Fire spews and ice follows. The world Drakonis is near death
and all life has fled. Except for Brennan, the thief who hears mysterious
directions to Castle Drakon on the wind, and brothers Bastian and Cole, who
choose to follow her. Then there’s Halley, an exotic dancer from the burning
cities, and Audri, who refuses to speak.
These five are the last and it is their task to ensure at least memory remains, or Drakonis will be eternally forgotten. To ensure this, they must find Castle Drakon.
In a grotto under the ice they discover three others alive and before the warmth of a fire hear of a mighty legend. Unravelling its mysteries could lead to a way off a dying world. An ancient light will illuminate their path.
Chapter 1
Fire in the Grotto
The flames are bright, because here it is safe; here no light is able to escape to reveal us.
The fire is
hot, and we are glad of it; most of us have been cold too long, most of us
cannot now remember ever being warm.
We ran from
fire, yes, into ice, but it feels as if that heat was a lifetime ago. We cannot
recall a full stomach either or remember when last we drank of fresh water.
I reach my
hands for the flames and for a moment I believe I can hold them and set them
alight inside me. I am weary of cold. I am terribly weary of running.
This is why I
am here.
I hope, now,
with the end approaching, I may stop running. Although it may be that we dupe
ourselves only with what hope is left, in this desire I am not alone.
Opposite the
fire there is Bastian; his head is bowed, his dark hair filthy, obscuring his
face. We have now run together, but we also met before, once, in our old lives.
Next to him
is Cole, also dark-haired, almost asleep due to the unaccustomed sense of
release and comfort.
They are
brothers, but very different I think, despite similar appearance. I know Cole
better; we have sprinted rooftops in that other life. I know he misses it as
much as I do.
Crouched
apart from us, fingers white around clumps of old straw - which is what we’re
sitting on - there’s Halley, a dancer from a distant city … at least, this is
what she claims. None of us have seen her dance. She appears the most
frightened by our gathering; she does not trust easily. It will take years to
undo her natural distrust.
Do any of us
retain belief in these times, truth be told? Halley, particularly, is ever
skittish, though. Her past weighs heavily on her. She is the most exotic of all
of us, with curled golden locks, caramel skin, and the darkest eyes I have even
seen. I like her and I think Cole does too, although his is a different kind of
like.
And then
there is Audri. Pale and fair and graceful; she
looks like the dancer among us. No one has heard Audri speak. We do not know if
she cannot or whether silence is a choice she made or was forced into some time
in her past. She stares into the fire unafraid. As ever, she is self-possessed
I think she
feels me looking, for she lifts her green gaze to me, and smiles. I want to
embrace her, for that smile tells me we made the right choice.
We have run
far, from fire and death into this terrible cold, holding onto only hope, and
here, if for a brief time, we may sit and experience the warmth of a comforting
fire. This little blaze has not the power to destroy.
An instant
later I wonder how far we would go to keep this respite inviolate. It is a respite only, whatever we choose to
fool ourselves with.
Bastian would
kill for it, I know; he is the oldest and has run the longest, and seeks to
protect his brother Cole.
Me? I would
back him up and wield whatever weapon is to hand.
In this I am
no doubt a fool, but I am weary of running.
The grotto is deep below the surface
of this ice-ridden plain.
Bastian found
the entrance in the rubble underneath the cliffs that mark the start of the
highlands. Already on the edge of life for months, we drew from the reserves
that come only with desperation, and crawled in after him. We shuffled for
hours, one behind the other, in absolute darkness, until flickers of amber
light revealed we had not imagined the summons or directions, that trust was
not misplaced.
All of us are
adorned with ragged knees and shins, torn palms and broken nails, but we are
also so dirty and tatty you cannot distinguish fresh wounds from old.
After an hour
of sitting, an hour of heat, we wonder if trust led us right. Nothing moves
other than the flames, and there are no sounds of occupation … and yet someone
built this fire.
Bastian looks
up at me, a question in his blue eyes. I wish we lived in a different time, for
I want to lay my hands upon his cheeks and tell him not to worry. I, after all,
led them across the plain. My words brought us here.
“Ah, I see
you have thawed somewhat.”
A man enters
from the shadows behind Bastian and Cole - the brothers’ jerk around - his
movements slow and careful. He seeks to put us at ease, I realise. His hands
are displayed as empty, a gesture of peace.
He is old,
very old. Wrinkled, barely any hair, and what he has left is pure white. He
wears a black robe, a frayed length of rope knotted around his middle. Pouches
hang from it. There is a rustle from one as he moves, and another tinkles
slightly.
His feet are
bare and he has no beard. I am glad of it; a beard would be too much
stereotype. I have seen his kind crouched on street corners in the cities,
begging for alms, ignored. This old man is no tramp, though; there is an air of
confidence about him.
He cannot
survive a climb into the highlands, I think. When we leave here, we leave
behind a skeleton, for he will not survive the fate of Drakonis much longer.
We all stare
at him as he walks around the fire to come to a halt beside me. A hand descends
to my head and rests there.
“Welcome,
Brennan, and thank you for bringing your friends.”
I cannot
react; I am paralysed by that touch. The last time someone touched me to impart
only comfort is now almost lost to memory. I am undone by the pathos.
Bastian
reacts swiftly. He hurtles to his feet. His eyes seem to flash in the dancing
amber light. “We heard the summons and we listened to Brennan, but blind belief
may have led us astray. Who are you, old man?”
“Bastian, all
your questions will receive answer. Please sit. You are safe here.”
Cole reaches
up and hauls his brother down. “We trust Brennan, brother. Relax.”
“You trust her.”
“And you trust
me, right? Give it a chance.”
Cole and
Bastian trade stares for a while until Bastian eventually nods and looks away.
That hand is
still on my head. It smooths my hair with careful strokes and then it is
removed. I feel … bereft. I look up to see pale eyes twinkling at me, and I
smile. Perhaps it is all right. I hope with all my heart blind trust has not
led me astray. How do I answer to that? If I came alone it would be my mistake,
and I would have to live with it, but I am not alone, am I?
“Who are
you?” I ask. My voice is hoarse.
The old man
settles into the empty space beside me, hands resting on knees. A pouch thunks into
the straw. There is something heavy in there.
“I am
Winter.” He smiles and waves a hand. “Not my real name, but I’ve forgotten in
the long march of years what my mother called me. Someone called me ‘Winter’ in
jest as a lad, and it stuck. Some now believe it’s because I love the feel of a
decent fire.”
“Which means
you must be cold,” Bastian mutters. He does not mean cold of body.
Winter
smiles and chooses to take the comment as meaning his flesh. “I am, yes, all
the time. This here is a cold land, young man. We are far north of the equator
and it was cold even before the fires began in the south. I now believe fate
gave to me this epitaph of ‘Winter’, for I am destined to live out my final
hours under this ice field. We go together, a final symbiosis.”
“Why are we
here?” Cole demands, ignoring the old man’s explanations.
He does not
do so out of disrespect; he simply understands we have run out of time.
“You are here
to know yourselves before your end march. Your time has come.”
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