Dragon Roar: Part One of the Omega Chronicles

By Joseph Kram

Dont talk to ME about fair!

When your memory and identity has stripped from you, what are you left with? The young Dragon Keeper Mataras wonders this very question nearly every day as he searches for the answers to a past that may never come to light. Even with his best friend by his side, and the God of all to look up to, he feels lost, alone, and bitter.

But what begins as a disaster quickly becomes an adventure worthy of legend as Mataras and Delta Litrosh begin a journey to unveil a mystery as old as the Great Flood of Genesis. During their travels, they meet up with a group of other troubled youths, also seeking their place in the world, and decide to assist them in their endeavors. Together, they become a capable group of warriors capable of shaking the foundations of an entire fief.

When push comes to shove and Mataras past comes to confront him, will this unstable child be able to take on the mantle of manhood? Will he be able to hear the Kings voice in the form of a mighty dragons roar?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490882208

Joseph Kram

Joseph Kram is a student attending university in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where he hopes to become a pharmacist. He grew up worshiping God in the church, but it was at the age of twelve that he personally dedicated his life to Christ—the same time that he began dreaming up ideas for a novel. He became highly interested in dragons around the same time, and these three elements came together to form what he now calls the Omega Chronicles, a four-part series about a young man, his dragons, and his friends. Joseph has lived in various places in the United States and has even lived overseas as the son of a diplomat for three years in the country of Australia. While in Australia, he began to explore his writing talents, first dabbling in poetry and short stories, often using dragons as a key element, before finally piecing together an idea about a much longer and detailed tale. Once he began working on this idea, he decided that he wanted to use his talents to spread the message of Christ in any way he could—including a different style of epics. Joseph now spends most of his spare time down at the local Calvary Chapel with his friends and leaders, where he is very involved with the youth ministry, or at home studying, reading, writing, or playing video games with his two younger brothers. He also enjoys listening to music, as he will get random bouts of inspiration whenever he is listening to one of his favorite tunes.

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Copyright © 2015 Joseph M. Kram.

Author Photo by Michael W. Kram

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-8221-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-8220-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908650

WestBow Press rev. date: 06/22/2015

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Dragon Roar

Awakening

Retribution

Life of a Keeper

Power

A Healer

Decisions

Shadow Fall

Shadows against the Storm

A Forgotten Time

Epsilon

Beneath The Surface

Strength In Numbers

Initiation

A New Force

The Journey Resumes

On the Road Again

Malbun

Erak’s Vengeance

The Gathering

The Command

A Burning Finish

Not Finished Yet

Δράκος Οδηγός

∆ΡΑΚΑΝ

ΔΡΑΚΟΣ ΦΫΛΑΚΕΣ

ΔΡΑΚΟΣ ΦΫΛΑΚΕΣ

ΑΛΦΑ

ΒΕΤΑ

ΓΑΜΜΑ

∆ΕΛΤΑ

ΕΨΙΛΟΝ

ΣΙΓΜΑ

ΩΜΕΓΑ

ΠΟΛΫΤΙΜΙ ΚΑΙ ΟΠΛΑ

Acknowledgements

An Excerpt from Dragon Soul

About the Author

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I thank you for taking time to read this, especially parents. I want to make something clear right off the bat: this book is not meant for children under the age of twelve. This novel and its future components contain some elements that include suggested violent content.

I wrote these books in the hopes of speaking two messages, one to believers, and the other to those that are interested in my beliefs. The message to those that would claim the name of Christ is this: if you claim His name, I suggest you do your best to act like Him. If you want to keep living like the world and then praying the part on Sunday, I suggest that you take that fish off your car immediately after you read this.

I hope you understand that I mean well. I wrote the Omega Chronicles to show that even Christians struggle in everyday life to adhere to God’s will, and that we are just as human as the rest of God’s created people.

This leads me to my second point. This is to say that Christians are not perfect by any means, and anyone who tells you otherwise is either misinformed or flat-out lying to you. I hope that as you see things through Mataras’ eyes, you will understand some of the challenges that I myself undertook, albeit in an exaggerated manner.

