Sorcha's Heart (2 page)

“
But you won’t,” she said, amazed at the coolness of her tone. “The stone called me to find it. You need me. If you didn’t, I’d already be dragon fodder.”

The massive beast refolded his wings and the returning light warmed Sorcha’s taut face. He shuffled his four huge clawed feet and settled himself on the lagoon’s sandy beach.

“
Very well,” he said. “Call the stone. I’ll not hinder your efforts.” He laid his huge head upon his front feet, reminding Sorcha of her mother’s sleek black tomcat.

She clung to her mother’s image; Elspeth wouldn’t let a dragon destroy her hard-earned competence. Sorcha’s heart rate slowed and the pounding in her temple subsided as she focused
on her mother’s teaching. Concentrating on the runes she’d recently discovered and taken such pains to memorize, she turned to face a large rock that broke the water’s surface a short distance from shore. She removed her leather boots, tossed them into the stiff beach grass, and stepped forward into the water, placing her bare feet in firm contact with the threshold between land and sea.

She lifted her hands in supplication and chanted the runes, giving voice to long dead syllables of an incantation ancient before her kingdom sprang to life. Behind her, she felt, as much as heard, the dragon’s low rumble as he hummed a counterpoint to her invocation.

The runes of summoning wove the triune threshold (not sea—not land; not day—not night; not dragon—not human) into a knife with which to rend the fabric of time and space. The water surrounding the rock sizzled and vaporized as the granite glowed red, turned to lava and flowed away to congeal on the lagoon’s floor. A blue-green sphere remained, hovered above the steaming mass for a moment, and then flew to Sorcha’s outstretched hands.

A cool mist of salt water kissed her fingers before the sphere evaporated and the medallion fell into her palm. Gold filigree encircled a fire opal the size of her fist. The whole dangled from an extremely long, finely wrought, gold-link chain.

Elation overwhelmed her and she whooped with joy, squeezing the medallion to her chest. The Heart of Fire pulsed in her hand. She felt the raw power straining to be free, to escape the control of the sigil-worked gold filigree setting. She had done it! Despite her mother’s dire warnings...

“
Well done, little wizard,” growled a whirlwind of sound. “Now give the stone to me.”

Gods and goddesses, she’d forgotten the dragon! Sorcha whirled to face her adversary, agile mind searching for avenues of escape.

“
The stone? Oh, well,” she said, desperate to buy time. She’d think of something. She had to think of something! “I don’t think so. I mean, I can’t just hand over this much power.” Her voice rose to an undignified pitch. “You could decimate my people!”

His laughter, a landslide of pebbles skittering down a slope of shale, jeered at her. “You don’t have a choice. I needed you to bring the medallion out of hiding, but now that task is finished.”

He rose above her, a mountain of muscle, black and menacing. In sheer defiance, Sorcha lifted the Heart of Fire and dropped its chain around her neck. The medallion thudded against her left thigh—and she knew she’d solved nothing. The dragon would slice her in two with one swipe of his claw and pull the opal from her quivering flesh.

“
No!” The cry thundered across the lagoon, lashing Sorcha’s mind with echoes of utter wretchedness. Her vision darkened and she wondered who had screamed; it had sounded more human than draconic.

Waves of pain rolled over her, tumbling her body against an unaccountably hard surface. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, didn’t understand what was happening. Air. Her lungs seared with a desperate need for air. She clawed her way to rational thought, forced her chest to expand, and gasped lungfuls of sweet, moist air into her tortured body.

She lay heaving and panting on the beach. The familiar scents of salt and seaweed, far from comforting her, inspired a violent urge to retch. She concentrated on quelling her unhappy stomach and attempted to lift her head. Pain swamped her mind and she desisted. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she dug her claws into the damp sand, and willed her body to relax.

“
Rest, little one. I am here.” The dragon’s voice, a soft rumble of distant thunder, comforted her. She wondered why, but before she could think of an answer, exhaustion conquered her anguished body and she slept.

Chapter Two

Transformation

Pain accompanied Sorcha’s return to consciousness. Muscles she didn’t know she possessed screamed their displeasure. Sand grated against the soft skin of cheek and neck, urging her to rise, but lethargy kept her grounded. The slightest movement caused a cascade of agony throughout her system. She’d never been beaten, but she couldn’t imagine that a victim of mob violence would ache more than she did. She should open her eyes and orient herself in time and space, but the task felt too strenuous to attempt. She’d find a less active way to gather information.

Allowing her eyes to remain safely closed, Sorcha turned her attention from her body’s tortured protests to the world surrounding her. She heard the roar of distant breakers and the soft susurrus of the breeze on the lagoon’s sheltered beach. Yes, the lagoon, the beach. That explained the sand under her cheek. Above those soothing natural sounds, she heard an insistent thrumming, the deepened and magnified purring of a thousand cats. The dragon maintained his vigil.

Gods and goddesses, the dragon!

