Whisper
Authors: Christine Grey
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Copyright © 2015 Christine Grey
. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.
Contents
I want to offer my sincere thanks and appreciation to the following people for helping me make this book possible.
Elise Abram
, my editor. You helped me find my voice and held my hand through the scary parts.
[email protected]
Victorine Lieske
, for her beautiful cover design. Thank you for finding Darius.
www.bluevalleyauthorservices.com
,
Richard Houston, for formatting and for all those late nights where I had just one more question. Your writing has been an inspiration to me.
http://www.amazon.com/Richard-Houston/e/B009ZWHTIA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1453605149&sr=1-1
In loving memory of Grandma Mary and Grandpa Jim. They kept every scrap of nonsense penned by my little-girl hand and declared it gold. They no longer walk beside me, but they will forever live in my heart.
After that last visit, she had wanted to return the very next day to hear more, but she’d gotten into trouble for staying out so late the night before without letting anyone know where she was. She also didn’t know what to bring the dragon in exchange for the story; she knew he would be offended if her gifts lacked thought, and that was the last thing she wanted.
That was the least of her problems. The more immediate concern was her twin brother, Brint. They were so very different from one another. Where she was all legs and clumsy, he moved with cat-like grace. Her hair was inky black and reminded her of raven feathers; his was also black, but glossy and thick and always seemed to fall across his face giving him a casual, rakish look.
That was the way with them. He was so good at everything, and she was…not. She was more envious of Brint than jealous of him. They had been inseparable growing up, but as she grew older, her own inadequacies seemed to magnify, and she found herself wanting more alone time, just so she wouldn’t suffer so much by comparison. Brint didn’t seem to understand her need for independence, and trailed after her whenever she tried to sneak away. Just today, she had yelled at him when he, once again, tried to follow her. She’d felt bad about how she had snapped at him, but it had been weeks since she’d had the chance to see Brin.
She entered the dragon’s sanctuary, and was enveloped in the warmth of the cave, bathed in its usual red glow.
“Finally gave him the slip did you?” Brin asked.
“For someone who claims they don’t hear everything that happens around here, you sure seem to know a lot.” Tabitha set the bundles on the ground at her feet and brushed away the hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.
“Just because I am no longer privy to everyone’s thoughts doesn’t mean I don’t have my sources. You didn’t think you were the only little bird who brought me tidbits of information, did you? I have lots of visitors.”
Tabitha thought Brin sounded just a bit prickly, and she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the proud dragon. “Of course you do, Brin! I’m just a little touchy on the subject of brothers right now. I was a little mean to him earlier, and I guess maybe I’m feeling guilty,” she admitted. She looked down at her feet. The hair she had just brushed away fell forward again, shielding her from Brin’s close scrutiny.
“You were mean to him? That doesn’t sound like you. Feisty, stubborn, and impatient, certainly, but not mean.”
“Thanks a lot, Brin. You really know how to cheer a girl right up.”
“Don’t get cranky with me, young lady. I’m just stating the facts. If you don’t like the descriptors, then do something about it.”
Tabitha sighed before nodding mutely.
“What exactly did you do?”
“He was following me, you know, like he always does, and I lost my patience. I yelled at him to leave me alone. He said he was sorry, and that he didn’t mean to be such a pest, and he walked away, but I could tell he was really hurt by it.”
“He’ll get over it, Tabitha. You’ve done a lot worse than that, and he’s always forgiven you before.”
That part was true enough. She had been losing her temper since she was a baby. Brint, by contrast, was almost always even-tempered and cheerful. When, on the rare occasion he did get angry, it was something to see! “I guess so,” she said, “but—”
“But nothing. I’m right, as I always am.
“Now, are you going to stand there moping, or are you going to show me what you brought me?”
Tabitha shrugged and untied the first bundle. She held up an expertly tanned sheep skin. The leather was finely grained and had been stained a rich brown. Brin nodded at her and indicated with a look that she should add it to the basket in the far corner, which already held several others of its kind.
She unwrapped the second package to reveal a smoked ham of some size. Storytelling was hungry work, and she figured he might enjoy a little snack while he spoke. Brin showed real interest in the meat when Tabitha placed it before him. She smiled at her friend as he swallowed the entire offering in a single bite.
She undid the cord on the final package and withdrew a necklace which she held out for Brin’s inspection.
“Where did you ever find amber?” Brin asked.
“I traded for it. I made a paste for Milton’s sore joints for a whole year, and this was my payment.”