I bid you a good read. May God bless you and your descendants until He returns.

∆ράκως βρυχώμαι

Many legends have their own common beginnings. Whenever the old tales run dry, each new storyteller simply wishes to become a better bard or self-proclaimed historian, and try to outdo their elder’s tales. So then they tell the legends in an even more outlandish manner, hoping to try and impress their peers. What they fail to realize is that many people are wise to their act, and either don’t have the heart to tell them, or they are simply content to watch such idiots peacock and make fools of themselves.

And then there are the legends that begin in their own way, without someone trying to outdo the other storyteller. These legends are the ones that need not be told to us, for we know of them by the whispers of the land. These legends find their true origins in the hearts of the people that remember their history.

It is because of stories like these that my friends and I will continue to live on the earth, long after our bodies decease, and our souls are lifted up to the Almighty.

If you have the courage, join me as I reveal the secrets of a world that none have ever known about. ‘Tis a land that you will never have heard of before, neither in song or legend.

Join my company as the tale of the Omega Chronicles unfolds.

It will begin with the roar of a dragon.

Αφύπνιση

Mataras flicked his long, black hair out of his slightly sunburned face. He paused to gather his breath for a moment and then ascended yet another branch on the pine tree he was climbing. The warm weather in combination with his long brown pants and shirt had left him feeling hot and tired. Not to mention the repeated tree climbing had left his muscles aching.

Mataras looked up at a branch above his head, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicion, and reached for it, seeking higher footing. At first it seemed to hold, but when he put more weight on it, the branch broke off with a snap that painfully jolted his hand.

He almost cursed at the pain, but remembered what Callack, his old mentor, had taught him. Those in Amekaz’s service do well to present themselves as a better example to the rest of the population. And these habits must begin when you are alone, yes, even in your thought life, the older Dragon Keeper had said. Mataras examined his hand for wounds, and allowed himself a grim smile when he saw no blood, even on the finger where his ring rested.

The smile faded as a small breeze caressed his sweaty neck. Almost simultaneously, the slim young man felt a tickle on the back of his head- or rather, inside of it. He looked up and saw a half-grown, silver-scaled dragon with its front talons planted firmly in the bark of a branch a few feet above his head. The large reptile was looking at him with eyes also colored silver like he were some kind of brightly colored beetle that had never been seen before.

The dragon was roughly twelve feet long, with its translucent wings briefly spread out in all their glory to reach a span of twenty-four feet, before folding them tightly against its body. Despite the fact that it was twice as long as Mataras was tall, the tree branches it had perched itself across did not show any signs of breaking. Mataras raised his eyebrow at the dragon’s trident-like tail blade, which was coated with some dried blood.

You really ought to clean that, he stated dryly. The tickle inside his head pulsated, and formed into a voice.

"Probably," it said. The owner of the mind-voice twitched its tail as it spoke, indicating its annoyance at being told what to do. Mataras shrugged and turned to scan the pine forest below for sizable game.

So far his scavenges for food in the trees had met with failure. Not even the bird’s traditional nesting areas were yielding any prizes. And he could see not see any wild game in the area either.

I take it you met with some success, Litrosh? the young man called over his shoulder. The silver dragon leaped down to a set of lower branches while making his reply.

"Yes, but it’s not much to brag about. I got about twenty pounds of meat off of a skinny little deer. Perhaps the only reason it remained in this forest was a broken leg. What’s left is already in the meat vault at home."

Did all the wildlife leave? Mataras suddenly thought to himself.

"At the same time?" Litrosh asked, with a hint of condescension entering his ‘voice.’ "All at once?"

Mataras did not answer, however. His mind was in another time, a time when he and Litrosh were both awakening in their own ways…

Ω

His head swam as he cracked open his eyes. He was in a wooden cabin, lying on a soft bed. A strangely sweet smell suffused the room.

