“It could not reach us in here,” another male voice, dry and scratchy, chimes in.
Blanche picks up the story. “It tried to blast us with its Killer Frost, but there is a jag at the back of this crevice, we hid around the corner till we thought it left.” Her voice trails off and a soft sob reaches him.
Another woman continues. “It was hiding above. When we tried to leave, it started the rock slide.” Her voice, choked with emotion, continues. “It buried my mate and three others beneath those stones.”
Jadrun scans the azure blue sky. Nothing but a few fluffy clouds and a bird or two. Yet, now that he is concentrating, seeking sign of any of the creatures, he detects a faint, putrid smell of rotted mushrooms. The odor of the Volastoque. He continues to search, and realizes there are droppings of the creature a short distance up the hill from where he lies. That must be the source of the odor. The beast defecated while awaiting the humans’ emergence from the crevice.
“It appears to be gone now,” he calls to those trapped.
“It was a long time ago; I suspect it left once it buried us,” the scratchy male voice responds.
Moments pass as the strength slowly returns to Jadrun. “Everyone stand back, in case the removal of more stones causes a slide inside.”
“We are back behind the corner,” Jadrun’s mate calls.
Tired still, but determined to free his mate and the others, Jadrun begins to transport the rocks and boulders again. Soon the opening at the top of the cave-in is large enough for him to crawl through to open air. On his belly he works his way through the hole he has opened. Perching at the top of the pile he calls, “Blanche, come, I have opened it sufficiently.”
His mate scrambles up the pile and he pulls her into his arms. Lying across the rocks, he holds her, his heart near to bursting.
~!~
When Trella awakes, Prava is gone. He had made the act gentle, as caring as he could be under the circumstances. Then he draped his wings over her, afterward, and held her as she had cried herself to sleep.
She slips into the warm pool. Her emotions in turmoil, once again, she sees in her mind’s eye the immense form of the black dragon. Hovering like a dark shadow over her as her body pulsed from the climax of mating and she sobbed. He stretched his neck above her, stroking her back gently as he repeated over and over again, “I am sorry.”
Once again, tears begin to slip down her cheeks to join the warm water of the pool. No. By the Lady, she will not allow herself to… to mourn. Yes, she mourns the loss of her dream to mate and bear offspring within that union. No. She will not. She knows what she did was the right thing to do.
Rising from the water, Trella shakes excess water from her form. She, or their offspring, shall help secure the future of dragonkind. That was not something to mourn, it was something to cherish.
Her head high, even if her emotions are in tatters, she exits the chamber, never glancing back.
~!~
Shaman Hern tugs his cloak tighter around himself as his chin scrunches down into the soft wool. He raises one hand to block the sun; yes, there are the two dragons preparing to land. He sends a silent prayer to the Lady for guidance as the black and the blue dragons settle on the crisp grass of the meadow.
“Lady Blessings, Nor Yalkin and Nora Estrola.”
“And to thee, Shaman Hern.” Yalkin’s Mindspeak is deep and resonates in Hern’s head.
Estrola settles to sit with her tail curled around her; the midnight-blue dragon’s entire demeanor radiates reluctance. “What progress have thy Shaman made on this stasis for the eggs?”
“Nor Estrola, they tell me they have a viable option they are testing at this time.”
“How can we know it will work for the period necessary? It is not as if ye have time to do an investigation of such length.”
“No, I am afraid the tests are limited to ensuring that a state of inactivity is achieved in the eggs they assess. They are using fertilized eggs of birds and lizards; I am told the results are beyond expectations.”
Yalkin eases to the ground, a soft sigh escaping the immense dragon as he folds his legs beneath him. “We have faith that the Shaman will do their best. Shaman Hern, this is the most difficult decision I have been faced with in all my years.” His scarlet-colored eyes hold dark shadows of grief and anxiety as he gazes at Hern. “The dragon elders cannot see how we can make this situation known to all. To tell our dragons and Shaman that they go into battle with no chance of survival… that would perhaps affect the outcome and we would lose all. After much deliberation, the decision has been made to follow the guiding hand of the Lady as set out in these prophecies. Know that we put our hope for dragonkind’s future in the hands of those developing this stasis for our eggs.”