“I don’t recognize the fiber you used to make the cord. Is that horse hair?”
Tabitha snorted a little before saying, “Close, but not quite. It’s my hair.”
Brin looked at her sharply, but elected not to chastise her for her self-deprecation. “I accept your generous gifts. I gather you are here for more of the story, am I right?”
“Of course. Didn’t you just tell me that you were
always
right?”
“Stop being impertinent, and sit down,” Brin scolded.
“Now, let me see, where was I?
“Oh, yes. Dearra had just found out about me.
“Wait! I shouldn’t neglect Phillip’s story either. Yes, I should share that, too. I think it will help you understand more.”
“Phillip? Wasn’t he in Parsaia? Could you really hear him all the way across the ocean?”
“No, thank Tolah! I had enough in my head with the people of Maj, alone. My range wasn’t anywhere near that far, I’m happy to say.” Brin paused long enough to search through his hoard. When he turned back to Tabby, he had a stack of loose papers in his clawed hand. “These were his journal entries. Phillip proved to be a very resourceful little boy.”
“He kept a journal while he was with the Breken? How did you ever find it?”
“This will go a lot smoother if you save the questions and just let me tell the story, Tabby.”
Tabitha was so anxious for Brin to continue that she ignored his use of the nickname that she loathed.
“Sorry, Brin. Go ahead. I’m listening.”
The dragon spread the pages of the journal before him, found what he was looking for, and began to read.
Phillip
They gave me some stuff to write with. The scarred one thought it was funny when I said I wanted to keep a journal for my family. I don’t care if they do laugh at me, as long as they keep giving me paper to write on.
Father, I know you would want to know what happened to me. I have tried real hard to be brave and make you proud, but it is pretty scary here. I thought they would beat me a lot, but they don’t. Mostly they ignore me, which can make getting food pretty tough, but I manage.
I made a friend. It’s a girl. Her name is Zusia (I think that’s how it’s spelled). I call her Zuzu, mostly because she hates it when I do, and she is so funny when she is mad, and it makes me laugh. I told her when you come get me, we will take her with us. She says you aren’t coming, but I know you will.
I hope you come fast. I want to go home.
Dearra’s mouth dropped open at the revelation. A dragon trapped in a sword? The thought of it was amazing, it was wonderful, it was fantastic, it was…annoying. Why was she always the last to know these things? Her voice came out in a sort of a growl. “Explain yourself, Brin”
Oh, that’s just great! Thank you, boy! Really, remind me to do something special for you.
“Stop threatening Darius and answer me!”
Okay, okay. Well, you see, it all happened a very long time ago, Dearra. It’s been almost a millennia now. I was young then, and very proud, although, truth be told, I had much to be proud of. You’ve never seen scales the color of mine, Dearra—red, but not just any old red. I looked like the sunrise. I shimmered, and my colors swirled together so as to overwhelm onlookers with my magnificence. My eyes were like liquid gold, and—
“I got it, Brin. You were beyond beautiful. Can we get back to the story, please?”
Humph! Not very patient are you? That
is
part of the story. Well, anyway, it’s
part
of how it happened. You see, there was this wizard. I despise wizards; you can’t trust one as far as you can throw him, although I can throw pretty far.
Did I ever tell you about the time I was bothered by a band of thieves? No, no, of course not. You only just found out about me—
“Brin, please! I’m begging you; stick to the story.”
Fine, but you really are missing out on some wonderful adventures.
So this particular wizard—Hathel, by name—was a very ambitious man, but with very little in the way of skill. He excelled at subterfuge and deception, but his magical abilities were mediocre at best. One of the other wizards in his brotherhood—and I use the term very loosely—was exceptionally talented. Hathel was jealous of his ‘brother’ and would spend hours planning his downfall.
One day, the two men worked together on a potion to be used in an upcoming battle against one of their enemies. It was a volatile mixture, far beyond the capabilities of the inept Hathel. In his clumsiness, he tripped and knocked the concoction from its precarious perch above the flame that kept it simmering. Only the fact that he fell behind a heavy, steel chest saved him from the blast. His brother had not been so fortunate.
Everyone assumed Hathel had planned the execution of his rival and made it look like an accident, but such methods were smiled upon at that time, and Hathel made no attempt to disabuse anyone of their false notions. He quickly took possession of his fallen brother’s belongings, claiming them as his own.
Amongst the treasures was a scroll of great power. It didn’t take Hathel long to recognize it for what it was, a spell to trap a living being within an inanimate object.
