, were charged with identifying all who carried the gift by their order, for it was a rare thing to find, after the Great Purge. They searched for many years, wandering from shore to citadel and all points in between, to be sure that every child was tested. These healers were trained and educated by L’Ordre du Coeur Sacré. Your mother was such a healer. Beautiful and mature beyond her years, she grew into an amazing woman and an even better healer. Later, she donned the cloak of Simple Prima and became the witch queen of L’Ordre."

My mother is a witch? asked Emily, sniffing as her tears dried, caught up in the story.

The term witch has come to have such a negative connotation in our world. I prefer the term gifted. Witches are those who carry magic. You are gifted also, my little princess. He tapped her upturned nose, smiling.

I am a witch, too? Her grandfather kissed the top of her head, nodding in confirmation.

You were but a baby when your mother answered the call. Your powers were not known at the time. Occasionally the midwife testing does not identify the gift. And it is rare that three children are born into the same family, as you know. As your birth was not sanctioned by the government, you had to be hidden away. This you know and understand, right?

Emily nodded. She had indeed spent most of her life in this very room, schooled by her grandfather and sheltered from prying eyes.

Not all healers are witches, but the very best are blessed with the gift. They can see on a different plane, understanding every fibre of life and the broken structure of disease. Your mother was one of the first called by her heart, one of the first to be found by the dragons.

She was? gasped Emily. Tell me the story! Please, please, please! Emily bounced on his knee, the screams and cries of the people outside forgotten in the excitement of hearing real stories about her mother.

Her grandfather smiled down at Emily’s expectant, begging face, her eyes bright and shining.

All right, I think it is time. He paused, collecting his thoughts then said It was on a night such as this, the air thick with swelling conflict, that the dragons swooped in and bore away the young women bearing the crystal hearts. They were not in time to gather the young men whose abilities were every bit as strong as the women. These young wizards became lost to us when their crystal hearts shadowed and darkened. Their light faded until the guiding beacon was gone. We searched for the young men for we were anxious to protect them too, but instead, they were collected by the emperor in response to the dragon’s arrival. They were not heard from again.

Emily thought about this for a minute then said, Why are the men outside casting spells of lightning? Are they wizards?

Yes, they have the gift. Some may be the very young men we were just speaking of. What the emperor did with the bearers of the hearts inside the Citadel no one knows. But we can be sure of this. These Citadel-trained wizards are powerful. They seek out all magic, sending the lightning out to illuminate magic where it rests. They are tasked with destroying all magic that is not controlled by the Citadel. He pointed at the window that she had been peeking out of. The blackout curtains are a dampening field that extends through the walls, floor, and ceiling of this chamber blocking your magic from prying spells. They are blind to you as long as we stay within the shelter.

Emily’s lip began to tremble again, as it dawned on her that they were searching for magic and that the screams outside might be her fault. Are they looking for me? she said, her eyes as wide as saucers. Another bolt of lightning struck the wall of the house above with a hum that set her teeth rattling against each other and then she heard glass shatter. The house shuddered, and more dust fell.

Yes, my sweet. He hugged her close, pressing her head against his shirt. I will not allow any harm to come to you. Now, listen to my story. I will start with your sister. It was about ten years ago, before you were born. You see, it was the first day of school in Melina...

Chapter 2

The First Day: Bastion Province

The Citadel of Melina was blessed with the most important structure in all of Bastion. High above the milling crowds, the grey stone walls reflected the last rays of the setting sun, burnished to a golden glitter before fading to black.

Today was the holiest day in their celestial calendar. A steady crowd of people had joined the annual pilgrimage, flowing to the Citadel to deliver the most precious gift they could give. Those without a gift came to honour those who had a gift to give, for it was an extremely rare thing to be gifted with children in Melina.

The Citadel was the sole place in all of Melina where a school could be found. All roads eventually emptied onto this cliff-hugging sea to Sky Avenue. The single path twisted and curved to the peak of the extinct volcano, the highest spot in all of Melina. So precious was the cargo delivered to the summit on this day that the roads were guarded two and three deep by the fiercest weapons in all of Bastion, the Citadel-trained sons of Bastion. Those without children tossed flower leis made of calla lilies, plumeria, and fuchsia in eye-watering colours harvested from the nearby jungle, at the feet of the horses. The crush of the flowers filled the air with their heady perfume. But it wasn’t until night fell that the real celebrations began.

