The Evanescence Chronicles: Volume I

  Images began flashing in my mind.

  A baby dragon breaking through its eggshell, overcoming one of the greatest challenges of its entire life. It is a female hatchling. Her spines are soft and so are her scales. She blinks in confusion when she sees small alien forms with feral visages and glowing blue eyes instead of the face of her father. Her still damp wings twitch feebly when she is attacked. Vampires all around dig into her flesh with their fangs and claws. They laugh at her screams, they eat her scales, they drink her hot blood. After a while they all back away. The hatchling is not dead, but she is gravely wounded and helpless. She lies on the ground, broken, bleeding, and crying. Her wings are in shreds and her scales are all gone. The vampires smear their faces and hair with her blood. They chant. They dance. And all the while their eyes are closed as if willing something within them to change…

  I screamed. From the horror, and from the Evanescence who were now tearing into my scaleless flesh.

  ***

  Mercedes

  I barely had time to register the fact that Tezcatlipoca had brought us back to reality when Tarasque screamed above me. The sound knocked me off my feet. My body automatically curled itself into a fetal position, hands clasped over my ears.

  There is a price for everything, little key. Especially knowledge.

  Whimpering, shaking uncontrollably, I uncurled my body somewhat and took my hands away from my ears. Each of my palms was smeared with blood. I didn't dare look up, but the quiet told me I wasn't with Tarasque anymore.

  Well, knowledge and presumptuousness, Tezcatlipoca amended. It took me a moment to realize he was whispering. Had he shouted or even used his normal voice, my scorched mind would have blacked out completely. How unfortunate for you that you must pay for both all at once.

  The cruelty in his tone made me want to curl up again, to pretend that this wasn't happening, that this wasn't real.

  Your ancestors performed many rituals for me. The most complex one involved a single young man. Can a history lover like you fill in the blanks?

  I froze, petrified. I knew that ritual. The young man served as an avatar for Tezcatlipoca. For a year he lived like a god, wedding four young women, eating the best foods, wearing the best clothes and jewelry, and eight servants waiting on him hand and foot. His last week was spent singing, feasting, and dancing. Then on his last day he was literally hacked to bits and cannibalized.

  Ah. You do know. Excellent. I suppose I will be breaking tradition here somewhat. You are after all, a young woman, not a young man. And you do not represent me in the slightest.

  Hissing noises began to erupt all around me.

  But you did live like a god for more than a year, even if you did not indulge in every comfort that was at your disposal.

  The hissing grew louder.

  So I would not be defiling tradition completely.

  Not if I did justice on the final act.

  Too numb with terror to speak much less beg, I simply laid still. Then the Evanescence began to bite. They tore at every part of me, face, arms, legs. My own blood blinded me. I had never known such pain. But whether the pain or the terror would drive me mad first remained to be seen.

  At least a century had passed when they finally stopped. And at least a millennia before I could think about something other than the pain. Rough tongues were lapping at my wounds, but my throat was long paralyzed.

  I would greatly advise against future presumptuousness, little key. I will not be so merciful next time.

  I didn't feel the Evanescence carry me back to the chambers where Tarasque was being held. Oblivion was what I wanted, and when my wish was finally granted I did everything I could to stay in it. But some powerful force seized my mind and ruthlessly yanked me back to a cold, cruel world.

  Even though it felt like I had just been dragged through every hell imaginable, I somehow found the strength to crush that last thought. The world was not cruel. It was not wicked. It was not unfair. People were wicked. People were cruel. People were unfair. I could not blame the world. Could not give in. Could not…

  Shallow breathing to my left. No hissing, which made me want to weep with relief. I forced myself on my side and saw Tarasque in his human form, sprawled on his back. He didn't appear injured, but his breathing was weak. Incredibly weak. I tried to say his name. No sound came out. Maybe I was now a mute, my vocal cords permanently scarred from all that screaming. When I finally made it to my hands and knees, I nearly collapsed again when I saw my forearms. Scar tissue knotted from my knuckles all the way up to my elbows. I also noticed that the left side of my face felt like it was encased in plastic.

