Liberator (10 page)

He turned toward her. With wet hair plastered over her forehead and down her cheeks, she posed in a familiar way. When she emerged from the dungeon, her hair was matted and her face gaunt, though her eyes sparkled with delight. At the time, her eyes had raised images of
verdant meadows, the color of life. Now, with her entire face aglow and a verdant meadow providing a sheltering embrace, the moments they sat under the roots of a toppled tree came to mind. “I think so.”

She rubbed her arms. “A lot has changed since then.”

“I know what you mean.”

Her brow lifted. As she shivered, her eyes sparkled in the same way they had that evening. “Do you really?”

Jason pulled his cloak off and spread it over her shoulders. After he had tucked it in around her, he smiled.

“Yes, I do.”

She lifted her index finger. He looped his with hers, then recited the chant they had shared as children. “We’re hooked by these fingers together, as brother and sister forever. Like gander and goose, we’ll never break loose, no dagger or dragon can sever.”

As they stared at each other, Elyssa whispered, “Brother and sister forever?”

Jason switched to his ring finger and hooked it with hers. “If we both survive, we’ll talk about changing the lyrics.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She drew her finger gently away and leaned against his shoulder. The fog continued to thicken, and the stomps of heavy boots grew louder and closer, making the ground vibrate. The thunder of war had arrived, and one way or another, deadly battles would soon begin.

“If we both survive,” she said softly. “That’s a step no one can skip.”

Randall stood with Frederick in the clearing, searching the sky for Xenith or Fellina.

“My cabin is in that direction,” Frederick said, pointing to the south. “Flying by dragon should take only a few minutes.”

“Then Fellina and Tibalt could have returned by now.” Randall scanned the forest floor. The debris appeared to be in the same chaotic mess he had left it — scorch marks, ashes, and blood—and the drone’s carcass still lay in the same position. “Maybe the children already have the disease, and Fellina is arranging a way to transport them.”

“Or there is trouble afoot.” Frederick kicked the dead dragon’s tail. “I have never seen a patrol drone this close to my cabin. If others are around, they might have noticed Fellina and followed her.”

“Good point.”

The beating of wings filled the forest. A dragon dropped through the canopy at a sharp angle, breaking branches as it fell. With a louder flurry, it landed in an awkward slide, its forelegs digging into the leaves and underbrush as it slowed to a stop.

Randall whipped out his sword and stepped toward it, but Frederick pulled him back. “Don’t worry. It’s Xenith.”

Wagging her head, Xenith turned toward them, breathless. “I think I eluded them.”

“Them?” Randall asked.

“My fellow dragons were hiding from the Benefile in the mountains. Three followed me, I assume to find the refuge. Of course, I led them elsewhere. I had to dive in and out of the forest, including a swim in the marshes.
They became entangled in vines, and I was able to out-race them. When I saw you, I took cover.”

“That was very resourceful,” Randall said. “They must be spitting mad at you.”

Her eyes flashed wide open. “Get down!” Randall dove into the debris. Xenith covered him with a wing. Now in near darkness, he listened to the sounds above, trying to imagine what was going on. Wings fluttered. Dragons growled. Branches splintered. Yet the chaos occurred well over their heads.

After several more seconds, Xenith lifted her wing. “They’re gone.”

As Randall climbed to his feet, vine fragments filtered through the branches and fell to the ground. He picked up a four-foot section and showed it to Frederick, who was climbing out from under the drone’s wing. “Evidence of Xenith’s brilliant maneuvering.”

“I met her only once at her cave,” Frederick said. “Arxad is very proud of her flying skills. He says there is no one better in the land.”

Xenith bowed her head. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“So they didn’t find the refuge,” Randall said. “You’re sure of that.”

“Those three did not find it by following me, because I was still looking for it myself, but I cannot be sure whether or not other dragons have found it. Many are looking.”

Frederick gazed toward the south. “Then Fellina is probably waiting there or close by, unable to leave because they’re watching for her.”

“Or her new injuries are more severe than she thought,” Randall said.

“New injuries?” Xenith’s tail whipped the ground, scattering leaves. “What happened here? Who killed that drone?”

Frederick patted her neck. “Your mother and Randall killed it. The drone bit her in the underbelly, but she was well enough to fly, so we assume she’s okay. At least that’s what Randall told me.”

“Right now I’m not sure of anything.” Randall checked his scabbard and refastened his sword belt. “Frederick, I think we need to split up. You go on foot to the refuge. If Xenith is willing, she can take me to check on the slaves in the village. Since the other dragons fear the Benefile, I don’t think we’ll be followed.”