Eight-year-old Shikara stared out the darkened window of her carriage, her eyes wide with fear, her blue-eyed straw-stuffed doll clutched to her chest. She resisted the urge to stick her thumb in her mouth but just barely. Her brother, Jasper, reclined against the overstuffed cushions at her side, ignoring the audience that flashed by the naked opening and accepting it as his due. Jasper had traveled this route for two seasons, being two years older than his sister, and was familiar with the parade.

The wheels clattered over the cobblestone paving as the horse team pulled the carriage in the only direction they could go, plodding along behind the gilded carriage in front of them. Their parents guided the team of horses, sitting side by side on the driver’s seat and conversing in low tones. Overhead, fireworks burst across the sky celebrating the day to come, for the first day of school was a national holiday in Bastion and the festivities were not to be missed. Street performers juggled fireballs. Couples holding hands stared hungrily at the occupants of the carriages, longing for the day when it would be their turn to have children. A fierce-looking guard frowned at a banner that had been hung across an alleyway that said Rescind the two children ban! Procreation rights for all!

Jasper yawned and then straightened with excitement, pointing out his window at the object that had caught his eye. Look, Kara! There on the roof. Archers! He leaned forward to keep the archer in view as the wagon curved around a bakery selling sweet buns, a swirling scent of cinnamon drowning the floral bouquet for a moment.

This time, Kara did stick her thumb in her mouth and quickly changed it to nibbling on the rough edge of her fingernail as her eyes widened farther. Her eyes darted to the side to see if Jasper had noticed but he continued to stare at the roof tops, craning his neck out the window to keep the archers in sight. Kara shrank back against the cushions and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the archers or the merrymakers. She wavered between hugging her doll closer and shutting out the noise. She settled for clapping her doll over her left ear, muffling the singing and the shouted well wishes of a thousand strangers. Kara just wanted to go home to their square little house with the standard three bedrooms and their square table with four chairs. It was exactly like every other house on their quiet street, but she had felt safe there, secure. Loved. She did not want to go to school. Her lower lip trembled.

Aww, stop being a baby! Jasper leaned over and pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop. She didn’t remember putting it in. Don’t embarrass me when we get to the school! I will lie and tell everyone you are not my sister if you do.

Kara said nothing.

The carriage rumbled around a couple more curves, and the buildings lining the streets vanished along with the crowd of well-wishers. Now, only the fireworks followed them, as the road was swallowed by obsidian walls of shining glass that reflected burning torches set in brackets on either side of the wagon, to light the way. The walls rose up two stories. The only reason Kara knew the fireworks were still being sent skyward was the occasional wash of colour that lit up the carriages ahead of them.

Several minutes of travel later, the carriages emptied out of the rift and onto the plateau of the summit, halting in front of a pair of massive wrought-iron gates. The gates were affixed to shining black pillars and each pillar was topped by a carved glass dragon with wings spread and the snout dipping toward the wagons so that the eyes caught the flickering torch light. Kara shivered, for the glass crooner appeared to be alive, staring right at her. She stared back at the crooners as the gates opened, and the carriage lurched into motion once again. The emerald eyes followed her, and she swore that the head swiveled as well as she was swept up to the building ablaze with light at the far end of the lane. She tore her eyes away from the glass dragon. Trees lined the approach, clinging to the coarse sand, the fronds silhouetted by the crescent moon rising in the sky.

Kara’s gaze was drawn to the building where the halted carriages were disgorging their precious cargo.

It’s so big, she whispered.

Jasper dismissed the building with a wave of his hand. "Yeah but it’s not that big. You will get lost at first but not for long because the teachers keep a really close eye on the first years. If I were you, I’d be worried about the dragons." Jasper waggled his brows as he leaned forward, trying to gauge her reaction. The carriage hit a rock, and a clear heart pendant swung out from the front of his shirt, flashing in the light spilling in the carriage door from the school. He tucked it back inside his shirt by habit.

Dragons! Dragons aren’t real! Stop lying, Jasper. You are trying to scare me. Kara sat on her hand with the thumb.

Jasper laughed at her. Yeah, and it worked, too!

The carriage lurched to a halt. Jasper flung open the door and launched himself out of the carriage, tossing a hasty Bye, Mom and Dad! over his shoulder. He raced for the open doors where he had spied a school friend and was soon swallowed by the students filing into the school.