  Ignore it. Ignore it. Get to Tarasque. Get to Tarasque.

  I barely made it to his side. Placing one of my ruined hands on his chest, I tried to say his name but no sound came out. On the fifth attempt my voice came out somewhat clear.

  "Tarasque?" I whispered. "Tarasque?"

  He blinked, and the clouds in his emerald eyes cleared. They focused on me.

  "Mercedes," he mouthed. Like me before, he made no sound.

  I touched his face. "Are you all right?"

  His lips parted.

  "…scales…"

  "What?" I moved closer.

  "Scales," he repeated, voice thin and raspy. "The dragon's scales are gone. Mine. My people. He took our scales."

  I wanted to tell him that it would be all right. That he would remain a dragon so long as he believed he was one. That Tezcatlipoca couldn't take his identity.

  "I'm sorry." I gathered him in my arms. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  He accepted my embrace, crushing me against him. I held him close as we both wept. The tears that poured down my face were for myself, Tarasque, the dragons, and the knowledge that such evil existed. I thought I knew evil from the stories of the abused women, the children dying from hunger-ridden diseases, Shadow's torture, feeling Xavier's malice and intent press against my soul. Nothing could have prepared me for this. So much pain. So much terror. So much despair. What was the point of fighting if there was no way to win?

  There will always be evil, dear angel.

  My sobbing came to an abrupt halt. That wasn't Tezcatlipoca's voice. I had never heard it before in my life.

  "Who…?" I whispered, but my voice died not from the scars this time, but by the appearance of a glistening object at my side.

  Just as there will always be good.

  My ravaged fingers reached out and gingerly lifted the object to eye-level. It was a jade-green feather.

  You cannot have one without the other.

  A jade-green scaled feather.

  Remember that.

  ***

  Brandon

  The flower I delicately held between my index finger and thumb was dying. It would have lasted longer had I put it in water, but watching it slowly shrivel up gave me a hollow sense of satisfaction. Twirling the fragile stem, I examined the withered petals. They were white splashed with red. Or red splashed with white. However you wanted to look at it. Three days in my possession without any nutrients, the white now looked sickly yellow and the red like poisoned blood. It would turn black eventually. That was what I was waiting for.

  "I'm only one person, love. I can't keep both sides of the bed warm for—" Morgan stopped. "What are you doing?"

  Hastily I tossed the flower away. "Nothing. I—"

  "Was that a conquer flower?"

  "Morgan—"

  "Did you get that from the ceremony last week?"

  Her voice was rising. I didn't blame her. Despite Mercedes' deal with the royal family, I had all but risked my life sneaking around to see that ceremony. It had been reserved strictly for the elites. Outcasts were welcome as well if they had a death wish.

  Morgan took my silence for an affirmative. She bared her fangs and snarled, "How could you be so stupid? Or are you emulating your precious friend Shadow now!?"

  Now I was angry. Shadow had snuck around his fair share of elite
ceremonies. To his credit, he had only been caught twice, but he paid dearly for it. And his motivation had strictly been self-absorbed provocation. Not like me. I lurched to my feet and marched right up to Morgan.

  "I'm trying," I hissed, "to do something more useful than sit around on my backside all day! Say what you will about Shadow's flaws, but he's always been a man of action. He never waits for things to happen. He finds ways to make them happen all the more quickly. Andre's portal is the only way we can rescue Shadow and Mercedes, but if there's any way I can find information, anything I can do to help, by the brothers I'll do it."

  "Brandon…" Morgan's expression was now soft, but her tone was cautious. "You know they already have the girl—"

  "Thanks for the reminder," I spat, but instantly regretted my words when Morgan flinched. I embraced her and pressed our foreheads together. "I'm sorry, my love. Nothing is your fault."

