The Magic Wakes Page 2

  “Lights.” Talia flinched as the lights flared on. “Dim fifty percent.” The room automatically adjusted to the command.

  The leather journal waited on the bedside table. It was cool in her hands as she hugged it close. She flipped through and glanced at the other dreams she had recorded. The last time in the tunnel she found a secret library. Unfortunately, the Scalies, no, the Dragumon, had found her before she could read any of the ancient texts on the shelves.

  Talia turned to a new page. She wrote the day, time, and setting before writing:

  Tonight they spoke. They called themselves the Dragumon. What’s more it seems they are aware of me. Perhaps searching for me? They think I’m a problem. One they won’t have any trouble disposing of.

  She let Keeta crawl under the blanket to curl up next to her. His soft fur and rhythmic breathing continued to calm her while she tried to ignore how the sheet chaffed her tender skin.

  “The sunsrise won’t come soon enough.”

  Keeta sighed and fell asleep. Talia held him close and waited. He might calm her spirit, but only the energy from Sendek’s binary suns could heal her body.

  Dressed in unrelieved black, Jaron moved from one shadow to the next as he walked down the line of indistinct buildings. Three moons glimmered above the deserted street, but the crowded skyline blocked their light. He reached a passage between two skyscrapers and slipped out of sight.

  In the alley, Jaron brushed aside trash to uncover a manhole. “There it is, just where he said it would be.”

  He checked his watch, scanned the entrance to the street, and waited by the hatch. At twenty minutes after the hour, the cover rotated and lifted away from the hole exposing an illuminated stairway leading under the street.

  He slid into the opening, found his footing and climbed down, pausing long enough to watch the cover move back into place above him.

  A man waited at the bottom of the stairs, also dressed in black. He looked a decade older than the skin Jaron wore as a disguise. His hard expression matched his military haircut.

  “While we are underground you may address me as Ruin. Were you followed?”

  “No. I followed every precaution you gave me.” Jaron licked his lips. The air tasted stale and smelled of mold.

  Jaron noticed Ruin had a small red dragon embroidered on his shirt. A smile formed at the sight of it that Jaron masked by looking around.

  They stood in a circular room cut out of the rock beneath the city streets. It spanned six or seven feet across, with one door carved into the wall opposite the stairs. The ceiling loomed thirty feet above at street level.

  “What you are about to see is part of a seven-thousand-year vigil,” Ruin explained. “Few people know the true nature of our group; the penalty for betrayal is high. Do you understand?”

  “Of course,” Jaron murmured.

  “The Elders are ready to start the meeting. As part of the group, you listen and keep your mouth shut. You are an entry-level member. In order to rise among the ranks you must prove your loyalty.”

  “I understand.” Jaron lowered his head just enough to show his willingness to obey, but not enough to appear weak, a well-practiced movement.

  The two men walked down a stone tunnel lit with lights that hung from the ceiling every five feet. Jaron stretched out his hand and fingered the cold smoothness of the walls. He could feel indentions in the stone left by the chisels used to carve the tunnel out of the rocky earth.

  Ruin unlocked a large metal door and they stepped into an underground cave. The cavern they entered held hundreds of men and women standing side by side. Everyone faced a platform at the far end of the room, where five middle-aged men sat wearing long black robes embroidered with red dragons.

  “Wait here. Werner, our, leader will speak soon.” Ruin weaved through the crowd toward the platform.

  As soon as Ruin left him, Jaron pushed his way closer to the stage.

  A large-bellied, gray-haired man rose from a chair on the platform. The room erupted into cheers. The man lifted one arm and the crowd fell silent.

  “We are Signum! In ancient times, we gathered the wisdom needed to tame the mighty dragon. We waited for the chance to do the same with their spawn. For seven thousand years, we have waited patiently. Children of the Signum, the time has come!”

  The crowd once again broke into cheers. Werner paused to lift his arms to quiet them.