Kara stared at the open door but did not move.

The door on her side slid aside, and her father’s head appeared.

We are here, Shikara. He held out his arms to her. Shikara scrambled into them without a thought, hugging him around the neck as he carried her and her school bag. She clung to him, refusing to let go.

Her father gently rubbed Kara’s back as she stared over his shoulder at the gated entrance to the compound. The dragon was still there, staring at her. And then it winked at her. Shikara stuck her thumb in her mouth. Her mother glanced over her shoulder at the statue and smiled, then catching the object of her daughter’s gaze, winked at Kara.

It was toward midnight that Kara heard it.

She had been asleep in her bed in the room assigned to her for a couple of hours at most. Her father had delivered her to the headmistress and then said a tearful goodbye before he was hustled out of the room. Kara had clung to his pant leg, desperate to hang on to him. Her mother gently pulled her away from her father and then knelt down in front of her and slipped a necklace with a heart-shaped pendant around Kara’s neck, tucking it under her shirt.

She bent low and whispered in her ear, Remember what I told you, Shikara. You are chosen for a reason. It is your destiny. I will see you soon, and then kissed her on the head just before the headmistress had pulled her away. Kara had collapsed on the floor, hugging her doll tight to her chest and rocking herself for comfort.

Parents were never allowed to stay, for the school was firmly of the opinion that the quicker and sharper the break, the easier the transition. First-year students were housed four to a pod, each with a member of staff assigned to ease the transition. The term pod was assigned as a joking reference to the monstrous young of serpents at sea. The first-year students were usually around eight years of age, their ages carefully documented by a census once a year. The government kept track of the births as part of the lottery system, and their attendance at the school of Melina required. The census was conducted regardless of the reported age of a child to prevent cheating of the system. School attendance was mandatory and failure to send your child to school was punishable by imprisonment.

After a quick meal was served, the elderly matron assigned to Kara’s pod ensured that teeth were brushed before they were shown to their assigned beds. The lights were out before the last of the fireworks cleared the sky.

But Kara couldn’t sleep and instead had stared at the moon visible through the oval glass window in her room. She watched its passage from her bed until it passed beyond the edge of the frame, homesick and longing to run away from the school to go back home with her parents. She’d heard snuffling from one of the other  beds and knew she was not alone in missing her family. Jasper didn’t count. She wouldn’t see him as he was in the boy’s school. Eventually, she had drifted off to sleep.

Kara sat up, the covers sliding into her lap, listening hard.

Someone was crying, but the cry was low and soft, more of a whimper. It sounded so sad that Kara’s lower lip trembled in response to the tug on her emotions. She struggled to fight the urge to cry along with the boy or girl who was so lonely, so lost. Maybe she could comfort him or her. She slid out of bed and put her slippers on. The stone floor was very cold. The moonlight provided some small illumination as she crept to the door of the bedroom containing her four roommates. After assuring herself that they were asleep, she opened the door a crack. A lone lamp, trimmed low, glowed on a peg fastened to the wall in the hall. Kara opened the door, crawled up onto the chair resting against the wall and lifted the lamp off the peg. With a quick glance around, she scrambled back down and followed the sound of the crying.

It was coming from outside. Kara squeezed the latch on a door that went out onto the schoolyard and eased her way through, her eyes searching the quiet grounds. The sound was over by the wall. She hurried over, her eyes checking everywhere for the child who was crying, or worse yet, a school guardian. Yet she saw no one. She crossed what must have been a play yard, for squares were drawn on the surface in chalk. She bent her head to study the pattern then started humming her favourite hopping game, the one she used to play with her neighbour, the girl who used to live next door.

One Stick. Two Stick. Three Stick. Four.

Stab ’em in the heart, and there won’t be more.

Five Stick. Six Stick. Seven Stick. Eight.

Rap them on the head, and use them for bait.

Nine Stick. Ten Stick. Eleven Stick. Twelve.

Encircle your demons with spells to delve.

She started skipping across the playground, working her feet to the rhyming game, forgetting the crying child for a moment as she worked through the footwork. On the last step, she looked up and directly into a pair of glowing amber eyes.

A crooner with great wings spread wide stared at her and cried. The sound was so sad, so mournful, that Kara’s eyes welled up anew with the pain of its song. Long fangs curved from the jaw of the dragon and from the snout curled smoke, but to Kara’s eyes, the dragon was smiling. Kara smiled back. She didn’t know what to do. She looked around but the playground was empty.

