INBORN (The Sagas of Di'Ghon) (5 page)

Irkhir didn’t waste any time preparing her for what was next.

It wasn’t long before word of her brother’s extravagances got back to her. While he travelled abroad he was squandering the meager funds they had left. There was no end to his appetites or what he was willing to pay to quench them. The ledger agreed with Irkhir’s opinion. There was no way they would all survive him. Someone had to do something. If she hadn’t arranged his “accident” the fool would have brought Ontar to ruin within a month.

Lisella closed her eyes and chose to remember her brother when they were younger, just two children playing in the hold. Flawed as he was she still missed him. She wiped away the single tear that sprang from the corner of her eye and flung it into the wind, allowing the heavy scent of pine to clear her mind. What was done was done.

The Code sang for whom it chose.

“My Mistress.” A harsh voice called from the entrance of the balcony.

Lisella Ontar turned to find one of the First kneeling.

“What is it?”

“Irkhir sends me with word.”

“You obviously wouldn’t have been allowed in my chambers if that wasn’t the case. Get up.”

“The… Caller…” He stayed on his knees.

“Spit it out.”

“The Caller has returned, my Mistress.” When the man looked up his face seemed twisted, like he had a fever or something. “I’m to escort you to the hall.”

“You lost a bet, Keriim? Irkhir put you up to this?” Lisella Ontar smirked at the man, searching for the joke that surely was being played on her.

It wasn’t completely absurd that Irkhir would play a joke on her, although she couldn’t see where this one could be going... From time to time her personal guard were allowed a few indulgences others wouldn’t be. They earned it. If ever she was attacked they would die to a man before she did.

Yet, why Irkhir sent this man was a mystery. She would expect it from Hogan or Neel. The two of them were the type. If it were either of them she would be expecting the other to come jumping into the chamber wearing a painted dra costume. Yet, she knew this man. There wasn’t a humorous bone in Keriim’s body, not for something like this. He was one of the finest of her guard, a vicious and cunning warrior, but a practical joker? Never.

Lisella stared into his eyes, seeing something there she couldn’t quite place. He returned her stare, eyes almost level even though he was still kneeling. There was something about this man that had always reeked of menace. She shook it off. After all, it was a quality she should probably be happy to have in one of the First.

“I swear on my mother’s fingers. We have him in the hall.” He said.

“Wait outside.” She waved him away, shaking her head.

Lisella stared at the big leather book still sitting on her table. The title,
Prophecies of the Code
, swam in her vision. Like a nightmare come to life, the spiraling dra seemed to stare back at her.

He was not joking. It was impossible, she knew, but he wasn’t joking. Lisella had to remind herself to breathe. It couldn’t be all real. It couldn’t be.

“The code sings for whom it will.” She mouthed the words her mentors had drilled into her as a child.

Then she threw up.

Crushed Blossom

Thaniel’s knees shook uncontrollably. He had a soldier on either side of him, each holding one of his arms.

Lisella Ontar ignored the slaves still half cowering down the hall
. She threw up a hand to silence Irkhir’s greeting as she walked right by him and up to the dra head that was now divided, each half set on one of two massive stone doors where there was once only a wall.

Irkhir’s head bowed reverently as she passed, but the sidelong glare he shot Thaniel told him he was going to wish he hadn’t witnessed the
leader of the First being snubbed so casually.

Lisella Ontar was usually the picture of noble composure itself. Now she stood leaning precariously to one side as if drunk. Her mouth was open, face completely flushed, and her chest heaved in and out like she had run all the way from her quarters.
She was absent-mindedly tracing her fingers along the cranial ridges of the dra’s head. Her hair, which had been intricately tied with a crown of red ribbons, now looked more like a bloody bird nest. As was the custom for the Festival of the Caller, her normal red weave tunic had been exchanged for flowing crimson robes. The ice cold draft sweeping down from the dark chamber was just strong enough that her silky garments rippled lazily. Earlier the bright red silk made him think of an ice blossom, like the one he had given Elycia that was now ground into the stone floor. Now her festival attire reminded him of flowing blood. 

Thaniel swallowed.

She shook her head as if to snap herself back into reality and regarded him with the slightest incline of her head. Her green eyes seemed to weigh his every inch instantly and Thaniel got the feeling she wasn’t the least bit impressed. Even with the icy breeze in his face Thaniel suddenly felt like he needed more air.

“What is his name?” Lisella wasn’t talking to him.

“Thaniel. One of the messengers, my Mistress.” Irkhir answered. 

“Thaniel.” She repeated to herself, committing his name to memory. The whites of her eyes registered something far beyond amazement, past even shock, as she stared back and forth between him and the split
dra head.

Thaniel had been a slave for seven
years and yet even as one of the hold’s messengers had still maintained a relatively low profile, especially not attracting the attention of any of the nobles who ran the hold. Slaves that garnered the attention of such folk tended to get beat. Or dead. Now in one morning he had managed to gain one of the First as an enemy, and if that weren’t enough, Lisella Ontar herself now stood staring at him not ten feet away and memorizing his name. Great.

“Look at me boy.” She instructed. “Do you know what this means?” She gestured at the open door and into the chamber beyond.

Nobles… She didn’t use his name after all.  Now how was he supposed to answer a question like that? He had no idea what he had done to the dra carving to make it do what it did.

“I didn’t mean to
Mistress, I swear.” He stammered, shaking his head vigorously.

“You really have no idea what you are.” She reached a hand up to his cheek and smiled. If he didn’t know better he’d swear she felt sorry for him.