The spell itself was an evanesco, a vanishing spell, which, once performed, would disappear from the parchment, never to be used again. Who had created the magnificent incantation was a mystery, as was the reason it had never been used before. Hathel assumed it had probably been written to imprison an enemy of its creator, and in it, Hathel saw opportunity.
He knew his lack of magical skill made him vulnerable to attack, and now that his status had gone up, he had more reason to fear than ever. But if he could enslave a dragon, he reasoned, then he would have a most powerful weapon. Fortunately for Hathel, I was a most convenient target for his machinations, seeing as I had taken up residence not ten miles from him, in one of the many mountain caves nearby.
My collection had grown quite nicely by then, and I was exceedingly proud of the glorious treasure I’d amassed—
“Huh?” Dearra said, confused by the turn the story had taken.
“Dragons love treasure, Dearra, anything rare or beautiful. They are quite happy spending their entire existence gathering gold, silver, jewels, and anything else they covet,” Darius said in an effort to alleviate Dearra’s confusion.
Crudely put, but accurate enough, I suppose. Thank you for clarifying, Darius. May I continue?
“Sorry, Brin. Go ahead.”
One day, a man came to my cave. I might have killed him immediately under ordinary circumstances, but I wasn’t fully awake at the time.
“Dragons spend a lot of time sleeping as well, Dearra,” Darius said. “They are vain and greedy, and prefer to lay idle atop their hoard.”
Yes! Thank you, Darius! My, my, aren’t we just a helpful font of information today? Don’t forget our ability to remember things, especially insults or slights, for a very long time, as well as our almost obsessive need for revenge.
Darius laughed at the thinly veiled threat, knowing that Brin was mostly bluff and bluster. “Peace, Brin’du Drak’Tir. I only want Dearra to understand, oh most noble dragon. No offense was meant.”
“Oh, stop it, you two,” Dearra chided.
As I was saying, a man came to my cave. He briefly introduced himself, saying his name was Hathel and that he’d heard of a powerful dragon living in the caves. He brought me a gift, a beautiful pearl.
I asked the intruder what he thought might prevent me from simply killing him and taking the pearl.
He responded that someone as glorious as I could do whatever I chose, but that he only meant to pay me the respect I deserved. He promised me additional treasure, as a sign of the deep admiration he held for me.
I am ashamed to say I was fooled by him. I
was
vain, and I was taken in completely. I enjoyed each of his subsequent visits. Every time he came, he praised and flattered me and offered me some small object of great beauty.
He arrived one day, after about six months of visits, wearing a gem of the deepest blue around his neck. It sparkled and glittered, and I was entranced. Hathel lay before me another gift of gold, but my eyes never left the jewel at his throat. Time and time again, he returned to see me wearing that jewel at his neck, until I could think of nothing else but obtaining that one item. Finally I told Hathel I simply had to have it. He seemed surprised, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it.
Of course I could have the gem if I fancied it, he said, but he seemed agitated, and I asked if he was regretting his decision. He told me that he had only one wish, but he felt he was too far beneath my greatness to ever ask.
I was so pleased with my new acquisition that I waved aside his hesitation and urged him to continue.
He asked me for a single drop of my perfect blood. Such a treasure would mean more to him than his life, he said. He swore he would keep it as a family heirloom for all of the centuries.
It was a very presumptuous request, but I was feeling generous. I was so preoccupied with his reverence of my greatness, it didn’t occur to me to be suspicious when he produced the crystal vial from his pocket. I mean, if he truly felt too lowly to presume to ask, why did he carry the vial with him?
He bowed before me to collect the blood, then scampered from the cave, clutching the vial to his chest. He must have begun the incantation shortly thereafter, for, alone in my cave, I started to hear thoughts not my own. At the time, I didn’t recognize the words, but I later realized that what I heard was the wizard casting his spell:
Blood of my enemy,
From across the sea.
Pure of body,
No taint can there be.
Blood of the warrior,
Wild, brave and free.
Blood of the dragon,
Imprisoned by me.
Trapped in a cage,
By the blood of all three.
Locked in steel,
Bound without key.
There was a moment of silence as Dearra reflected on the terrible trap that had been laid for her friend. “Oh, Brin. I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice a choked whisper.
“Hush, Dearra. Let him finish,” Darius told her. “If you cry, he will fall apart like an old woman.”
You’re starting to get on my nerves, boy.
Darius smirked a bit, but said no more.
For twenty years, I had no choice but to do the bidding of that petty man, listening in on the thoughts of his enemies, and sending messages to others in their dreams.