As more of his senses began to work themselves, he became aware of something round and very hard gripped in the crook of his arm, perhaps two feet in length, and unnaturally smooth. Looking down at the object, he was vaguely able to see that it was a silver dragon egg, which interested him in detached sort of way.

Checking his body for hurt, he failed to locate a spot that didn’t feel pain, now that he thought about it. Cracking his eyes open again, the young boy looked down at himself this time, and almost wished he hadn’t. His torso was blotched red, blue, purple, and black. There were several bandages where he could feel the skin underneath had been sliced open. His arms spoke of combat soreness, his legs were stiff from running perhaps, and his left temple felt like something was stabbing him from the inside. At the moment, moving did not seem an option. But had he been captured or rescued?

Come to think of it, he couldn’t think of why he would be so badly beaten. The boy tried to remember whom he had picked a fight with, or vice versa. But he could not remember.

Must be a concussion, he said to himself. Deciding against any movement that could cause further harm, the boy decided he’d better figure out his predicament before he either attacked his helper or assisted his captor. But why would anyone want to kidnap him first of all?

He felt sluggish, and his thinking was muddled, and he felt as though he were missing something. It took him a while of lying in the bed and going over the same foggy thoughts before it struck him.

He had been lying there for over an hour when he realized that not even the most superficial of memories were returning to him. He tried to force himself to be calm, but the more he searched for his memories, the more they seemed to elude him.

He tried to force himself to go over that which he did know by talking aloud. I remember how to speak, he said. I know of the workings of the world, such as dragons, some knowledge of other languages, people, different countries, and the Creator God, Amekaz.

When he thought of the last one, he paused for a moment. If God was as caring as the stories claimed, perhaps he could be granted healing of the mind so that he could rest easily. He spent several moments in prayer before going back to thinking over what he knew about himself.

It quickly became apparent that he knew nothing about his personal life and those that he had known, not even a name. The boy struggled not to panic as despair threatened to consume him. At some point during his wonderings, his panic turned to anger.

What was happening? Why had this happened to him? Who had done this to him?

The last question sparked a flame within his heart that began to burn steadily. He vowed at that moment that when he found out who was responsible for his predicament, they would pay dearly for it.

It was there and then that he decided upon a name for himself to call his own, even if it was only until he found his original name. He decided to base the name off of his immediate feelings. Mataras, he said simply. Due to his understanding of multiple languages, he found that he liked what it meant in two different languages. However, the chosen meanings might have worried other people, were they to know what it meant.

In the draconian language, it was loosely translated as ‘memories’. However, if one knew their history- which Mataras briefly puzzled about how he could- they would know that the modern word was ‘matarik’, with the root word’s original meaning literally meaning ‘dark/forsaken memories’. And in the language of the Spaniards, it literally meant ‘you kill’ which is exactly what he intended to do to those that had taken away his past. What he potentially ignored -though it is more likely that he forgot this in the heat of the moment- is that when applied to a person, the name meant ‘murderer’.

With the problem of needing a name solved, he felt that he could relax just a fraction, though he still wanted to know what had happened to him. Nonetheless, the human body needs rest when it is damaged, and Mataras found himself falling back into slumber once again.

When he awoke again, there was someone there, and the strange odor was stronger. Looking to his left Mataras saw a stout man with black hair who had his back turned to him, making some stew. Uncertain of whether this man would help or hurt him, Mataras tried to quietly slip out the bed, meeting with a lesser degree of pain than before. It was enough to make him groan, but not enough to knock him out. The dark-haired man turned to look at Mataras with a gaze of fatherly concern. The man looked relatively young, perhaps around twenty years old. He had dark brown eyes, and was clean-shaven. He looked too young to be Mataras’ father, and they did not share very many similar features as far as Mataras could tell, so familial relations were ruled out.

He came over to the bed, and with a deep, smooth voice said, Easy, there. You’ve had quite the night, so just take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you. And even if I was, somebody already beat me to it.

Mataras raised an eyebrow and replied with an edge in his voice, That is not very encouraging. How can I trust you?