Lisella Ontar turned toward the open chamber and walked inside, her crimson robes flowing like blood in the ice cold breeze. The woman covered her face in her hands, looking a whole lot like she was wiping tears. She took a deep breath. Her head tilted up, the picture of nobility and grace. When her hands returned to her sides, they were clenched in fists.

She spun back around with a smile full of white teeth. If she had been crying there wasn’t any trace of that woman left.

“My people.” Her voice was filled with command. This was the Lisella Ontar he knew.  “Today is a special day.” She looked right at him, eyes as cold as the night. “There will be no more processional. The Dra has spoken. It has named Thaniel, the Caller of the Dra.”

The crowd shrunk back in a surge.

Lisella Ontar strode forward and lifted him off the stone. She grasped one of his hands and thrust it onto the air like he’d won a prize.

“Tonight, because of Thaniel, you celebrate the Festival of the Caller, for real.”

Nobody moved.

“Every man, woman, and child eats and drinks their fill.”

No effect.

“One slave in ten will be set free.”

Heads swiveled and locked into place, eyes wide.

“
Soldiers and servants will receive double pay this month.”

After a moment of silent shock the hall behind him erupted into shouts and applause.

Were they all insane? He couldn’t be the Caller! The Caller of the Dra was a myth. Nothing more than a reason to celebrate a festival. Everyone knew that dras weren’t real. And even if they were, who in their right mind would call one? Thaniel craned his neck trying to search her eyes for the madness that surely must be there, finding nothing. 

With that settled Lisella Ontar turned and faced Thaniel fully as she purposefully traced two fingers along the thin white lines tattooed just over her eyebrows.

Irkhir did the same.

Thaniel stared at them as, with one voice, they, along with the entire First, recited the same phrase. “The code sings.”

It hadn’t stopped echoing down the hall before Lisella Ontar’s eyes darted around, looking as if she was missing something important.

“Irkhir, where is the girl?
” The question silenced the hall that had already started stirring with activity. “We can’t have a Caller without a kiss.”

Somehow Elycia had managed to slip away when no one was looking.

“I definitely don’t have one of those, not now.” Thaniel could hardly believe he spoke out loud, but he didn’t have any doubt of the truth of it. Thanks to that glowing carving, Elycia didn’t want anything to do with him. He couldn’t blame her. Everyone that was smiling now about the prospect of a full belly, freedom, or more coin, had only moments before regarded him as a monster.

Lisella Ontar stepped closer to him, lifting his chin with a finger. Her gaze swept across his features, taking in every detail before she used a thumb to wipe away one of his tears. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then a small smile curved up the corners of
her mouth. Slowly her eyes dropped down to the floor.

“Oh, I think you’re wrong about that.” She
said as she held up the crushed blossom between her thumb and forefinger.

Blue Fresco

“Get on with it.” A soldier shoved Thaniel from behind.

Torches blazed in mounted sconces on every wall, illuminating a vast domed chamber that majestically vaulted easily a hundred feet overhead.
Steep walls gradually sloped inward until they met at an ornate circle in the center. On the circle was a faded yet still dazzling fresco of a bluish dra in mid flight. From the exact center of the dome rose a vertical column at least twenty paces wide.  It topped out right under the center of the ceiling, directly under the dra.

A winding path, cut in a pattern that reminded Thaniel of scales, started at the entrance and led a sinuous course towards the base of the tower. An ornate archway waited at the base of a stair that was chiseled right out of the sides of the tower. Thaniel leaned his head back to see the stairs wind around and around the tower. More of the strange arches were set intermittently up the stairs.

You might be able to skip the first one on your way up, but unless you wanted to hang off the sheer sides of the tower to do it, there was no avoiding the rest.

Thaniel craned his neck all around, at first mesmerized by the chamber as he moved forward. He tried to stare at any one spot and found it hard to do. Other than the scale patterned path he was walking on, every surface in the entire stone chamber was carved
with a flowing pattern that felt like the wind itself, if wind could be seen with the naked eye that is. 

With every movement he made, the room seemed to spin, like he had been swallowed alive by a creature of living wind.
Thaniel forced himself to look down at the scaled walkway beneath his feet. He was grateful he wasn’t the only person who seemed taken aback. Even some of the hardened soldiers stepped a little lighter in the place.

Thaniel stopped suddenly before two sets of armored boots, happy for the opportunity to stop moving. Hot bile churned in his stomach, already threatening to erupt from just the few steps it took to make it to the base of the tower. He relished a deep slow breath.

Silence stretched.

Irkhir, standing only a few paces in front of the wall of crimson muscle he had stopped at
, was staring at something over Thaniel’s head. Behind him, was Keriim.

“Where’s Elycia?” The
moment Thaniel saw Keriim, the words shot out of his mouth.

The man didn’t answer. He just stood there caressing the blade of his axe with one of his thumbs. If he had the ability, Thaniel was sure the man’s glare would have burned a hole in his forehead.

Irkhir regarded Thaniel with calculating eyes. Then, he twisted. His thickly muscled neck flexed tight as he looked back over his plate mail at Keriim. The brute’s senses were uncanny. He must have felt Irkhir’s scrutiny coming because by the time he’d turned his head, Keriim had assumed the same posture as the rest of the men. He made sure Irkhir saw his eyes leave the top of the arch to regard him, as if he weren’t just an instant before that glaring at Thaniel with murderous intent. The leader of the First studied the man like a cat studies an injured bird.

“Don’t worry Caller.
” Irkhir answered as if Thaniel had been speaking to him all along. “They’re bringing your girl. You’ll get your kiss before you…” His words trailed away as if the wind stole them before they left his lips.

Leather armor creaked as the men closest to him tensed. Murmurs of alarm rippled through the First. Everywhere Thaniel looked soldier’s bulging eyes were locked onto something somewhere over his head.