Vesuvius zeroed in on them. He thrust the whip into a man’s hand and pointed at a woman.
“Kill her!” he commanded.
The human stood there, shaking, and merely shook his head.
Vesuvius snatched the whip back from his hand and instead lashed the man, again and again, until he finally stopped resisting, dead.
The others went back to work, averting his gaze, while Vesuvius threw down the whip, breathing hard, and stared back into the mouth of the cave. It was like staring at his nemesis. It was a half-formed creation, going nowhere. It was all happening too slowly.
“My Lord and King,” came a voice behind him.
Vesuvius turned slowly to see several soldiers from the Mantra, his elite division of trolls, dressed in the black and green armor reserved for his best troops. They stood their proudly, holding halberds at their sides. These were some of the few men Vesuvius respected, and seeing them made his heart quicken. It could only mean one thing: they had brought news.
Vesuvius had dispatched the Mantra on a mission many moons ago: to find the giant that lurked in Great Wood, rumored to have killed thousands of men and beasts alike. His goal was to capture this giant, bring it back, and use its brawn to complete his tunnel quickly.
Vesuvius had sent mission after mission, and none had come back. All had been discovered dead, killed at the hands of the beast.
So as Vesuvius stared at these men now, standing here, alive, his heart beat faster with hope.
“Speak,” he commanded.
“My Lord and King, we have found the beast. We have cornered him. Our men await your command.”
Vesuvius grinned slowly, pleased for the first time in as along as he could recall. His smile grew wider as a plan hardened in his mind. Finally, he realized, it would all be possible; finally, he would have a chance to breach The Flames.
He stared back at his commander, filled with resolve, ready to leave this instant.
“Lead me to him.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kyra stumbled through the snow, now past her knees, trekking her way through the Wood of Thorns as she leaned heavily on her staff, trying to fight her way through what had become a full-fledged blizzard. The storm raged so strongly now, it had even reached inside the wood, blowing back these huge trees so that they nearly bent in half, and allowing gales of wind and snow to whip her in the face. As the wind continually picked up, it took all her might just to walk a few steps, the wind so loud she could barely hear herself think.
The blood-red moon was long gone, as if it had been swallowed up by the storm, and now she had no light left to navigate by. Even if she had, she could barely see before her. All she had to ground her was Leo, walking slowly, wounded, leaning against her, his presence her only solace. With each step her feet seemed to sink deeper and she wondered if she were even making any progress.
Kyra tried to look up, squinting into the wind, hoping to spot some distant landmark—anything—to make sure she was going the right way. But there was nothing but snow and trees.
Her cheek burned from the dragon’s touch, feeling as if it were on fire, even though it was just a scratch. She reached up and touched it, and every time she did her hand was dotted with blood, the only warm thing left in the universe. Her cheek throbbed, nonetheless, as if the dragon had infected her with something, had changed her somehow.
As a particularly strong gust of wind knocked her backwards, off-balance, Kyra finally realized she had to find shelter. She knew she needed to get back to her father, to her people, to warn them, but if she continued hiking like this, she knew she would die out here. Perhaps the squire, she hoped, was stuck with his horse out here, too.
But as she looked around, the wind so cold it took her breath away, even finding shelter proved elusive. She began to panic, to have visions of herself and Leo being found frozen out here in the snow—or perhaps never discovered at all. She knew if she did not find something, they would certainly be dead by morning. Her situation had crept up on her, and now it had become desperate. Of all nights to venture out away from the fort, she realized, she had probably picked the worst one.
Leo began to whine, as if sensing her thoughts, and she watched as he turned and ran away from her. He crossed the clearing and as he reached the other side, began to dig fiercely at a mound of snow.
Kyra watched curiously as Leo howled, scratching wildly, digging deeper and deeper in the snow—until finally, it gave way. She was surprised to see that he had unearthed a small cave, carved out of a huge boulder.
Kyra, heart pounding with hope, hurried over and as she crouched down, saw that it was just wide enough to shelter them. It was also, she was thrilled to see, dry—and protected from the wind.
She leaned down and kissed his head.
“You did it, boy.”
He licked her back.
She knelt down and crawled into the cave, Leo beside her, and as she crawled deeper, she had an immediate sensation of relief. Finally, it was quiet; the wind raged outside, muted, and for the first time, it was not stinging her face, her ears; for the first time, she was dry. She felt like she could breathe again.
Kyra crawled on pine needles, deeper and deeper into the cave, wondering how deep it went, until finally she reached the back wall. She sat and leaned against it and turned and saw occasional bursts of snow come in here. But none reached this deep, and back here it was quiet and dry. For the first time, she could truly relax.
Leo crawled up beside her, snuggling his head in her lap, and she hugged him to her chest as she leaned back against the stone, shivering, trying to keep warm. She brushed the snowflakes off of her furs and off his coat, trying to get them dry. She examined his wound, using the snow to clean it out, and he whined as she touched it. She was relieved to see it was not deep.
“Shhh, it’s okay boy,” she said.