Why are you crying, dragon? she whispered. The dragon tilted its head, considering her words and that was when Kara saw the child on its back. Oh! Are you the one crying? She stepped closer to the dragon and the child on its back.

Yes. I need your help. Will you help me, Kara? The child held out his hand.

OK. But how do you know my name?

We have known your name since the day you were born. You are a very special little girl. Do you not wear the crystal heart?

Kara nodded. Her hand tightened around the pendant that her mother had given her. Her parting words echoed in her ears.

Didn’t your parents say that one day you would be singled out by that present and called to a special future that only a few can perform?

Kara nodded again. Mama said not to be afraid. She said when magic presented itself I would know it in my heart and I should go willingly to my calling. The magic within me would call to my teacher when the time was right. Are you my teacher?

I am but one of many.

I like your dragon.

This is your dragon.

Kara’s eyes widened, lighting up as a grin curved her lips.

Who are you? she asked, curious.

I am Chryso. I am a Dragonmerger. I am also a Djinn, a race of shapeshifters. I can take the form of anything living: plant, animal, bird, even a bug. I am not the same as you. My race is eternal.

Where are you from? Do the dragons live there? Kara, wide eyed and excited, edged around to look closer at the dragon.

We are from the islands of Jintessa. And yes, the dragons live there. It is time, Kara. You are a chosen one, Kara. One gifted with magic and that places you a step above all other humans. This is the destiny for which you were born. It is time your true lessons began. Give me your hand. Chryso bent down over the side of the dragon and extended his hand to her.

Kara placed her hand in his, and he pulled her up in front of him, settling her into the front of the saddle.

This leather strap will keep you from falling if Beryl needs to dive. He buckled the strap over her legs then lifted a harness on his chest and extended it to encircle them both. This way you are secure if you fall asleep. Hold on now, we are leaving.

With a cry, the dragon launched into the air and out over the wall. Kara threw back her head and shouted at the sky, squealing with delighted laughter. Minutes later, the dragon had left the land behind and winged away out to sea with Kara on its back.

Alarm bells sounded across the Citadel of Melina, for a girl was missing. The panicked teachers led by the headmistress searched the school from top to bottom in every favoured hiding spot. They checked the seal at the gates and lined up the young men to quiz them in case this was some horrible prank instigated for the first day of school, but the girl could not be found.

An urgent plea went out to the Citadel and special guards were brought in to assist with the search. With military precision, they searched the school and the surrounding woods but to no avail. The gates had remained locked and sealed, and no one had accessed the sole passage to the school. Bastion had been robbed of its most precious treasure, and no one knew how. A first-year female child of Bastion was gone.

Chapter 3

The Second Day: The Citadel

Emperor Madrid stood by the window of his council chambers, gazing down at the provinces arrayed like a fine quilt spread out at the foot of the island Citadel. From his perspective amongst low swirling clouds, the difference between the provinces was barely discernible. He could make out the volcanic jungles of Bastion, the flattened grasslands of Samos, and the fringe of hills that marked the lands of the Cassimir. He left the north window and walked to the next tall opening and flung it open.

To the east, the bubbling swamps of Peca were easily identified, always hidden under a cloud of steam. The steam thinned and dried up at the edge of Hindra, a desert infested with poisonous spotted camels.

Madrid shifted to the next window. To the south, the lush orchards of Tunise filled the eye with no break in the greenery. In the springtime, the entire province was one huge blossom, the perfume reaching the lofty windows of this tallest tower of the Citadel. Next to Tunise, the mountains of Shadra rose, their cropped peaks of a height to challenge his line of sight. Some believed that the mountaintops had been shorn by the gods.

One more window. Madrid shifted to the west where the sun blazed on its journey to the horizon. The final three provinces were visible through this window. The fast racing waterways and deep inlets of Fjord sparkled in the late-day sun, shining ribbons of silk teeming with fish and snakes and purple crayfish, the rarest of delicacies. The houses there were built into the hillsides to stay above the flood plain during the spring rains and snow melt contributed to from the neighbouring foothills of Tyr and Bastion. Tyr was the only real mixed economy, enjoying grasslands and mountains and also boasting three islands, although no one tempted the monster-infested waters by going out onto them. Wydra was a rocky land strewn with boulders and grey lions large enough to ride. The nomads of Wydra trained some of the best carvers in the world.