“You will not tell the dragons that all will be lost in the final battle?”
Yalkin shakes his massive head. “No, our people must enter this battle without the knowledge of defeat, so that they may have the heart to do their best.”
“We leave the hopes of our kind with this stasis.”
Hern swallows; his gnarled hand rubs his temple as his head throbs with the magnitude of this responsibility. “And the hatchlings. Those younglings and hatchlings in the caverns will survive the battle.”
Estrola tilts her head to one side; the shattered and Healed bones around her eye socket makes her appear to squint as she studies the Shaman. “Yes, those few hundred scattered across the three caverns may survive. I take it thou has not noticed they are all male?”
“There are no females?
“Not one,” Yalkin replies. “It is one of the aspects that indicate the hand of the Lady in this. The odds that not one female would survive from this winter’s clutches is overwhelming, She must be involved.”
“Shaman Hern, we need six or seven moons.” Estrola slaps her tail on the withered grass as if in emphasis.
“The prophecies did not show a time frame—”
“Nevertheless, in order to produce eggs necessary for our survival, they require time to gestate.” Yalkin shifts as if uncomfortable, with his ancient aches or the subject, Hern is not sure. “Females of worth agree to provide their eggs for dragonkind’s future. We must ensure they have time to do so.”
“I cannot help but think the Lady shall provide the period we need.” Hern shakes his head. “Yet we have no guarantee. We will continue testing and improving the stasis field until you let me know the first eggs are close to clutching.”
~!~
Jadrun grasps a hand and pulls the last survivor over the gully’s lip. He staggers back to sit beside Blanche, taking deep breaths. “I am far too tired to transport us. We can walk, or rest here for several hours while I recover.”
“I for one would like to be shet of this place.” The tall, skinny man who makes the comment peers furtively around. “I swear I can still smell that monstrosity.”
He pulled three women, including his mate, and two men from the crevasse. None of them have any more strength than a kitten from their depravation during their entrapment. “Can everyone walk?”
A short woman thrusts her chin out and stands, a bit shaky on her feet. “I am willing to try. I, too, am anxious to be far from here.”
They all stand and gaze about them.
“Which way?” Blanche asks, her expression confused.
“East.” Jadrun gestures the general direction. “If we take it easy, I should get my second wind well before we arrive and I can transport us the rest of the way.”
They share one more sip each from the water skin, then begin to shamble east.
“I thought everyone gave up on searching.” Blanche’s voice is soft in his ear.
“They did, I continued against orders.” Jadrun tucks her more firmly against his side as they walk with arms around each other’s waist.
Blanche chuckles softly; the glint that enters her blue eyes makes his heart melt. “Never was I so happy to have mated a stubborn man.”
Th
eir progress is slow, barely above a crawl. The group stays close together, taking comfort in each other’s presence, or perhaps having grown accustomed to close proximity. Not more than a quarter of an hour has passed when Jadrun hears a gasp from the woman at the rear of their line.
He looks over his shoulder to see the tan form of a Volastoque rising from a nearby hill.
“The damn beast waited for us to travel clear of any cover!” the tall man exclaims, reaching frantically for a rock.
Jadrun is so tired, that strikes him as funny. What did he think a rock was going to do against that creature? One of the women shrieks and Blanche trembles as she presses against him. He has no choice.
“Quickly, all come and join hands. I will try to transport.”
“No, my love, you are too tired.” Blanche raises fearful eyes to his.
“No choice, if we remain here, we all die.”
The beast is bearing down on them as they stumble into a huddle. Pulling on all his reserves, Jadrun pictures the entrance to the Burick Lake Caverns, and initiates transport.
The grey void they find themselves in is not the Burick Lake Caverns.