She focused her attention on her enemy’s terrifying presence and discovered a strand of unknown power brushing the edge of her mind. Cat-like, it twisted and slipped away when she tried to grab it, but came willingly when she quieted her mind and ignored it. The connection it formed expanded her mind, altering its landscape forever.

Dragons whispered through this tunnel. She heard them—and understood. What’s more, she felt their pain and embarrassment as her thoughts exploded into the conversational stream.

“
Softly, little one,” Caedyrn whispered. “Restrain yourself.”

Sorcha pulled back, away from the vile, alien presence. She huddled on the sand, feeling violated beyond her ability to endure. Her body ached in a thousand places, and her mind... The sanctity of her mind had been breached. Her thoughts were no longer her own. An alien species, hostile and unknown, prowled in the depths. She couldn’t live this way.

She
wouldn’t
live this way!

With grim determination, Sorcha put aside her fear and confusion and searched her memory for an appropriate spell. An incantation bubbled to the surface of her mind and she tested its suitability for ousting the alien presence. She’d never attempted a working of this magnitude on herself before. Yes, she’d healed minor cuts and abrasions, but this problem required an application of magic she’d never studied. No matter; she had no choice.

“
Perhaps you were right, Mother,” she thought, examining each element of the spell one more time. “The price may have been too high, especially if I don’t live to use the Heart of Fire.” She sought her well of magic, always so comforting in its accessibility.

“
No!” Caedyrn cried, distress tingeing his thoughts. “You must not use human magic against the flight.” His thoughts echoed through every recess of her mind. “You’ll destroy yourself and the Heart of Fire with you!”

She struggled to shield her thoughts from this unwelcome intruder, but a new terror sapped her remaining strength and caused her to ignore the dragon’s presence—she couldn’t touch her reserve of power! She could feel it, resting languidly just below the surface of her mind, but she couldn’t reach it. Never before had her magic failed her, not since its awakening in early childhood. She retreated to a corner of her mind to search for nonexistent options.

The dragon called to her, quietly, soothingly. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he crooned, directing her attention to the bright, pulsing strand that warmed the edges of her mind. “You’re linked to
the flight now. Push right
there
to broadcast to our species as a whole. Pull back
here
and touch an individual, or blank out all intrusions like
this,
for privacy and peaceful meditation.”

When he finished, he nudged her toward the strand. “Try, little one,” he cajoled. “I’ll withdraw. Call me back.”

Sorcha, bereft of her gift and unable to think of another option, gingerly checked the limits of her mind. The connection pulsed with eager vibration, but it awaited her touch. She exhaled a long groaning sigh, savored the privacy she’d always assumed inviolate, and remembered the overtone of concern she’d detected in Caedyrn’s thoughts.

Could the dragon be worried about her? Ridiculous. If she’d detected concern, it had been for the Heart of Fire, not for her. Still, he offered assistance that she sorely needed.

“
Caedyrn?”

The link responded to her tentative touch. His presence bloomed in her mind; calm, reassuring, protective.

“
I am here, little one.”

“
How do I know your name?” Her mind-voice felt brittle, fragile as the sea-mist bubble that had surrounded the Heart of Fire.

“
I sang it into the link as you slept. Your courage demanded my respect.”

“
Courage? I don’t understand.”

His mind-voice rang through her very soul. “Open your eyes, little one. Raise your head and
accept your destiny.”

Caedyrn’s words bewildered and annoyed Sorcha. What did this dragon know about her, or
her destiny? She tried to push her annoyance away; clear thinking was required. Everything had changed. Her adversary seemed to admire her and now offered support. She needed to throw off her lassitude, face the physical pain and discover what had transformed her enemy into a would- be guardian.

Consciously holding her pain in check, Sorcha opened her eyes. The world looked wrong. Details too distant for human sight snapped into focus, while items close by dissolved in red haze. She lifted her head and swung it around, searching for Caedyrn. Her first glimpse of him wavered in that bloody fog, then her head came into alignment and his features snapped into precise focus. She wanted to shake her head. Instead, she blinked several times in rapid succession. Halfway through pushing herself up—hands planted in the sand, head oriented on Caedyrn—she froze. Information assailed her: focused sight required her snout be pointed forward; her lower lid flew up when she blinked; claws flexed in the sand at the end of her arms...

She opened her maw and screamed at Caedyrn, “What am I?”

Her words rumbled in an avalanche whose overtones assaulted her sensitive ears. Worst of all, the act of speaking agitated a strange little lump on the roof of her mouth and flame scorched the air as her scream hiccupped into silence. Cautiously, she explored the bump with her tongue, amazed that the flame hadn’t burned her mouth. A slightly acrid taste remained, but seemed to be the only after-effect. She sniffed delicately, and detected a faint sulfur odor. Her human intellect catalogued the smell, but her dragon senses found it comforting rather than frightening.

A thought intruded on her inner confusion. “Speak to me here, little one. Human speech, as we produce it, pains our ears, and as you’ve seen, it can trigger fire if not carefully controlled.” Caedyrn’s words poured across her fear in soothing waves. “But to answer your question, you are a dragon. The Heart of Fire transformed you.”