And as emperor, these were the lands of his dominion.

Madrid had come to power in a roundabout way. When his predecessor fell ill, the council of twelve had sought out an emperor who was neutral to all parties involved. Each counselor was nominated from his or her province to represent that city state in the governing body of the Citadel. The other two positions were normally taken by the current emperor and the past emperor, assuming he lived to fill the position. The emperor was normally nominated by a vote of the council with the outgoing emperor casting the deciding vote in the event of a tie.

But when the emperor suddenly fell ill (poison was suspected), Madrid had been pressed into service. He had been serving as the emperor’s censor, his conscience. The role of a censor was to provide a dissenting view should the emperor’s theories or plans grow out of alignment with the council. Madrid had been groomed personally by the emperor and was a familiar face to the council. While they did not trust each other, they did trust Madrid and had unanimously voted to raise him to full emperor.

That had been six months ago.

Madrid smiled. He had big plans for the provinces. Very big indeed. If the current rumours were true, then they were about to turn to their emperor in record numbers and beg for his intervention.

At that moment, the door behind him opened and the counselors filed in, one by one, to take their appointed chairs around the council table.

Each member’s chair was a product of his or her homeland and carved with the emblem of that province. No two chairs were alike. The chairs were placed around a circular marble table with thick carved legs, large enough to seat all twelve and in their exact positions in relation to each other within the world. In these tense times, the arrangement sat quarreling neighbours beside each other, within striking distance should tempers flare.

The emperor’s chair was located in the center on a platform that swiveled on a disc so that he could turn to face the speaker at any given moment. Madrid took his seat and waited, studying the men and women as they settled into their chairs, their personal guards at their backs. For every member of council, there were at least two personal guards. No two entered side by side, casting suspicious gazes that blanketed all present.

Once all were seated, the Citadel guards closed the door and took up positions on either side to guard the entrance. The Citadel guards were the fiercest of the forces, handpicked and trained at the Citadel for just this purpose. To squash wars and squabbles and rebellions before they had a chance to flame into open conflict.

Their continent had long operated under a loose confederation of provinces. Each enjoyed complete autonomy over the internal affairs of their people. Once a year, the provinces were required to send a tribute consisting of the choicest cuts, the most succulent fruits, the finest gold or silver, or the fattest catfish. In short, the best of the best of their lands was due, in tribute to the Citadel. They were allowed to turn the tithe into gemstones and send those instead, but either way, the tithe tax was owed. In return, the Citadel acted as an overall governing body, resolving disputes and conflicts between the provinces. It also trained guards to enforce peace between provinces and pulled from the sons of the provinces. The young men were chosen by lottery so as to not leave a family bereft of the help of one of their only two children. After a four-year tour, they were sent home to their people. Once every ten years, a son was sent to stay with the guard, never to return. This tithe of a tithe was also drawn by lottery. He was chosen to be the son of all, stripped of his original name and given a new name and a new identity. He was to forsake the family of his birth to train with the elite forces of the Citadel. Most lands considered this to be a great honour, to have their child selected to serve the Citadel.

But in every land, some practiced the old arts. There were always those that clung to dark, unenlightened beliefs, involving magic. These heretics were a quiet minority that hid in open view, practicing their ways away from public light. Their secret society, called the Jintessa Ru, was not loyal to their emperor nor to the provinces in which they lived. Sometimes associated with witches, the Jintessa Ru was a society of women, ruling their societies through influence and position but always from the shadows, from the wings.

Madrid’s gaze fell on the representative of Peca. The woman was tall, taller than most of the men and willow thin. She had long blond hair that hung to her waist and the narrow eyes of a hawk. She sank gracefully into her chair of moss and ferns blending into it so thoroughly as to be almost invisible in her gown of green. The people of the swamp practiced a black magic that cast illusions and tricks of the mind. Although they did not openly avoid the selection process, somehow the selector passed over them more often than not. Without a doubt, the Jintessa Ru could be found there.

Madrid’s eyes flickered from one counselor to the next. In each, he saw the seeds of rebellion and the roots of sorcery. He settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers as the council began their debate.

Turmoil. Confusion. Accusations.

