The Flame of Wrath (2 page)

             
The symbols inscribed within the doors began to glow. It was as if a light from behind the doors shown outward, piercing through each symbol with zealous might.

             
The air filled with the sound of stone scraping loudly against stone as the ground began to tremble. Just beneath the doors, the pyramid’s true door opened to reveal itself as a gaping wound.

             
Timidly, Aurea moved toward the opening. She gazed down into it with a fearful frown. Nothing. There was nothing. It was as if the stone steps led into the very heart of darkness.

             
Her clammy hands gripped at the airy fabric of her chiffon. She bunched the material within her fists, pulling the hem from tickling her ankles. With a determined air, she pressed onward. All that mattered in that instant was claiming what was rightfully hers.

             
Little by little, she was consumed by the darkness. It crept around her, swallowing her profile so that to the Druids she was little more than a halo of gold at the crown of her head.

             
Alone, she braved the descent.

She could feel each cool stone beneath her bare feet. The gritty surface of the ancient pathway hinted to the temple's true age. It was within the archaic corridor that some of its wisdom seeped into her thoughts. She realized then that each step taken was a conscious movement toward her destiny.

              In the darkness, it was hard to know precisely where she was or even if she was safe. However, she possessed an advantage others did not. Where others were pitilessly blind, she could see the world in various shades of blues. This was what it meant to be guided by the flames present inside her royal eyes.

             
She scoured her surroundings, allowing her flaming pupils to light her way. In their dim light, something urged her to go forward.

             
A whisper came. It was faint at first.

             
She froze.

             
It came again, but this time, the voice seemed as though it spoke directly against her ear.

             
Who are you? What do you seek? Why have you come?

             
Aurea jerked violently away from the voice, swinging out blindly into the darkness.

             
When the voice rang out again, it tickled her opposite ear. Its sudden change of direction startled her.

Soon one question echoed and overlapped until the voices were out of sync while unified in a solitary question.

              What kind of soul will you be when you face Her?

             
She pulled away from the voices so hard that she stumbled. She felt the sharp edge of the walkway warn of its sudden end. Her hand reached out desperately in a gesture of lament. With fingers splayed and eyes alight with panic, she screamed as she fell backward into a fathomless abyss.

********

              Their murmurs rose to tempt the young woman from unconsciousness. Long golden lashes fluttered apart to reveal dim blue eyes. Her cheek rested against the rough surface of uncaring stone. It felt warm against her skin contrasting greatly with the cold steps in the corridor. She suddenly remembered the fall and the voices which had caused it.

             
Tensing, she lifted her head. Her reward for the harsh movement was the instantaneous throb felt at her temples. She released a pained groan.

              Clutching at the floor beneath her, she struggled to push her body up. A great circular weight resting against the floor hung down from her neck. Its hanging weight fought against her as she battled to rise. She attempted to ignore it, staring instead to the flash of colors glinting within the pyre's warm light. The garments holding her attention were not the ceremonial chiffon she had worn before. Had someone redressed her?

             
The murmuring voices, she remembered.

             
She had thought they had merely been a dream, but as she searched around her, she could see the druids standing ominously around the hall. Her eyes fell on a druid leaning to whisper his thoughts into the ear of another. The sight sent her blood boiling with memories.

********

             
She ran as fast as her small legs would carry her. The wind whipped through her thick blond curls. It had been a mistake, a horrible mistake. She had not meant to release the hand of her chaperon, but what child could resist the urge to gaze longingly upon a window revealing sugary treats. Now she was somewhere within the province's heart without a soul to save her from the one thing which she had once foolishly believed she wanted most in the world: other children.

             
A group of seven children had formed a pack to hunt their quivering prey.

             
She sprinted through the congested streets, a blur of soft blue in her tattering toga. Her small hands pushed and shoved her way through the throngs of Pyrosians. At her back, she could clearly hear the spirited footfalls of her pursuers.

             
“This way,” a boy called. “I think it went this way!”

             
Tears of bitterness raced down her cheeks. She took a sharp turn to the right, seeking out an escape. Her head turned to look over her quaking shoulder. She could see them coming.

             
The wind was ripped from her tiny body as she impacted mercilessly into a dead end. She fell backward to the cobblestone street.

             
Shadows fell over her in a tightly woven crescent. The children stared at the crying girl with looks of morbid fascination.

             
“What is it?” one boy asked.

             
“Is she a Lucidian?” a girl asked fearfully.

             
“It's a freak,” another boy answered definitively.

             
She huddled within a corner. Tremors quaked her small frame mightily. Despite the sweat and dirt now clinging to her rosy cheeks, she possessed a beauty which was almost unearthly. And yet, her eyes, her tearful blue eyes were what gripped the children most. Her eyes were unnatural. The fear inside them insisted upon causing her eyes to flash to a scarlet red.

             
Blue then red. Then blue then red.

             
The alternating colors pulsing wildly within her eyes were a horrifying sight to the nearby children, but it was her pupils which frightened them most. Inside their depths, a flame of pale blue swayed. Its color matched the eggshell-blue of her dress.