As she lay there in the dark, listening to the raging of the wind outside the cave, watching the snow begin to pile up again, slowly blocking her view, Kyra felt as if she were witnessing the end of the world. She tried to close her eyes, feeling bone weary, frozen, desperately needing to rest, but as she lay there, she felt the scratch on her cheek throbbing.
Yet despite herself, her eyes grew heavy and began to shut on her. The pine beneath her felt oddly comfortable, and as her body morphed into the rock, she soon found herself succumbing to the embrace of sweet sleep.
*
Kyra flew on the back of a dragon, hanging on for dear life, moving faster than she knew was possible, as it screeched and flapped its wings. They were so wide and magnificent, and they grew wider as she watched them, seeming as if they would stretch over the world.
She looked down and her stomach dropped as she saw, far below, the rolling hills of Volis. She had never seen it from this angle, and as they flew over it, the dragon swooping down, they passed over a lush countryside, rolling green hills, stretches of woods, gushing rivers, and fertile vineyards. They flew over familiar terrain, and soon she saw her father’s fort, rambling, its ancient stone walls blanketing the countryside, sheep roaming outside of it.
But as the dragon dove down, Kyra sensed immediately that something was wrong. She saw smoke rising—not the smoke of chimneys, but black, thick smoke—and even from up here it was hard to breathe. As she looked closer, she was horrified to see her father’s fort aflame, waves of flame engulfing everything. She saw an army of the Lord’s Men, stretching to the horizon, surrounding the fort, invading it, torching it, and as she heard the screams, she knew that everyone inside, everyone she knew and loved in the world, was being slaughtered.
“NO!” she tried to shout.
But the words, stuck in her throat, would not come out.
The dragon craned its neck, turned it all the way back and looked her in the eye—and Kyra was surprised to see it was the same dragon she had saved, its piercing yellow eyes staring right back at her.
You saved me, she heard it say in her mind’s eye. Now I
shall save you. We are one now, Kyra. We are one.
Suddenly, the dragon turned sharply, and Kyra lost her balance and to her horror, fell off. She shrieked as she went plummeting through the air, ready to die, not understanding what it all meant.
“NO!” Kyra shrieked.
Kyra sat up shrieking as she woke in the blackness, unsure of where she was. Breathing hard, she looked all around, disoriented, until she finally realized: she was in the cave.
Leo whined beside her, and outside the storm still raged, the winds howled, and the snow piled up. The horrific throbbing in her cheek continued, and she reached up and touched it and looked at her fingers and saw fresh blood. She wondered if it would ever stop bleeding.
“Kyra!” called a voice, a mystical voice, sounding almost like a whisper.
Kyra peered into the blackness, and looked up to see an unfamiliar figure standing in the cave. He wore a long, black robe and cloak, and held a staff; he appeared to be an older man, with white hair peeking out of his hood. His staff glowed, emitting a soft light in the blackness.
“Who are you?” she demanded, sitting up straight, on guard. “How did you get here?”
He took a step forward, and she wanted to see his face, but he was still obscured in shadow.
“What is it that you seek?” he asked, his voice putting her at ease.
She thought about that, trying to understand.
“I seek to be free,” she said. “I seek to be a warrior.”
Slowly, he shook his head.
“You forget something,” he said. “The most important thing of all. What is it that you seek?”
Kyra stared back, confused.
Finally, he took another step forward.
“You seek your destiny.”
Kyra finally understood.
“And more than this,” he said, “you seek to know who you are.”
He stepped forward again, standing so close, yet still obscured in shadow.
“Who are you, Kyra?” he asked. “Do you even know?”
She stared back blankly, wanting to answer, but in that moment, having no idea. She was no longer sure of anything.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice so loud, echoing off the walls, Kyra felt as if it might tear apart the very fabric of the stone.
Kyra raised her hands to her face, bracing herself.
As Kyra opened her eyes again, she was shocked to see that no one was there. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She slowly lowered her hands, and as she did, she realized that this time, she was fully awake.
Bright sunlight shone into the cave, light reflecting off the snow, off the cave walls, so harsh it was blinding. She squinted, disoriented, trying to collect herself. The raging wind was gone; the blinding snow was gone. Instead, there were just mounds of snow, partially blocking the entrance, and a world with a crystal blue sky, birds singing. It was as if, after a terrible storm, the world was reborn.
She had survived the night; she could hardly fathom she had survived.
Leo nudged her hand with his nose, eager for her to wake, to get up. He gently bit at her pants leg and prodded her, impatient.
Kyra, disoriented, slowly stood and as she did, she immediately reeled from the pain. Not only was her entire body sore from the fighting, the tackling, the blows she had received, but most of all, her cheek burned as if it were on fire. She immediately remembered the dragon’s claw, and she reached up and felt it, and although just a scratch, it was still mysteriously moist, caked with blood. And as she stood—she did not know if it was from the room, or lack of food, or the dragon’s scratch— she felt lightheaded. Unlike herself.
Kyra walked on unsteady legs as she followed Leo, who led the way impatiently out of the cave and back into day.