Bastion had been robbed and was blaming its neighbours. The counselor for Bastion actually shook his long finger under the nose of the squat woman from Samos so vigorously that he nearly shoved it up her nose. The woman swatted it away, and the councillor made a large-scale production out of removing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands as though they were covered in dung.

Shouting ensued, harsh words delivered with an insulting slap of the tongue and more hand waving and growled threats. The gestures were rude, and the language foul with the provinces lining up alongside their allies, whether through trade or marriage and not always with borders in common. They formed the familiar blocks for dispute and voting that were seen in every forum. Madrid yawned, bored, and after ten minutes held up his hands to silence them. The counselor from Hydra was left shouting into the sudden silence about cursing the boils they called cities with the diseased excrement of a spotted camel. Madrid glared at her until she sank into her chair. The remaining councillors smirked to each other before turning their attention to Madrid.

Madrid rose to his feet, silver threaded robes glinting in the final rays of the sun, streaming in from the west. Servants entered from a side door and lit some lanterns before bowing and retreating out of the room. Once the door was closed, all eyes settled back on his throne.

He said in a soft voice that carried to every corner of the hushed room, Do I have your loyalty? Do I have your allegiance? The councillors shifted in their chairs and would not meet his eyes. His cold gaze travelled over the assembled faces. Only the counselor from Bastion had the courage to confront his stare. Of course not. Who here believes that this is an isolated incident? Who here believes that they are sufficiently prepared to prevent a similar tragedy from striking within their borders? A balding man from Wydra coughed, drawing every wandering eye. You are fools, each and every one of you. Madrid glared at him, annoyed at the interruption. Commit your children to the protection of the Citadel. Who among you can afford to lose as much as one child?

The wild-eyed mountain of a man from Wydra stood, deerskin fringes swinging as he raised his arm to point at the representative from Tyr. If anyone is snatching children, it is the Tyrians. They commune with the monsters of the sea! Any people who can talk to those creatures must practice sorcery. I say we enslave their children and give them to the other provinces. That is what I say. Take out the heart, and the beast lives no more!

The chamber roared again with fury, everyone springing up out of their chairs once again, shaking fists and flailing about with their hands, shouting to be heard over the others. All except for the representative of Bastion who sat still and silent, letting the words wash over him, his eyes fixed on the emperor.

Madrid raised his hands once again and the shouts lowered to angry muttering.

The councillor from Bastion wishes to speak.

The councillor stood up, smoothing his emerald green tunic. When all were silent, he reached inside his pocket and withdrew a burgundy drawstring bag of monkey hide. All eyes followed the bag. He loosened the drawstring then handed the bag to Madrid.

Emperor, when the search of the Citadel was complete, the only thing found that did not belong despite our strictest security, a soft snicker slid from the Samos councillor, was that.

Madrid emptied the bag into his hand and out tumbled a tooth. About the size of his hand, the fang was black at the gum line, whitening as it tapered and narrowed to a point sharp enough to pierce dried hide. It was a fang of a size never seen before in Gaia. Madrid held it up for all to see. What do you make of this?

The councillors shook their heads. No one knew what it was.

Bring me evidence of this creature, and we will discuss the incident further. Madrid turned to the counselor from Bastion. One missing child is insufficient to secure the defenses of the Citadel on your behalf, especially when you have no evidence to support your accusations against Samos. That earned the Bastion councillor a harsh glare from the Samosian representative. Bring me evidence of the identity of the snatcher, and they will be dealt with harshly. Until then, this assembly is dismissed.

Madrid sat back down, pocketing the fang. He knew exactly what it was.

Chapter 4

The Third Day: Cassimir Province

Shreya flattened herself in the tall grasses, her spear at her side. Nothing moved except her eyes as they swept over the herd of fat elk that munched on the dying fall grasses. They grazed with a devotion and focus that all wild herd animals knew with instinctual understanding that the shortening days would soon bring snow and tough fodder. Shreya’s naturally tanned skin blended perfectly with the browns and oranges around her.

The bull raised his head, chewing with tufts of grass sticking out of the sides of his muzzle and studying the hills that hid predators of all kinds. Shreya raised her head and a heart-shaped crystal swung out from her neckline, a many-faceted pendant on a leather cord. The sun caught the crystal and rainbows burst from it before she grabbed it and tucked it back inside her shirt.

The bull snorted a warning. In the space of one second to the next, the herd was in full flight racing away from Shreya, alarmed by the flashes of light alerting them to her presence.