             
Her hands clutched her golden curls. She peeked out from behind her bruised arm. Her gaze was met by scorn and disgust, by curiosity and fear. She shivered as the children watched over her.

             
A little girl leaned toward her friend. Though she had attempted to speak into her ear, she had failed to speak softly enough to go unheard.

             
“She's a monster.”

********
             

             
The blond rose to her feet with flames burning brightly inside her sapphire eyes. Age had granted her eyes an end to their temperamental flights of ruby, but nothing would ever deny the flames their right to burn inside her eyes. She glared around her with the light of the pyre's falling most heavily upon her cascading curls. The pure light threatened if only for a moment to rival the splendor of her full curls.

             
She felt a sudden sense of loathing rising within her. It was a familiar feeling. She stared among each druid while wondering what gave these men the right to judge her. And yet, she knew that even as she stood motionless before them, all eyes upon her were doing precisely that: judging her. It had been this way for days. She had endured hours of nonsensical questions, performed a variety of numbing rituals. Now, she craved nothing more than to be free of these cursed druids.

             
Her petite form fought not to shake with rage though she was fully aware that to the druids studying her so closely, it would appear to be apprehension. The loveliness of her face might have somehow softened their gazes could they but only glimpse it. Unfortunately, that face of youthful beauty had fallen beneath the shadow of her discontent.

             
“Do you understand the task to which you are bound?” a voice spoke.

             
There was no answer from the flaxen-haired vision.

             
The voice filled the room as readily as the shadows which possessed this place. “Lady Aurea?”

             
Aurea refused to lift her head. Instead her heart-shaped mouth broke for the small crowd. “I understand that I must be made to lumber about with this weight on my neck like some common servant,” she answered bitterly.

             
A steady rise of murmurs bled together. The one thing they each voiced in common was their general displeasure with her words.

             
She sighed loudly then dropped down to her knees. The childish act sent her ceremonial robes of warm pumpkin and shining ruby to mushroom outward around her. She balled her fists and let them fall angrily to her lap. The forceful jerk commanded the air to leave her robes with a whooshed gasp.

             
It was then that Aurea lifted her gaze. Her smooth skin was flushed with anger. The roundness of her doe-like eyes did not possess their usual softness. Her cerulean gaze did not shimmer with their usual zest for life. Instead they burned with her contempt for what she did not understand.

             
From the throng of onlookers, one stepped forward. This druid was a startling lily among a sea of red roses. Aurea instinctively knew that this was the one whom had spoken before. She narrowed her eyes upon him.

             
Staring out from beneath his hooded cloak, she recognized the sparkling depths of crimson eyes.

             
Each pair of eyes to stare heavily upon her shared the unmistakable glow of red. Their eyes were the very symbol of their spiritual tie to the Goddess just as her eyes were a symbol of her connection to the Great One. Inwardly, she scorned them.

             
How could these men of faith possibly be more connected to the Sacred Fire Dragon than her? Was she not the child chosen to rule by their beloved deity? Who were they to dictate to her?

             
Pale lithe hands reached upward to gather the starch white fabric of his hood. He pulled the covering back, revealing his thin chiseled face. Though he was young in appearance, in actuality, Soren was the oldest and wisest among them. Two hundred years had granted him the knowledge of the world which he applied to everything.

             
Soren continued to stare forward. His almond-shaped eyes were unwavering. The intensity of his gaze had been framed by the fierce straightness of auburn hair.

             
Soren glimpsed the world unlike anyone outside of the chosen druids. He and his brethren viewed their surroundings amidst a dancing medley of colors. Each entity of mass possessed an aura, a life that wavered with life's eternal flame. It was a druid's gift that he could bear witness to that light.

             
Soren, however, was unlike his kin in that he witnessed events before they came to pass. By all accounts he was blind. And yet, he glimpsed flashes of the auras around him in enough time to react accordingly to things as simple as a small rock in his path. In this particular moment, he saw the immovable boulder in his path.

             
Aurea's aura frightened him. Soren realized then that the glimpses of selfishness radiating in throbbing colors around her were not privy to his sight alone. The others could clearly see it. They would also deem her unworthy of her appointment. Still, it was not their duty to choose the Dragon Child. They were there simply to enforce the Dragon's will. And Her will was that Aurea rule.

             
“The weight you carry is a reminder of humility,” Soren explained. His voice was lyrical and soft. It was much like the almost feminine beauty of his face. And yet, it commanded a strength which voiced forever. “The weight upon your shoulders symbolizes the responsibility you have to your people. You must carry them beyond despite the obstacles which may lie in the future. You are their salvation or their destruction, Aurea.”

             
His words lingered in the air.

Soren never once allowed his eyes to shift from the brooding young woman. He noted the change of her aura in the moment that such power was mentioned. Slowly, he arched his brow.

              “So,” he thought, “this is what drives her. Power is her Higher Destiny.”

             
Aurea narrowed her eyes warily.

             
A druid stepped forward. His hands removed the weight hanging from her neck. He stood aside as two other druids moved toward her.