  Jaron pushed his way through the throng of sweaty bodies toward the front of the room. He could feel the heat rising off people as the mob mentality continued to build. People shifted their weight around, ready for action. Fists clenched and unclenched.

  “The dragons may be gone, but their legacy has returned.” The room erupted in hissing, but Werner spoke over it. “With the communications technology we’ve stolen from the Royalists, we have made contact. We will use the Dragumon to move us to power, and then we will destroy them.”

  By the time the cheering calmed enough for Werner to continue, Jaron had reached the platform.

  “We will begin with a series of minor assaults to keep the Royalists busy. I need three volunteers.”

  Jaron called out. “I volunteer!”

  With this, others called out, until once again the room echoed with the impassioned voices of the Signum.

  Jaron watched as Werner studied him. He wondered what rubric the man used to size him up. He stretched his mind and touched Werner’s.

  The older man saw a twenty something, scruffy and disheveled man with tattoos peeking out of his shirt cuffs and collar. This image must have pleased Werner, because he reached down and took Jaron by the hand, inviting him onto the platform. Two other robed men also chose volunteers.

  As Werner presented them to the crowd, Jaron noticed Ruin glaring at him from the side of the platform.

  “Here are our champions! We begin at the University in Joharadin.”

  As the crowd applauded and cheered, Jaron’s blood ran with the fire of anticipation. His plan was working beautifully.

  Chapter 2

  In the dark at the top of a tree-covered hill Talia waited for the sunsrise. The breeze cooled her hot skin and sent goose bumps down her bare legs. The city of Gneledar sprawled across the valley below. The skylanes had already filled with aeroflyers, and it wouldn’t be long before the pedestrian zipways filled.

  What would happen if they knew what I could do?

  The thought made the hair on her arms rise. She shook it off, grateful the city consulate had allowed her to retain her parents’ home after their deaths. Her father had cared for the nature reserve all his life. Now she could hide within the shadow of the trees a few miles from the busy city below her. This was the one place she felt safe to drink the sunsrise without prying eyes.

  How will I survive the dreams without the sunsrise? Talia directed her thoughts to the trees.

  Don’t go. Their deep tones resonated through her mind, sending warmth with the tremor of their strength.

  A sigh escaped. If only it were that easy.

  The first sun rose between Mount Riyou and Mount Gair on the other side of the city. Her shoulder-length hair filled with static electricity as the energy of the sun tugged at her. Sunbeams bounced off metal and glass in a glaring shower of radiance. As the second sun climbed into view, she raised her arms and drew the light to her.

  The rays swirled and coalesced as she inhaled the flowing energy. Her lungs expanded as pure life flowed through her, healing the damage from the dream. The blisters disappeared and the aching muscles relaxed. Her soul expanded until her spirit pushed at the skin, reaching for freedom.

  She exhaled.

  The excess energy seeped into the surrounding wildlife as the glow of power faded into the normal light of day. The euphoria of the sunsrise faded with each step home. Small animals and birds drew near, touched her feet or shoulders and skittered away again. They knew this was goodbye.

  You will come back, the trees hummed.

  Not this time.
I’m going to Joharadin. Talia pushed back memories of a childhood trip.

  Dreams can change.

  This one never does.

  Stay then. We will protect you.

  Talia rested a palm against the trunk of a large tree. Energy pulsed from deep in the core, warming her hand. Power coursed between them like a heartbeat.

  She spoke aloud, “They’ll come anyway. I have to fight for us.”

  And she would. She didn’t know how, but she couldn’t leave her world in the hands of the Scalies or Dragumon. Or whatever they were called.

  The trees sighed as she reached the door to her parents’ house. It was all she had left of them. Keeta clung to the vines growing up the side of the door, and launched himself toward Talia as soon as she was close enough to catch him. She carried him through the door.

  “Computer, access tram schedule.” Talia called out while she sat Keeta on his favorite pillow to sleep.