I was forced to slaughter whole villages on two occasions; it was horrible. I placed little importance on the lives of other creatures around me, as a rule, but killing for killing’s sake was unpalatable and lacked honor, and I started to despair, and often wished for my own destruction.
I would have continued on like that forever if it hadn’t been for Cyrus. He was unhappy with his lot in life, as was I, both of us trapped in situations that we found deplorable, and my ability to communicate with him enabled us to form a fragile friendship. I chose him because he exhibited a high level of intelligence, and believed he would make more than a simple warrior. It is a long story, but in the end, Cyrus found he could stand it no more, and stole me away from Hathel in the night. The two of us escaped our Breken master, and neither of us ever looked back again.
“Cyrus was Breken?” Dearra said.
“Even I didn’t know that,” Darius said. The implications of the revelation overwhelmed him; he was not alone. He was not the only Breken to have chosen to follow a different path, to have broken free of his heritage and gone a different way. That it had been only one other, and it had been a thousand years ago, made no difference.
Dearra cocked her head in confusion. “What did you mean when you said you were forced to slaughter whole villages?” she said. “I mean, you’re just one sword, and you’re very impressive and everything, Brin, but isn’t it really the wielder who does the killing and not the sword?”
This was treading on dangerous ground. Dearra was a headstrong girl. Sharing too much information with her could lead to trouble. Though it was best to be cautious where Dearra was concerned, he owed her at least some degree of honesty.
Dragons all have innate physical and magical abilities. When I was trapped in this form, I kept some, and I lost others. One of the ones I kept was the ability to breathe fire.
Dearra’s eyes grew wide with interest. “You can seriously breathe fire? How does that work?”
Darius couldn’t hear everything Brin was thinking. When he chose to, the dragon could block Darius, but he sensed hesitation on the dragon’s part, and he mentally cautioned Brin. Darius didn’t want him to share anything that might put Dearra in any future danger.
It isn’t really ‘breathing’ fire, Dearra, that’s kind of a misconception. It’s more of a consequence of a very complicated spell. It’s been so long since I’ve cast it, I’m not sure I even remember how it goes. It’s a long one, too. I’m afraid I’d bore you to tears if I tried to recite it.
“Oh, come on, Brin, you remember. Tell me, please.”
Brin saw enthusiasm for the subject shine in Dearra’s eyes. When she looked at him like that, it was near impossible to refuse her anything. How he could find himself at the mercy of such a little slip of a girl was annoying, to say the least. Tolah help him if she ever discovered how completely she had him wrapped around her little finger.
“Dearra, I hate to interrupt,” Darius said, saving Brin from spilling all of his secrets and humiliating himself, “but I’m pretty sure dinner is almost ready, and I know they have prepared something special for your birthday. You don’t want to disappoint everyone and spoil the surprise, do you?”
“Oh! I completely forgot!” Dearra jumped to her feet, but pulled up short when the pain from her burned leg, a lingering and permanent reminder of the ordeal she had suffered at the hands of Jacob only a few days ago, reasserted itself.
Darius saw her wince, and he struggled to control the flash of loathing he felt. Though he would give almost anything to erase the mark that Jacob had branded into Dearra’s upper thigh, it did neither of them any good to dwell on the wound. Darius’s only hope was that the brand had not burned so deep as to leave a mark on her heart as well.
***
Did you enjoy your birthday, Dearra?
“I suppose.”
That doesn’t sound very convincing. What’s wrong?
“Nothing, I guess. I just don’t feel...”
It’s Jacob, isn’t it? It’s not as easy to let go of the past as you hoped it would be.
A tear escaped from her eye and caught in her lashes. Her voice trembled when she spoke again. “He branded me, Brin. I feel as if it somehow defines me. As if I am forever marked as his property.”
Brin spoke gently.
You know that’s not true. You are who you always have been. A scar does not make that any more or less so.
“If it were any other scar, I would agree with you, Brin (Cyrus knows I already have my share), but I am reminded of his touch every time I feel the wound beneath my skirts.”
The burn will heal, Dearra. In time, you will forget it’s even there.
“Never. Even when the pain has faded, I will know. It makes me sick inside every time I look at it.”
Let me see it, Dearra.
Dearra lifted her skirt to expose the angry, red burn on her leg, the letter J vibrant against her pale flesh. She stayed like that for a long time, frozen in place, waiting for Brin to speak.
I think I can help, Dearra, but it means trading one mark for another. Is that something you want?