Cursing, she pushed herself to her knees and picked up her spear. The sun was setting. She couldn’t delay any longer, lest she incur her father’s wrath. The welts from the last punishment had barely faded from her skin. Shreya abandoned the hunt and reluctantly headed back to her family’s tents, dragging her feet. She knew that the day of choosing had finally arrived. Once a year, the children of the village who had seen between ten and sixteen summers, were gathered to be tested for magic. Those that passed the testing were set aside to become wise women and wise men. Their training began that day. From the age of ten summers on, those with magic were no longer allowed the play of children. At the age of fourteen, Shreya had managed to keep her magic hidden, but she knew this was the year that she would be discovered. The wise women of the village had been watching her closely, and this year’s chief shaman never failed to find magic when present. The cauldrons were set, and the potions brewed. All would see her magic when she drank the potion. There was no fighting the hallucinations created by the brew.

She set off along the animal trail that led into the rocks and across the undulating hillocks. Just outside her village a boy of fourteen launched himself off of the top of a bolder and dropped onto her back. The collision sent the pair of them tumbling across the grass, and they rolled and rolled until she came up on top, pinning his shoulders to the earth with her knees and panting heavily. A leather thong similar to hers rolled out of the neck of his tunic. She ignored it other than to flick it off of her weapon. She’d drawn her bone knife in the tumble, and the dull side of the blade pressed against his throat, which jiggled with laughter, making it bounce. Seeing who her attacker was, Shreya withdrew the knife, tossing it to the grass at her side, but not before she had replaced it by pressing her forearm against his throat, pinning him to the ground. He continued to laugh, and, annoyed, she pressed harder into the soft flesh under his chin. Her shoulder gave an angry throb of pain. She had scraped it tumbling past the ground cactus’s sharp thorns. It really did hurt.

That wasn’t fair. I am not supposed to get dirty, Jael! These are my choosing pelts! If there is so much as a scuff on them, you will explain to the elders why. Promise me, now! She pressed her arm harder.

Okay! he choked. Okay! I promise. Now let me up.

Shreya frowned down into his brown eyes and then with a huff sat back, blowing a loose strand of hair from her braid out of her eyes.

You promised! she said and got off him but did not offer to help him up. Instead, she examined her tunic, double-checking the beadwork to assure herself that all of her careful stitching had not snapped. She was horrified at the embarrassment she would feel if the stitching failed during her ceremonial dance. There had been one ceremony where the candidate’s stitching had come loose. Her beadwork had unraveled faster than a binding made of smoke. Shreya brushed dirt off her knees, and her soft-tooled boots then crossed her arms. What are you doing here, Jael?

The same as you are. Avoiding the ceremony until the last second.

So they chose you, too?

Who?

The grandmothers. Your necklace. Shreya gestured at the crystal heart before bending over and picking up her discarded knife, slamming the traditional knife back into its sheath. She wandered over to the brush where she could see the handle of her spear poking out of the shrubbery.

I am not chosen! I am going to the Citadel to be trained.

No, you’re not! You will stay here and be chief. That is what it means.

No, it doesn’t! I don’t want to be chief. Besides, my father is still alive. He is already the chief. Jael crossed his arms stubbornly, his dark brows drawn so fiercely they were nearly a flat line across his brow.

Shreya shrugged and turned toward the acropolis where the ceremony would take place. It was still several hours away, but she was drawn to the rock and its strange formations and carvings, a gift of the gods of her people. Sometimes they moved weirdly if she stared long and hard enough.

I am going to climb to the summit before heading back to the village. Do you want to come? Shreya didn’t wait for a response. She lengthened her stride, eager to reach the bald outcropping.

Nah, I have to get back. My pa said... His voice trailed off as he watched her walk away. Hey, you have a tear in your... Jael stopped speaking. What am I doing? She will clean my house if I tell her that I can see her bottom through the tear.

Without a further word, he walked off in the opposite direction, counting his good fortune that his words had not carried to her ears.

The switchback hugged the stone face, the faint trail tracing the eyelid of the half-buried statue that formed the acropolis. Not only was it said to have been blessed by the gods, but a toppled statue dedicated to the gods formed the base of the acropolis. Shreya had climbed to the summit many times during her childhood. No one came to it anymore, the gods long forgotten and the temples abandoned and