Jadrun staggers and sinks to his knees; beside him, his mate lowers herself to sit on… on what? He tries to make sense of what his eyes behold. He and the survivors are surrounded by a deep, impenetrable mist. He pulls Blanche into his arms and the others huddle near them, their fear palatable.
“Where are we?” The woman who speaks has eyes hard as flint and shadowed in fear.
“This must be where those who do not successfully complete a transport end up.” Jadrun forces the terror welling up in his heart down.
“By the Lady, what do we do now?” The tall, scruffy man speaks, his eyes darting wildly about them.
“How could you have allowed this?” the smallest woman shrieks, grabbing Jadrun by his arm.
“Leave off.” Blanche shoves the woman away. “He saved us. Regardless of what this place is, it is better than the belly of a Volastoque, which is where we would have been in moments.”
The woman sinks to sit, her head lowering, and soft sobs come from behind the sheet of her dark hair.
“I must rest.” Jadrun shakes his head. “Then we can see if we can find our way out, or if I can transport us out of here.”
“Rest, my love.” Blanche pulls his head down onto her lap. “I have every faith we shall find a means out of here.”
Jadrun studies the mist for a moment. It shrouds the entire area; no details can be made out. His gaze falls on his mate. He can take on the madness of their situation, now that his mate is at his side. He allows his eyes to sink closed, his last thought that he has not even told Blanche that Herlan is dead.
Chapter 24
Three moons, three moons have passed since his meeting with the representatives of the dragon council. Hern pushes the parchments across the table and rubs his gnarled fingers across tired eyes.
Estrola said they needed six or seven moons. So, if they can but hold out a bit longer… The reports he just read indicate the stasis will work; the dragons will be able to secure their clutches.
He shakes his head, scrubs his palms across his face. If only there were a means to safeguard some of the Shaman. He has done what he can. The cavern where, prior to the incursions of the Volastoque, they trained initiates to the powers has been protected. The inner chambers sealed by cave-in and the entrance to the living quarters concealed by a camouflage shield. Scrolls are prepared; he will take them himself to secure in the main cavern within the power pool. Perhaps, some day, the Palmir People will be ready to apply the usage of the crystals again. The scrolls will be there, to guide them. Would that some of the Shaman could be placed in stasis with the eggs. However, so far, the experiments with animals have proven unsuccessful. Not one single mouse survived the stasis for more than a drama.
More troubling yet, to himself personally, are the two new prophecies. The healers, like himself, who have mental ability to force actions on another, are shown clearly in the foretelling. Some use their powers with the yellow crystals to compel Volastoque to travel to an area prepared by the Shaman of the red crystal. Others compel the Transport, Offensive, and yellow-crystal Shaman remain in that area as lures. All Volastoque are annihilated in the vision. So too are the Shaman.
He sighs.
It fits the other prophecies too well. All along, he has wondered how all Shaman would be lost. However, the scheme shown would do just that. He struggles with the necessity to sacrifice so many, and especially without their knowledge or consent. Yet, to reveal the circumstances under which they go to battle… that could very well cause the outcome to be significantly different. How much worse it would be, if they made the sacrifice, and it did not squelch the influx of the creatures.
He takes a small carved wooden horse from his pocket.
Jadrun made this for him when still his apprentice. Now both Jadrun and Blanche are missing and assumed dead. Jadrun has not been seen for three moons, since the day of his meeting.
His fingers trace the smooth contours of the small equine as he mourns the man he had come to look upon as a son. His fingers clutch the horse as anger wells.
From Hern’s last two conversations with Jadrun, it is clear to him that Jadrun must have pushed himself. The man was exhausted at both previous meetings, and had waved off Hern’s suggestion that he rest. One transport too many when he was worn out. If only he had seen reason and stopped searching when ordered to do so.
Now, now he has left Montello an orphan and Jadrun himself was—well, they really did not know what happens. Only that it does, on occasion a transport Shaman does not arrive, anywhere. And thus it was with Jadrun.
He sighs, stuffing the small horse back in his pocket. May the Lady have taken Jadrun into Her presence.
