Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I

  Chapter 11

  “You fight us even now, Child?” the trees’ abrasive voice asked. It filled my ears, and I flinched.

  “She is grieving, Old Ones. Humans grieve differently than we do. See her now with her tears. We accept loss. Humans have to let it go,” the wolf, Oran, said to the animals gathered, to the trees rustling around us.

  “And you are an expert on humans?”

  The question came from behind Oran, but I didn’t look to see what it was that spoke. I covered my ears instead, backing up slowly.

  “Stop. Just stop,” I whispered.

  “She speaks with them,” one of the rebels said from behind me, the male voice full of awe.

  I closed my eyes, and took another step backward. My back met a warm chest and hands went to my shoulders. I jerked away, stumbling forward again. When I looked up, Kye’s gaze followed me.

  “No,” I said.

  I wasn’t in denial, not really. I knew the forest was speaking to me. I even felt the connection with the trees, with the creatures hiding within the underbrush. I could feel their tension, the trees’ aggravation. But I needed understanding.

  And then it came.

  It came in the whispering sound of feathers, a slight breeze rushing over my face as Ari landed on the ground near my feet. This was unusual for her. The falcon had never been on ground level around me before. She preferred being above me or at eye level.

  I looked down at her, at the beautiful sharp eyes that watched me now.

  “I loved her, too,” the falcon said suddenly.

  She had a deep, feminine voice. It swept over me, filling me, supporting me.

  I knelt in front of her, my hand moving to rest gently against her head. Ari didn’t move even though I knew this was uncomfortable for her. Falcons were loyal, but they were not affectionate birds.

  I was not surprised by her speech. Not really. The trees and Oran had prepared me for this. I may want to deny my part in whatever this was, but I did not deny the forest.

  “What do we do now?” I asked her, my voice low, for her ears only.

  The falcon spread her wings a moment, her eyes moving over the people and creatures surrounding us, before she settled again.

  “We overcome, and we prevail,” she said to me.

  She spread her wings and took to the air. I stayed kneeling a moment, my eyes on the ground. The soil seemed alive beneath me, and I placed my palm against the forest floor, digging the tips of my fingers into the damp earth.

  I lifted my hand, fisting it around the dirt I now held.

  “We overcome,” I said under my breath before opening my hand, watching as the soil within fell once more to the ground. “And we prevail.”

  I stood slowly, fists at my side, my eyes sweeping the trees, the animals, and the rebels before coming to rest on Lochlen.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  The dragon’s smile was still in place, his expression an ever constant play of varying levels of amusement.

  “That’s better,” he said as he moved toward me. His footsteps were silent, light, and he swayed when he walked as if he would rather be slithering across the forest floor rather than walking on it.

  “We’ve been looking a long time for you,” he added, his yellowish eyes gleaming. “It was the bird that finally alerted us to the scribe girl at Forticry.”

  I looked up at the trees.

  “She’s a falcon,” I said before looking back at him again. “And who is it I’m supposed to be?”

  The dragon looked behind me, and I felt more than saw a presence settle in at my side. I ignored him. Kye “the king’s soldier". Kye “the rebel”. Ha! Rebel he may be, but this man bore no mark, and whether he had lit the fire or not, he had helped kill Aigneis. I wasn't sure I could let that go.

  “Follow me, girl. I’ll take you to our king,” Lochlen said.

  The rebels fell back into the forest, and I stared hard at the dragon’s back as he began to move away.

  “Your king?” I asked as I trailed after him, Kye behind me. “You said before that you ruled the forest.”

  Kye coughed, and Lochlen threw him a look over his shoulder.

  “I may have been exaggerating just a bit,” Lochlen admitted slowly. “I am not the king, but I am on intimate terms with him.

  Again, Kye coughed. When Lochlen’s gaze moved our way a second time, his eyes were so dilated, the yellow was almost black. My own eyes narrowed.

  “How intimate?” I asked.

  It was Kye who answered me as Lochlen turned away again and marched steadily onward.

  “Lochlen is the king’s son,” Kye said. “He’s a dragon prince.”