  “Destination required?” the automated voice asked.

  “Joharadin, capital of Algodova.” Talia moved to the metabolizer and punched in an order for breakfast.

  “Tram scheduled to depart Gneledar station at nine rising.”

  “Delays?” She took a bite of eggs smothered in cheese and mushrooms.

  “On schedule.”

  “Of course it is.” She dumped the full plate down the sink as her stomach twisted. Another deep breath. “I can’t fight destiny. If this is it, this is it.”

  She trailed her fingers along the back of her brother’s couch. He used to tease Talia about her antisocial tendencies, telling her Mom and Dad wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn them so long. She couldn’t tell him the truth then, and now it was too late.

  Talia walked down the hall to the bedroom, the edge of the bed sinking as she sat. Her mother’s favorite bedspread lay beneath her and her father’s nightstand waited for her to lay a book on it. But not today. Maybe never again.

  She picked up the picture of her parents and Roan on the day he graduated from the University. She wrapped it in a bright red scarf and slipped it into her bag.

  The last thing she packed was a worn volume of Sendek’s history. Her father used to tease her mother about it, saying it was fantasy because it had stories of dragons. Talia’s mother would smile and ask him why dragons couldn’t be real. They would discuss it until they were both laughing.

  Although her father didn’t believe, Talia knew her mother loved the idea of dragons sharing the planet she walked on, and Talia believed for her sake.

  An hour and a half later, Talia watched a dispatcher carry her newest deep space satellite to the station. Perhaps this satellite would bring her the proof she needed to convince the Royalist Army to prepare for the threat. They would never believe in dreams, but scientific proof? No one could refute that.

  Talia wished the SEF had reached into space earlier, but other concerns had taken precedence. With the ecosystem balanced and Algodova’s world power unquestioned, scientists across the globe were looking upward and outward. Space craft propulsions were catching up with the military tech.

  She set down the bag that held Keeta and stepped to the hall cabinet to retrieve her sketch pad, the visual record of her dreams.

  Her reflection taunted her from the mirror on the wall. This face, this age. And once, in the very outfit she wore today.

  “No!” Her fingers gripped the paperweight resting on top of the cabinet and slammed the stone into the glass.

  The mirror shattered into a web of violet eyes. Talia yelped and dropped the offensive rock. Her mother’s mirror. She gingerly touched the wood frame. None of the glass had fallen to the table.

  “I’ve finally become her. Mom, I don’t want to die.” The whisper drifted down the hall.

  Then don’t. The trees broke into her thoughts and sent a wave of strength to her from outside.

  Don’t die. Great. They made it sound simple.

  The trees sent a rumble of amusement to her. In spite of everything, their optimistic joy lightened her mood.

  Squaring her shoulders, Talia slipped the sketchbook into her bag and made sure Keeta was comfortable in his pocket. She pulled the sunglasses from the top of her head and left the house.

  Talia’s home sat on the western edge of the city of Gneledar in the protected lands on the side of a mountain. The trees formed a comfortable barrier between her and the scurrying people; but she was close enough that the city noises mingled with the rustling leaves, and the hum of aeroflyers thrummed beneath every bird’s song.

  She took the dreaded step through the dense clump of bushes her father had pruned into an archway. He had tried to convince her that the world beyond the grove was glorious and magical. How could she tell him it never would be for her?

  The magic was inside, and although she never let it slip in public, the superstitious people of Gneledar avoided her because they feared its possibility.

  On the other side of the arch, columns of skyscrapers filled the horizon. In a way, they arranged themselves as organically as the trees. Talia walked down the hill and into the city.

  The skylanes were crowded with aeroflyers, while the pedestrian traffic on the ground zipways moved at a more relaxed pace. Talia avoided the moving sidewalks and walked down the middle of the street.

  The station attendant jumped when she stepped up to the ticket window, then he stared at the counter. She wore sunglasses, what else did he want?