The smaller man nodded, conceding the point. But he replied quickly to say, I give you my word as the Dragon Keeper of these Hunting Grounds that no harm will come to you on my behalf.

Mataras scowled further. Why should I believe that? he demanded. I don’t know you at all.

The black-haired man smiled and said, My name is Callack, and I am bonded to the lightning dragon Odista, over there. He spoke while pointing in the opposite direction that Mataras was facing. Mataras shifted his gaze to look in the indicated direction, and was slightly startled to see a yellow dragon, about eighteen feet in length from the tip of her snout to the point her spear-shaped tail blade. Little crackles of lightning sparkled around its tail, causing the sweet odor to fade and then resurge. The dragon growled out a series of sounds that almost sounded like a language, but Mataras couldn’t tell. He turned back to Callack as the other man continued to speak.

There, he said. Now you at least know my name. May I have yours? Mataras hesitated for a moment. He still didn’t trust this man, but he could see no harm in giving his name, especially since he couldn’t even remember his real one.

At last he said quietly, My name is Mataras. Callack seemed startled by the word, for he took in a sharp breath as if swatted in the abdomen.

If you don’t mind me asking, he said after a brief moment of silence. What kind of parents name their child as such? You may not know the meanin-

I know, Mataras cut him off. And I’m the one that chose the name. The yellow dragon outside let out a series of sounds that Mataras recognized as Drakan, that were directed at Callack. He tried to understand them, but the accent was too thick for him to decipher in his wounded state.

He looked a question at his host, who replied, Odista wants to know why you chose such a name. Before Mataras answered, Callack added, And so would I.

The wounded teenager scowled and said, Tell me why I should tell you anything, and I’ll consider it. Odista snarled loudly in response. Callack’s demeanor also darkened, but he stayed calm.

Let’s take a look at the situation, shall we? he said firmly. I found you more than half-dead in the pouring rain two days ago. I have brought you into my home and done everything I can to save your life. And what do I get in return? Before Mataras could retort, Callack continued by saying, Suspicion and distrust. Not to mention downright disrespect. Turning to his dragon, Callack said, Did I miss anything?

It was then that Mataras lost his temper and he sat up on the bed, the pain from his wounds only serving to enrage him further. Well allow me to let you know what my life has been like! he snarled. I have no recollection of my personal life, not even my own name. I feel as though I have been born as a near-grown adult in a world that I know, but without anyplace or anyone to call home! And just because somebody found me apparently abandoned like so much as trash that they took time to gather, they think I owe them all these answers! Well, to that I say, BAH!

The two humans glared at each other, one panting from pain and fury, and the other one standing stock-still. Eventually, the wounded one fell back onto the bed with a grunt. I will say this though, he said. If you were going to hold me hostage or for a ransom, this is one nice holding cell.

Callack said nothing in return. Mataras hesitated for a moment before reaching a decision. "I chose the name while you were gone, because I want the ones that did this to me to know why I will hunt them down when I discover their identities. I am devoid of memories, hence the draconian translation.

"And I will kill those that are responsible, fulfilling the Spaniard meaning." He allowed a hard bit of steel to enter his voice as he said it.

Callack’s next response surprised him, however. So that is all that there will be to your life? Mataras looked over at Callack with surprise.

What do you mean?

The older man replied, You’re saying that you chose your name because it described you. So all your days will be spent killing those that have hurt you from a past you don’t remember? Sounds like a very dark, and perhaps impossible, existence.

Mataras scowled at the words. That seems to be your favorite expression, Callack remarked with a hint of a grin.

Shut up, Mataras snapped, on the verge of losing his temper again. I will command my own destiny, and no one else.

Not even God Himself? Callack replied.

Mataras hesitated before making his reply to that question. God charged men like the second king of Irdac to kill tens of thousands, Mataras replied. So I will also spend my life as such.

Callack frowned and moved to grasp Mataras’ shoulder firmly. He swung his sword to defend his people, Mataras, he said in a hard tone. "Not so he could fulfill personal vendettas. Not to mention, he knew who he was killing."