Kyra stepped outside and found herself immersed in a world of blinding white, and she raised her hands to her eyes, her head splitting at the sight. It had warmed up, the wind was gone, birds chirped, and the sun filtered through the trees here in this forest clearing. She heard a whoosh and turned to see a huge clump of snow slide off a heavy pine and make its way to the forest floor. She looked down and saw she stood in snow up to her thighs.
Leo led the way, bounding through the snow, back in the direction of her father’s fort, she was sure. She followed him, struggling to keep up; but she licked her dry lips, and with each step she took, she felt more and more lightheaded. The blood pulsed around her wound, and she felt it had done something to her. She felt herself changing.
It was the strangest thing. She could not explain it, but she felt as if the dragon’s blood were flowing through her.
“Kyra!”
She heard a distant voice, so distant, a shout, sounding as if it were a world away. It was followed by several other voices, shouting her name, their cries absorbed by the pines. It took her a moment to understand what it was, that she wasn’t hearing things—that it was the voice of her father’s men. They were out here, searching for her.
She felt a wave of relief to know, most of all, that her father still cared for her.
“Here!” she called out, thinking she was shouting, but surprised to hear her own voice barely above a whisper. At that moment, she realized just how weak she was. The wound was doing something to her, something she did not understand.
Suddenly, she felt her knees buckling out from under her, and she felt herself falling into the snow, helpless to resist.
Leo yelped, then turned and ran for the distant voices.
She wanted to call to him, to call to all of them, but she was too weak now. She lay there, deep in the snow, and looked up at a world of white, at the blinding winter sun, and closed her eyes as a slumber she could no longer resist embraced her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alec held his head in his hands, trying to stop his headache, as the carriage, packed with boys, jolted roughly along the country road, as it had been doing all night long. The bumps and ditches and holes never seemed to end, and this primitive wooden cart, with its iron bars and wooden wheels, seemed to have been constructed to inflict the maximum possible discomfort. With each bump, Alec’s head slammed into the wood behind him, and after the first bump, he was sure it could not last long, that the road must end sometime soon.
But hour after hour had passed, and if anything, the road only seemed to be getting worse. He had been awake all night long, no hope of sleep, if not from the bumps then from the stink of the other boys, from their elbowing and jolting him awake, as the cart stopped, taking in more and more of them, and they fell on top of each other in the blackness. He could feel them looking him over, summing him up, and as he opened his eyes, he found a sea of dejected faces staring back at him, their eyes filled with wrath and evil intention. They were all older, all miserable, and all looking for a victim to take it out on.
Alec had, at first, assumed that since they were all in this together, all drafted against their will to serve at The Flames, there would be a solidarity amongst them. But he’d learned quickly that no one was interested in talking to him, or extending a smile, or showing any courtesy. Each boy was an island, and if Alec received any sort of communication, it was only hostility. The faces that stared back at him looked as if they were hoping for a fight, rough faces, unshaven, scars across them, noses that looked like they had been broken in too many fights. It was beginning to dawn on Alec that not every boy in this carriage had just reached his eighteenth year—some were older, more broken down by life, and, he realized, criminals, thieves, rapists, murderers, thrown in with the others, all of them being sent to guard The Flames.
At first, Alec had been sure it could not get any worse, sitting on the hard wood, jammed in, feeling as if he were on a journey to hell and that it could not get any worse. But, to his shock, he realized it could get much worse, as their carriage made endless stops in towns along the way—and with each stop, it became more and more crowded. Alec could not fathom how they could stuff more boys inside, but somehow they did.
When he had first entered, a dozen boys had seemed tight, with no room to maneuver; but now, with over two dozen boys inside, and counting, Alec could barely breathe. The boys who piled in after him were all forced to stand, trying to grab onto the ceiling, to anything, but mostly unsuccessful, jolted with each bump of the cart and falling onto each other. More than one angry boy, at the end of his rope, shoved another back, and endless fights broke out, all night long, with boys constantly elbowing and shoving each other. Alec watched in disbelief as one boy bit another’s ear off.
Yet at the same time, not having any room to maneuver, to bring your shoulder back to throw a punch, also turned out to be a saving grace: fights had no choice but to defuse quickly, ended with threats and vows to continue at a later time.
Alec opened his eyes as he heard birds chirping, and he looked out, bleary-eyed, to spot the first light of dawn creeping through the iron bars, and he marveled that day had broke, that he had survived this, the longest night of his life. As the sunrays lit the carriage, he began to get a better look at all the new boys that had come in. He was by far the youngest of the lot—and, it appeared, the least dangerous. It was a savage group of muscle-bound, irascible boys, all scarred, some tattooed, looking like the forgotten boys of society. They were all on edge, bitter from the long night, and Alec felt the carriage ripe for an explosion.
“You look too young to be here,” came a deep voice.
Alec looked over to see a boy, perhaps a year or two older, sitting beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He was the presence, Alec realized, that he had felt squished up against him all night long, a boy, Alec saw, with large broad shoulders, strong muscles that rippled against his shirt, and the innocent, plain face of a farmer. His face was unlike the others, open and friendly, perhaps even a bit naïve, and Alec could sense in him a kindred soul.