“But my mother might need me,” Xenith said. “I can travel by land with Frederick.”

Frederick reached high and laid a hand on the side of her snout. “Hear me, Xenith. Now is not the time to listen to your heart. You must listen to your brain. Where are you most needed? Whom will your speed and cunning most benefit? Will a fast dragon be needed to deliver a cure for the disease? Who else could fly Randall to the village without getting caught by the Bloodless? And don’t forget, your father is out there somewhere. It’s possible that only he knows how to defeat the white dragons, so you must locate him, even if it means going to the Northlands. Once you do, your speed in leading him back here or delivering his strategy might be the salvation of us all. If you decline, all could be lost.”

A dour expression sagged Xenith’s features. “You sound very much like my father. Mix logic with a dose of guilt, and he can get me to do anything.”

“Then you’ll go?” Randall asked.

Xenith let out a deep sigh. “I will go. Get on my back.”

When Randall settled at the base of her neck, he touched the hilt of his sword. “You’ll need a weapon.”

Frederick smiled. “I stashed a few here and there. Don’t worry.”

“Sounds good.” Randall patted Xenith’s neck. “Let’s go.” Xenith bent low, ready to launch. “Hold tight, human. This will be a ride you will never forget.”

K
oren tiptoed close to a set of miniature dragon heads, the pair of brass doorknobs that wouldn’t turn the last time she faced the great white doors. During that visit, Alaph refused to let her in, and her only view of the inner chamber came from a Starlighter vision while inside Exodus. But was the expanse of pure whiteness where she shed her black dress and boots a reflection of reality, or just an imagined portrait of the mysterious room?

Now dressed in a simple beige V-neck tunic that fell nearly to her knees, baggy gray trousers that would drop right off if not for a leather cord around her waist, and the same blue cloak she had worn throughout her journeys, she felt so different. Although the killer disease continued to gnaw painful holes beneath her newly healed skin, a few hours of sleep had brought a feeling of freshness and freedom that coursed from the top of her head down to
her bare toes. Even Resolute had noticed the attitude difference during their walk here, saying that a glow emanated from Koren’s eyes. Maybe some of the power she had gained after taking a stardrop had returned.

Soon Resolute would return with Orson. After catching some rest himself, he had risen at dawn to talk to Alaph and prepare some things for making the medicine. Perhaps he felt the freshness as well. With prospects for a cure rising, it seemed that hope flooded the air.

Koren reached into her tunic’s outer pocket — an accessory few tunics in Starlight had—and withdrew the box Cassabrie had given Orson. Black and rectangular, it weighed very little, no more than a meat-scraps muffin. At the center, a red button was recessed within a raised circle of black metal, apparently to prevent someone from depressing the button accidentally. She read the white letters near the edge at the heel of her hand—
DETONATE.

She slid the box back into her pocket. This was likely the same one she had found in the room next to the star chamber, but the meaning of the word remained a mystery.

The clopping of boots sounded from behind. “Little K! I’m coming.”

Koren smiled. Her father used that name every chance he could, as if trying to make up for all the years they had been separated.

He hustled to her side, Resolute guiding him, her glow brightening the corridor. “I apologize for being late,” he said. “I’m glad you found it on your own.”

“No one can find this place on their own.” Koren winked at Resolute. “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

Grinning, Resolute curtsied, then ran away, her feet barely touching the floor. The light in the hallway ebbed until only an odd ambient glow remained, as if particles in the air itself radiated energy.

Koren took her father’s hand and looked up at him. “I’ve been wondering about something.” She flexed her toes against the cool marble floor. “I guess I died before I could talk, and I don’t remember any other father, so … what should I call you?”

He cleared his throat and smoothed out his tunic, similarly oversized and dull of color. “I suppose, considering your age and maturity, that
Father
would be appropriate. We are both too old for Papa or Daddy, I think.”

“Maybe not.” She wrapped her arms around his torso and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ll call you Father, but I hope I’m never too old to call you Daddy if I need to.”

He laid his hand on the back of her head. “And I hope you never outgrow Little K.”

She drew away and stared into his gray eyes. “No!

Never!”

“Good.” He gestured toward the door. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Thank you.” Koren grasped the dragon head on the right side, letting her hand linger. Unlike before, it didn’t heat up at all. She turned it and pulled the door open. Although the panel rose well over her head and the width spanned the length of a dragon wing, it felt as light as a feather.