Mataras’ eyes took on a very blank look. Take your hand off me, he said slowly and deliberately. Callack hesitated for a moment before removing his hand from the bandaged shoulder. Before either of them could say another word, the egg lying beside Mataras sounded with a crack!

Looking down, Mataras saw that the egg in question had multiple faintly visible cracks in a spider web-like pattern across it. It seemed that the egg was about to hatch. He lay there, stock-still, not wanting to interrupt this moment.

The cracks multiplied and intensified as the minutes crawled by, oh so slowly. Although Callack was similarly silent, Mataras hardly took notice, as his entire attention was focused on the egg. For a reason that he could not explain, Mataras felt as though this was a very important occasion for himself, personally. Then the moment came when the egg stopped rocking and cracking. Mataras frowned at the egg. Was the hatchling alright? Then a silver, scaly leg burst out of the egg, the tips of the toes ending in sharp, ivory claws. A head soon followed the foreleg, with the same silver scales, and ivory spines that started from the top of his skull, and if this dragon’s anatomy was like Odista’s, they would end where the tail blade sprouted. Mataras held his breath as the dragon crawled out of its home. When it fully unfurled itself, its frame was just over two feet in length, and its wings looked like they had a total of four-and-some feet total span. The dragon shook itself, flicking the last of its shell casings off of its thin body. Its tail blade was an interesting shape, almost like a trident, except that the two other blades that sprouted off of the first were shorter than the middle blade.

Bidden by instinct, Mataras reached out to touch the little dragon, and stroke its flank. As soon as he reached out to touch the dragon, the little dragon swung its head to stare at Mataras. Mataras froze, uncertain if the dragon was going to bite him. However, his fears proved groundless, for the dragon shrugged disinterestedly, and instead set about trying to find the source of the scent that probably smelled of meat- the stew. What happened next was not what the boy expected. Mataras reached out again to touch the little dragon, only to have it poke his hand with the tip of its center tail blade, not even bothering to look at him, producing a slight stabbing sensation. Mataras drew his hand back quickly to examine the wound, only to find a strange mark on his right palm. It was shaped like capital-shaped letter ‘delta’.

Momentarily forgetting their conflict, Mataras looked to Callack for an explanation, to which the Dragon Keeper held out his hand and said, Let me see. Mataras held out his hand, and Callack smiled. Although perhaps a questionable recruit, I welcome you to the order of the Dragon Keepers. You are now to be called Delta Keeper Mataras.

Jerking his gaze to the silver dragon, Mataras widened his eyes as he realized what had happened. One of the rarest species of dragons had chosen him to be its lifelong partner. They were now joined at the soul, and only death would be able to separate them.

Mataras knew that in the coming days, the new soul-bond would cause him to gain new abilities and habits, and his dragon would look to him for guidance.

The last part caused him to feel despair. How could he provide care for a hatchling when he couldn’t even take care of himself? The old feelings of anger and despair threatened to overwhelm him again, until he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He looked away from his dragon into the face of Callack, who smiled warmly.

I’ll make you a deal, he said. Mataras nodded, indicating that he was willing to listen. The silver dragon also cocked its head at them, as if it were interested in the conversation.

Here is my offer, Callack said. I will train the two of you in the ways of the Dragon Keepers while your wounds heal. After that, you can choose to stay, and I will even take you to the Delta Colony, where you will be recognized as Keeper and dragon in full, which allows you to carry the weight of the law with you.

Mataras hesitated at the words. It sounded tempting, but he was sure that there was some kind of string attached. What’s in it for you? he asked bluntly. Odista growled warningly, but Callack quieted her with a hand motion.

What I want from you, he replied. Is to promise me that you will at least reconsider your path of vengeance. Mataras thought hard for a moment. He felt that it was hard not to trust Callack, in light of what he had done- and in light of what he was offering.