  "Damn right," Morgan said, but she was smiling. "Just as nothing's your fault too. You're doing everything you can."

  Yes, and while I was doing everything I could, Mercedes was, according to King Yuan, fulfilling her role as a blessed one by assisting the vampires in punishing the dragon race. That was the message he broadcasted weeks ago. Since it was a public broadcast, privy to the ears of both elites and Harijans, I knew it was the heavily censored version. I had no idea what they were really doing to her or what they were forcing her to do.

  "Hey." Morgan whispered. "Come on. Let's sit down."

  She guided me toward the sofa. I sat down beside her and did my best not to focus on how useless it made me feel. Morgan laid her head on my shoulder.

  "Tell me a story."

  I smiled, knowing full well where this was leading. But I decided to tease her a bit.

  "Well, there are so many stories to choose from. Ah. Perhaps the one where a princess's beautiful long hair becomes her only salvation—"

  She punched my arm. "That's for half-minded human children." Her eyes narrowed. "You know the one I want to hear."

  I did know what she wanted to hear. Grasping her hand, I began.

  "Once there was a very old man who was destined to walk among the living forever. Many may covet such a gift, but he did not. For he was not a happy man. His home was ruled by heartless, arrogant individuals who treating him and those he cared about with terrible cruelty. He had long resigned himself to his wretched life and any chance at true happiness. One night, he decided to take a walk under the stars in the mortal world, for their beauty had always captivated him, and his home was not blessed with such a sight. During his walk, he soon discovered he had not taken an isolated path. Fast as he was, he barely had time to hide as a graceful form ran past him. It was a girl, and fast as she was, the old man caught sight of her face and was helpless as his breath was stolen by her beauty."

  Morgan's fingers curled around mine.

  "One of the consequences of the old man's immortality was that the only sustenance that could give him strength was the blood of his fellow man. His base instincts urged him to run after the girl, rip her throat open and feast upon her. But he had taken innocent life many times before, and despised the feeling. However, he found himself wanting to follow her for reasons even he could not explain. Was it her beauty? Was it the grace in which she ran? Was it the determined fire that blazed in her eyes? He did not know. But he followed her all the way to an isolated cabin at the edge of the woods. He watched her through the window and saw that she was cooking supper for a handsome young man dressed in a battered Confederate uniform. He was smiling at her as they talked, but the old man found himself wanting to tear him limb from limb. There was something he truly did not like about the young man's smile. After the two finished supper, the old man's suspicions were proven correct. The young man attempted to grope the girl and she made it clear that she was not interested in submitting to his demands. Anger crossed the young man's features, and he made to take her by force. But quicker than the eye could follow, she unsheathed a knife hidden in her dress and stabbed him through the heart. He fell dead to the floor, and the girl wasted no time in rummaging through his clothing and satchel. After taking what little valuables he possessed, she dragged the body into the woods.

  "The old man followed and watched as she burned the corpse. The firelight played across her lovely face and enhanced the ruthless satisfaction on it. The old man knew this was not the first time she had done this, and in his fascination he continued to watch her. Two sometimes three times a week, a deserter would take the road beside her cabin and knock on her door to request food and a place to rest for the night. Some were fiends who tried to take her by force. Others were simply men who wished nothing more than to go home. It did not matter. They all met the same fate. While the old man was repulsed by the loss of innocent life, he knew he had no right to judge the girl. In all his weeks of watching her, he could sense several emotions within her that were terribly familiar: loneliness, sadness, and anger. She too was trapped in her life and did what she had to do to survive. She was a kindred spirit and the old man wished nothing more than to talk to her, to earn her friendship and perhaps more. But he feared the consequences. In order to earn her trust he would have to show her what he truly was, which could cause him to lose her forever. But merely watching her was now causing him great pain. He had to know her. What was he to do?"

  I tightened my hold on Morgan's hand.