A shaft of radiance spilled through and washed over her body. Like chalky water poured from a pail, whiteness spread across her clothes and skin until she was as
white as the door itself. Her father, too, had turned white, though his eyes remained gray.

They entered together, hand in hand. As in her vision, the chamber appeared to be nothing but whiteness. “Have you been here before?” she asked.

“Only once. I brought Cassabrie’s finger and the other ingredients. Alaph said the test should be performed here. He didn’t say why, other than we would learn the answers we’re seeking.”

As they continued, Koren looked back. Even the door opening had disappeared, replaced by whiteness. “I can’t see the ingredients. Everything is white.”

“Your eyes will adjust in a few more seconds.”

Almost imperceptibly, the whiteness dissolved. A table appeared an arm’s length away. Thrice the size of Madam Orley’s food-preparation table, an adult could lie down on it with room to spare. Koren touched the surface, cool and clean. As dark as marsh oak, the grains felt fine and smooth.

A scarlet box sat at the center. No bigger than her hand, it seemed to be made out of wood, but what sort of tree produced wood so red?

As the whiteness continued to melt away, a hearth took shape behind the table. Flames crackled on a stack of logs in a brick fireplace, an unusual sight in the hot Southlands village.

Orson picked up a set of tongs leaning next to the fireplace and pinched a small cup within the flames. When he drew it out, the casing pulsed orange, and thin blue smoke rose from whatever bubbled inside. The cup looked like the mortar Madam Orley used for grinding
herbs, small enough to nestle in a hand and thick enough to endure the grinding.

He lowered the cup carefully and set it next to the red box. The contact raised a loud sizzle, but it seemed to do no harm to the wooden surface.

“There.” Father leaned the tongs against the wall. “Now for the critical step.”

Koren watched his every move. With furrowed brow and steady hands, he opened the red box and slid it closer to her. Inside, a finger lay in velvet. Stitched closed at the base, it appeared to be unchanged from the moment Zena pushed it into her hand. Without blemish or corruption, it looked like it could be reattached and used without a problem.

“Cassabrie’s,” she whispered.

“Yes, I have heard the story.” Her father set a needle and thread on the table, then withdrew a thin blade from an inner pocket. “This is called a scalpel, a cutting tool we humans used before the disease first ravaged the world. Its main purpose is to cut with precision.”

Koren bit her lip. If that meant what she thought it meant …

“You might not want to watch.”

“I think I should.” Koren fixed her stare on her father’s hand. He set the scalpel on the finger near the stitched base and pressed downward. With a sickening
thunk
, the blade sliced through skin and bone, separating a quarter-inch section from the rest of the finger.

As blood oozed from both parts, Father quickly stitched the open end of the finger. “Fortunately, the bone has softened over time, and with no heart pumping, blood
loss is minimal. Since we need this finger to provide for many diseased souls, however, we don’t want to lose any genetic material.”

When he finished stitching, he laid the finger back in its place, then scooped the severed section with the scalpel and poised it over the cup. “Take a few steps back. When I drop this into the crucible, you will want a wider view.”

Koren shuffled backwards. “The crucible?”

“A vessel used for melting materials at high temperatures. It’s made of graphite, a substance with which you are likely unfamiliar. On Major Four we also use
crucible
to describe a severe test or trial. If Alaph’s description of his expectations is correct, we will see how appropriate the word is.”

With a turn of the scalpel, he dropped the bloody section and backed away, nearly stumbling as he kept his stare on the crucible. The mixture just sizzled, not much louder than before.

Blinking, Orson walked toward the table. “Perhaps it caught on the inner part —”

Phoom!
A huge ball of thick blue smoke erupted. Orson stumbled backwards, but Koren caught him.

The smoke hovered in place and fanned out until it took on the size and shape of a Starlighter’s cloak. As if drawn on the cloak by chalk, white shapes appeared — four dragons facing each other around a spring of upwelling water. The blue backdrop expanded until it masked the fireplace and enveloped the table. The dragons swelled and became three-dimensional, as if physically present in the room.

“The Benefile,” Orson whispered. “Perhaps the answers Alaph mentioned are materializing before our eyes.”

Koren edged closer to one of the dragons. In its inanimate state, it appeared to be angry or perhaps pensive, its brow low and its ears back.

She stooped and set her hand over the bubbling water. The rising gasses were warm and wet. “Is the crucible here?”

“That’s my guess. According to Alaph, the mixture will activate and set the scene into motion. We’ll know the reaction is complete when the vision fades away.”