  Talia fought to keep her voice normal despite her clenched teeth. “Hello, Jaysen. I’m here to pick up a ticket to Joharadin.”

  “Yes, Miss Zaryn. Uh, the tram to Joharadin is a few minutes late. Feel free to wait outside on the platform.” He slid the ticket across the counter without lifting his eyes to her face.

  Talia cringed at the effort he took to make sure their fingers never touched. “It was on time when I checked,” she said.

  “Things happen. It’ll be here in another minute or two.”

  “Fine. I heard you married Bettany, congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” He turned to some paperwork, effectively dismissing her—another person that preferred to behave like a stranger.

  Outside the building several people glanced in her direction before moving to the other side of the platform. A knot formed in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her shoulders tensed. Stepping away from the building, she edged toward the rails, keeping her eyes forward.

  The muted conversations continued and the weight of the stares burned into Talia’s back. Her fists clenched and she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of her hill, her trees. The buildings blocked the view but their presence weighed heavily on her mind.

  I could stay. Continue my work on the nets until the Royalists came for me. Would they really come for her?

  If she stayed, she might escape the death she envisioned in her dreams.

  A bell dinged overhead followed by the automated message, “Tram fifty-two approaching. Please step behind the yellow line.”

  A whoosh of air shook strands of hair loose from the knot at the base of her neck, as the tram slid into the station. Talia’s reflection flickered past. Even in the swift moving windows, she stood out from the crowd, standing inches taller than other women. Her hair shimmered soft brown with gold and copper highlights. Compared to the mono-ethnic brown-haired, brown-eyed crowd she blazed with color.

  People poured out of the open doors and shied away from the woman in dark sunglasses. Superstition and fear, that’s what it boiled down to. Not a single person smiled or greeted her as they passed.

  What do they want from me? Even if I dyed my hair to blend in, I refuse to wear contacts to hide my eyes.

  People could look past the hair, but not the eyes.

  Under the sunglasses, they sparkled with the same shades of violet as the amethyst pendant. It had been a gift from her mother.

  She touched its reassuring warmth with her fingertips and stood straighter. Just because she fell in the two percent of Sendekian
s with variant eye color did not mean she was cursed.

  The people of Gneledar were afraid of her because a boy with similar eyes had changed the course of the river three hundred years ago. He had magic like Talia, but he didn’t keep it hidden. He should have.

  Talia lifted her chin. I don’t need their acceptance or companionship.

  As if to prove her wrong, a beautiful woman stepped off the tram and rushed to a man waiting for her. He touched her face tenderly, his fingers sliding down her cheek before resting at the nape of her neck. She smiled at him and talked so fast that he kissed her mid-word.

  Their embrace tugged uncomfortably at Talia’s heart. Her skin tingled to know what such intimacy felt like. She turned away and walked to the porter.

  “May I board now?” Her voice came out harsher than she intended.

  He jumped at the sound, and when he recognized Talia, his face tightened and paled. Talia clenched her jaw. Why couldn’t they treat her like any other traveler? Not once had she given them any reason to be afraid of her.

  “How long will you be away, Miss Zaryn?” He trembled at the effort of talking to her.

  “I don’t know, several months at least.”

  He actually sighed in relief. “Travel well.”

  “Thanks,” Talia mumbled and stepped aboard the tram.

  She sat down at the back of the car, closed her eyes, and waited to feel the tram move her away from the place she called home.

  Chapter 3

  P rince Stefan sat on the veranda of his palace suite in Joharadin. The capital city rose high into the sky; walls separated the palace gardens from the busy streets. He tried to relax, knowing that the energy field that kept out the sounds of city life also kept out danger.

  The rebel mess troubled his thoughts. In his early thirties, he didn’t feel old enough to rule half the planet; but with his father in a coma, Stefan did the best he could.

  This morning he wished to replace the weight of government with the carefree days of his past. Stefan sighed and tried to eat his breakfast.