He stands and, rubbing his arms against the mid-winter chill on the chamber, he shuffles out to the corridor. Montello moved his belongings in with Hern a drama after Jadrun came up missing. The two of them held a small commemorative ceremony when Jadrun disappeared, for Blanche and Jadrun. He was to meet the lad for midday meal. Now, they only have each other as family.
~!~
Geramn snuggles against his mate’s back, surfeit from their lovemaking. He has time for an hour’s nap, before he has to be back to the training Healers.
Ozo’s sharp bark disturbs the peace and quiet.
“Damn.” He lifts on to his elbow and shouts, “Shut up! Ozo, quiet!”
Sheina stirs sleepily beside him. “Why is he barking?”
A crash and the wail of Rekia joins Ozo’s clamor.
“The babe.” Sheina is out of the bed and rushing to the door, Geramn on her heels.
Sheina enters the babe’s chamber a step in front of him, and screams.
A rat—the damn thing’s body must be as long as his forearm. It pelts around the room, Ozo in hot pursuit. Sheina sprints across the chamber and gathers the babe in her arms, her emerald eyes tight with fear as she quickly examines the child.
“Get her out of here.” Geramn stands between his mate and where Ozo has entered into battle with the huge rat.
Sheina clutches the babe to her and scrambles out of the chamber. The wail of the babe recedes down the corridor as the screeches and growls of the combatants fill the room. Geramn’s gaze darts frantically about the room, seeking something he can use as a weapon.
His eyes fall on the stool beside the changing table. Snatching it up, he brandishes it like a club as he advances on the fight. Blood splatters the corner where Ozo has brought the rat to bay. Whose blood, he is not sure; Ozo’s hair is so think that he cannot see any cuts, although the animal’s black and tan hair is soaked in places.
For several long moments, Geramn stands, poised to strike but unable to find an opening. The pair writhes on the floor, making it impossible to get a safe hit on the rat without hurting the dog.
Ozo lets out a sharp shriek and the rat flings out lengthwise.
&nb
sp; Geramn slams the stool down, one leg crushing the rat’s midsection and pinning it to the stone floor. “Sheina, quickly, bring me the largest knife you have.”
He looks up to see Sheina already at the doorway, a large, iron cooking vessel in her hands. Rekia wails in the other chamber as Sheina stalks toward them. His mate’s face is livid with rage, the vessel wielded above her head like a club.
“Ozo, back,” Sheina’s command is spoken through clinched teeth.
The dog instantly backs off two steps, his teeth exposed, and a low growl emanates from his throat. The rat shrieks, frantically attempting to free itself from the stool leg that pins it.
Sheina bashes the heavy pot down on its head, the crunch of its skull breaking accompanied by bits of gore and blood squirting across the stone floor. Again she slams the rat, the muscles in her arms tight as she puts all her effort behind the blow.
Geramn releases the stool; it is obvious the rat is dead. “Sheina.” He grasps her arm. “It is dead.”
The pot clatters to the floor as his mate turns and burrows her head in his chest, her body shaking with sobs. “That damn thing was after Rekia. There are holes from its teeth in her sleeper.”
Geramn holds his mate, shushing her as his arms try to comfort. His gaze moves from the bashed-in head of the rat to the panting dog. Ozo is a sight, his tongue lolling as he pants and his hair slick with blood.
“Good dog.” Geramn swears silently that he will never question Ozo’s value again.
~!~
Kilita’s claws dig into the stone of the cavern as another contraction seizes her. She stares, fascinated, at her bulging abdomen as waves wash across it with each tightening of her birthing channel.
“The discomfort will lessen after the first of thy clutch emerges.” Aura’s golden eyes pulsate with emotion as she lays her neck across Kilita’s back, gently rubbing her cheek on her neck.
“It is small enough a price to pay; soon my clutch will be here.” Another contraction grips her body and her breath hisses softly between her teeth.
She stifles a moan as the next contraction blasts through her body. One after another egg spills out of her birth channel. Like glistening opals, they ooze out into a mound beside her.