  "It was not long before his hand was forced. Several Confederate soldiers heard rumors about an area in the forest where their friends were to have said to never come back from. Armed with torches and guns, they stormed the girl's cottage. Her façade of innocence was impeccable and would have spared her life. However, one of the soldiers discovered a necklace that belonged to the wife of his missing friend. The girl was severely beaten and burned by the enraged mob and the old man could only helplessly watch for another consequence of his gifts was forbidden access to a mortal's home unless he was invited inside by the owner. But some form of fortune smiled on them both that night for the girl was dragged outside before the final blow could be delivered. The old man made short work of the mob before rushing to the girl's side. The old man could sense that she had only moments left. He fed her his blood, and when her injuries healed, she looked directly into the face of the old man for the first time. She saw his deceptively youthful appearance, his pale, ruthless eyes, her blood and the blood of her would-be murderers dripping from his long fangs. Though the old man assured her that she had nothing to fear, that she was safe, he expected her to scream and attempt to run away from him. Instead, in a very soft whisper, she asked him who he was. Not what he was. Who he was."

  My eyes were starting to feel quite warm. I blinked in attempt to rid myself of it.

  "The old man told her his name and what he was. He confessed that he had been watching her for some time, but he still did not know her name. When she told him with only the slightest hesitation, it was as if a terrible weight had suddenly lifted off the old man's heart. He wanted to talk to her, to get to know her. But as soon as she regained her strength, she insisted that she had to run as far from the forest as she could in fear of further vengeance from more soldiers. But when she saw that her cabin was being consumed by flames, she broke down in rage and despair. The old man was then informed quite a bit about her and her past. Her family disowned her for bearing a child out of wedlock. Left with nothing but the clothes on her back, she had no choice but to work in a brothel where the main customers were soldiers and veterans. Her experiences birthed a burning hatred for soldiers, and when she had gathered enough wages, she moved into an abandoned cottage on the edge of a forest where Confederate deserters were said to wander. Robbing and killing them gave her a sense of purpose and power. Now that she had been exposed and nearly died, she would have to move to a town where no one knew her face and work in another brothel.

  "The old man listened to her tale with growing anger and indignation. This intelligent, beautiful girl did not dese
rve such a life. He wanted to give her a better one, but he knew he could not. He told her of the cruelties and unfairness he was forced to live with. But a new fire had kindled in the girl's eyes. She told him that she did not care what she would have to face. 'Take me with you,' she demanded. 'Take me with you or I shall die a woman, not a soldier's whore!'

  "The old man told her he could not bring her with him now due to his low status. He promised that he would consult with his people and return for her once they gave their answer. He begged her not to end her life; that he would return for her no matter what. He was stunned but relieved when she agreed. He immediately went back to his people and told them of the girl's strength, her resolve, her ruthlessness. They were impressed but they also saw how much the girl meant to the old man. For their own amusement, they gave a trial of survival to both the old man and the girl. If he could survive for five years as the personal slave of one of the elites, and if she could survive for five years in a soldier's brothel, she would be welcomed with open arms.

  "The old man told her of the ultimatum, and that if she would rather die than accept it he would respect her wishes though the thought of losing her clawed at his heart. The girl said yes, and the old man could not pretend he did not know she desired his power above all else. But he hoped that he could eventually mean more to her and his wish was granted. As the years passed, as they both endured terrible torment and degradation, they came to know one another. Respect one another. Care for one another. The old man was hopelessly in love, and an eternity with this woman was worth any price. Shortly after her twenty-sixth birthday, she put ultimate trust in the old man when she allowed him to give her the gifts and curses he possessed, and they were together at last. They were not safe. They did not live happily ever after. But they were not without happiness. And they would never be without each other. The end."

  Morgan sighed and nuzzled my shoulder with her cheek. "I love that story."

  "It's quite incomplete," I pointed out. My hand stroked her arm. "You are far better at telling the side of the girl than I am."

  "Another time," Morgan said. She kissed me hard. I wrapped my arms around her. "But I've got to say, you're doing a much better job at telling the side of the old man."