“Have you seen other visions while testing?”

He nodded. “The only other time I was here, I tested a smaller portion. It seems that even a single finger holds the Starlighter’s gift of insight. The vision during the test showed me events from the past that I found quite interesting.”

“Such as?”

“Events I will share with you at another time, Little K. For now …” He pointed at the dragons. “Let’s watch.”

Koren backed away to get a better view. She stepped between two of the dragons and stood about ten paces behind one that looked like Alaph. Like gophers tunneling from below, trees pushed up through the ground. The branches filled in so quickly, it seemed that magical spiders were casting streams of brown silk from trunk to trunk to spin a web of intertwined wood. As the spindly threads hardened, they thickened into a dense matrix, blocking sunlight and dimming the area.

A shout came from outside the trees. “Alaph! Is this how you keep your promise?” The draconic words reverberated within the glade. “By hiding in the trees?”

Alaph rose to his haunches. “It is the
only
way I can keep my promise.”

One of the other white dragons rose with him. “What do you intend to do, Alaph?” The voice rumbled like the purr of a predator cat, feminine and sultry.

He snaked his neck around hers. “My dear Beth, what I do now I will not be able to explain until the curse has ended.” As he drew back, he spread out his wings.

“Alaph?” Beth’s tone grew desperate. “Alaph, do not leave me!”

He shot up into the branches, bursting through the lowest level. In a flurry of wings, Beth followed, then the other two.

As if propelled by the motion, the entire room rose with the dragons. Koren held her breath, instinctively bending her knees to absorb the floor’s upward momentum.

At level after level, Alaph splintered branches with his head and beating wings. The woody fingers immediately began growing back, the smaller ones faster than the larger. The sharp ends jabbed at Beth as she followed, but she managed to pass the lowest ones safely. Like spears cast by hunters, the branches impaled the other two dragons, one near the lowest level, the second a few layers up. They yelped, but their cries were quickly squelched.

Finally, a thick branch skewered Beth. She flailed, madly flapping as more and more branches impaled her body. With every branch she snapped, more stabbed her white skin, as if punishing her for trying. Yet, in spite of
all the deep piercing, not a single drop of blood escaped the dragons’ bodies.

While Beth hung suspended, she blew a blast of ice at Alaph, striking his tail as it whipped upward. The end of the tail snapped like a whip, shattering the ice into crystals that spread out in a thin layer above Beth’s head. Like fog over water, the layer hovered in place, stirred by Alaph’s wake.

The vision remained at Beth’s level. As she struggled, the branches probed more deeply. She groaned. She wailed. Her toothy maw snapped a branch, but before she could dodge its growth, it pierced her again, raising another wail. “Alaph!” she cried. “How could you do this to me?”

After a few seconds of silence, a voice sounded from above. “I did not do this to you. I merely escaped so that I could do what must be done.”

“But you cannot do it without me. The Code must have its gavel of judgment. Help me escape and —”

“I will not help you. The curse will not allow it. Until it is broken, the trees will keep you ensnared.”

Beth screamed, “Then break it!” Panting as she squirmed, she stretched her neck as far as she could, penetrating the layer of icy fog. “Alaph, my mate, you cannot leave me here to suffer. The Creator will not be pleased with our separation, with my suffering.”

A deep sigh drifted through the branches, stirring the thin layer of fog. “My dear Beth, I cannot break this curse. Although my suffering is minimal compared to yours, my isolation will be torture as I watch the dragons of the south carry out their plans. A day will come when
all will be made right. A Starlighter will rise from the dead who will be able to destroy the schemes of all the wicked. The sacrifice presented to her will cause her to suffer more than both of us combined, and if she chooses that path, she will gain nothing for herself, only pain.”

“It will never happen. You prophesy impossibilities to appease my anger. No human would acquiesce.”

“Perhaps you are right. In any case, we will soon learn if a Starlighter will pass the test.”

“This is a test?” she shouted. “We are being tortured because of a test?”

“Such tests usually have a much greater purpose. The Creator often allows us to suffer, even those who have done nothing to deserve it. Patience is called for while —”

“Patience?” Beth spat an icy ball that splattered in the branches. “Who are you to tell me to be patient? I am an Enforcer! My role has been in place ever since the beginning, and it cannot be thwarted! When I am finally released from this prison, my wrath will be great, and you will be one of my targets!”

“Very well,” Alaph said in a mournful tone. “My sadness in losing your companionship will be bitter indeed.”