And as for his angry path… That could be reconsidered, seeing as Mataras had no idea who had done this to him. At last he said, As long as nothing comes directly across my path that leads me to believe that it was related to my memory loss, I will pursue no vengeance. Fair enough?

Callack looked at Odista who nodded. Callack then agreed that those terms were good enough for him. Just one more thing, he said. Mataras raised an eyebrow in response.

What is his name? Or her name? Callack pointed at the silver dragon as he spoke. Mataras returned his attention to the infant dragon who stared back at him in return. As soon as their eyes locked, Mataras’ dark orbs changed to silver.

Callack smiled slightly as he looked on, remembering his own affirmation with Odista. Mataras did not notice, and simply replied to the question he had been asked. It’s a boy, he said. And his name is Litrosh.

Ω

Τιμωρία

Litrosh poked Mataras with his tail blade, snapping the Keeper back to reality. Because of their joined souls, he could understand without Mataras telling him what had been running through his mind. He also knew that Mataras’ past was a sensitive subject, and that silence was likely the best approach for now.

Litrosh allowed his friend to gaze at the signet ring on his finger- the only item that he had managed to keep from the day he had been found. The symbol was like that of a dragon’s eye, but every person he had asked about the ring had no knowledge of the insignia.

In that quiet span that the two companions spent resting in the tree, all that could be heard was the wind blowing through the treetops, and the rustling of pine needles. Finally, he dared to ask, Still no luck in recalling anything before our awakenings? Mataras’ only reply was a grunt of aggravation.

Before Litrosh was to say anything else, he suddenly stiffened, his claws gouging the wood that they grasped. Mataras knew that Litrosh had been appraised as a dragon with advanced telepathic abilities by the Colony Elder, and that his psychic reach would sometimes unconsciously pick up on an occurrence outside the ordinary.

It appeared that Litrosh was now exhibiting one of those moments. And judging from his reaction, Mataras suspected that his afternoon was about to get very interesting.

After about nine seconds, a rush of ragged and distorted energy blasted through Mataras’ mind as his dragon snarled in utter fury. Mataras’ mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the feelings and images that Litrosh was forcing into his mind. He stumbled, almost losing his footing on the branch as he did so. Mataras closed his eyes, and gripped the tree trunk like it was a lifeline. Orange blurs… a flash of motion… the scent of vegetation burning… scales that glowed like stars… jaws open wide… tearing… slashing…

The visions were interrupted as Litrosh let loose a roar that would have made a grown man soil his pants, and immediately leaped out of the tree, rocking Mataras violently along with it. The offended Dragon Keeper bit back a string of choice words as he held on to the tree for dear life. I swear he does that on purpose, Mataras growled in his mind.

Preparing to put his anger to good use, he focused on the tree’s rocking motion. When it pitched forward, he used the momentum to launch himself to the next tree, using the branch he landed on as a spring to launch himself into the air. As if he had been born doing so, he exerted the force of his rage to allow himself to fly on his own psychokinetic powers, courtesy of his soul-bond to Litrosh. Normally, he would have happily tree-jumped for the sake of physical exertion instead of flying, but this occasion demanded speed.

Mataras watched with fascination -even though he had done this before- as a ripple of energy coated his entire body, forming a silver aura that carried his lean, muscular frame forward at high speed. His eyes shifted from their normal dark shade of brown to a silver color, almost like a dragon’s, except that his pupils stayed spherical.

His will to fight propelling his speed, he soon had the wind whistling in his ears, and the sweat on his body rapidly disappeared. He squinted his eyes to keep them from drying out, but this made it harder to see any upcoming trees. He could form a shield for his eyes, but it would require extra concentration, and thus cost him speed. However, Mataras was not about to slow down for the sake of avoiding a bit of an eye ache. Vengeance will be mine, he thought darkly, allowing his anger to bolster his will to fight, and for the moment, his speed.

But one thought ran through both of the young hunters, an age-old ritual that had been driven into dragons and their Keepers since the time before legend; The Hunting Grounds must and will be preserved! As