Page 49 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure (The Children Of The Gods #98)
BONDS OF WINGS AND FURY
The Two-Faced God
Excerpt
KAILIN
Five years ago
The 27th Day of the Third Month
Year 11663 of the Dragon Pact
Year 3384 post Division
It is said that you can smell death on the wind before it comes to claim its due.
Tonight, the air tastes of frost and pine and something else—something metallic and sharp that makes my skin crawl—but I ignore it and convince myself that there is no chance the monsters will come for me on the one night I'm left alone in the house.
—From the journal of Kailin Strom
I added a sketch to my journal entry, trying to capture visually the feeling I struggled to express in words.
Drawing had always helped calm my nerves, turning vague impressions and uncomfortable feelings into more tangible visual representations, but tonight, even the familiar rhythm of pencil scratching against paper couldn't quiet the churning in my stomach.
Perhaps it was the wind howling outside my window or the cold seeping through every crack and crevice in the old stone walls, but I didn't really mind the cold, and I was used to the wind, so neither could be the cause of my sense of foreboding.
The most likely culprit was my brother's impending pilgrimage and my apprehension over the fate he would learn at its culmination.
Coupled with our parents' return trip home and the potential dangers they might face on the journey, was it a wonder that I was anxious?
Shedun attacks were rare in our area, but no place in Elucia was immune to this scourge.
Still, what was probably at the root of my unease was the realization that Dylon would not be coming home regardless of the fate awaiting him at the summit of Mount Hope.
When my brother had walked out the front door this morning, he'd left our childhood behind, and the life we'd shared was already reduced to a collection of memories and journal sketches.
With a sigh, I tucked the journal under my pillow, turned on my side, and propped myself on my elbow to gaze out the window.
The auroras were particularly spectacular tonight, great ribbons of green and purple light dancing across the sky.
Their glow transformed the mountainside, casting an ethereal light over the landscape and making the snow-covered peaks shimmer.
From afar, it all looked magical, but Elucia's breathtaking beauty was as harsh and unforgiving as its people.
In the distance, I could make out Mount Hope, its sacred summit disappearing into the clouds.
Tomorrow at dawn, Dylon would start the ascent, and in three days, he would reach the Circle of Fate and learn his destiny.
In five years, it would be my turn.
Thousands of young Elucians joined the three annual pilgrimages, hoping to be declared gifted and become riders, but only a handful were selected, if any.
The ability to bond with dragons was rare, dormant until awakened by Elu's touch and coaxed to the surface by the shaman's words.
The trait ran in families, and since neither of our parents was gifted, it was highly probable that Dylon and I would be found talentless and get assigned to other branches of the Elucian military.
But there was that one distant relative who'd been gifted, and that was enough to feed my brother's dreams and my nightmares.
I was probably the only Elucian dreading the possibility of becoming a dragon rider, and there were several good reasons for that, but chief among them was my fear of heights.
It was uncommon for a mountain-dweller, and I did my best to hide the embarrassing affliction, but merciful Elu was all-knowing, and I clung to the hope that the shaman would not decree a fate I couldn't endure.
Naturally, if I was chosen, I would fulfill my duty and serve my country to the best of my ability, but just imagining myself astride a dragon sent chills down my spine.
I could barely handle a hover-car skirting a ravine even with my eyes tightly shut.
How could I possibly soar through the skies on the back of a flying beast?
With stubborn determination, that's how .
I was an Elucian, after all, and Elucians didn't let fear rule them.
Telling myself that I needed to set these thoughts aside and get some rest, I moved my journal to the windowsill and burrowed under my thick blanket, pulling it up to my nose.
The warmth slowly lulled me to sleep, but I had barely started to doze off when Chicha's warning bark sliced through the night like a thunderclap, startling me awake and sending adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I bolted upright, the loud and rapid rhythm of my heartbeat nearly drowning out the barking. But then, as my terror burned through the cobwebs of sleep and my mind processed what was probably a false alarm, I took a calming breath and commanded my racing heart to slow down.
It was nothing.
Chicha had the courage of a mouse, treating every rustling bush and passing night bird as mortal threats, but despite her tiny size, she had the lungs of a lioness and a ferocious bark.
We'd all learned to dismiss her dramatic outbursts.
In the event of real danger, the night guards would blast the bullhorns, rousing the village defenders to arms.
"Quiet, Chicha!" I called out, dragging my pillow over my head.
She barked once more in defiance before dropping to a low growl, but that didn't last long, and soon she launched into another volley of frantic barking.
I loved that little dog dearly, but right now, I could happily banish her to the sheep pen.
Not that I'd actually do it—partly because I would hate to extract myself from the warm cocoon of my blankets, but mostly because Chicha had mastered the art of wounded dignity.
She'd give me that look, all betrayed eyes and drooping ears, until guilt gnawed a hole in my resolve.
Instead, I tried to ignore the racket she was making and go back to sleep, but it was no use.
My mind might have rationalized that the barking was not a likely sign of danger, but the lingering surge of anxious energy coursing through my veins would take time to dissipate.
Sighing, I turned on my back and let my thoughts drift to Dylon and the fate awaiting him at the end of his pilgrimage. Was it selfish of me to wish for my brother not to be granted his heart's desire?
Despite the so-called immortality the bond bestowed upon dragon riders, they rarely survived to old age, and those who did seldom got married or had kids, even though they were encouraged to do so to produce the next generation of riders.
There were never enough of them.
The trait was rare and the number of gifted in the general Elucian population was gradually dwindling, but I couldn't blame the riders for not wanting to raise a family in the Citadel, knowing that their kids might get orphaned before they were ready to fly.
I didn't want that for Dylon. I wanted him to find love, to give our parents grandchildren to spoil, and to grow old in our village, where we knew everyone and everyone knew us.
The truth was that I missed him already, and he'd been gone less than a day.
If he joined the Dragon Force, months would pass between his visits home.
But if my selfish prayers were answered and he was assigned to any other branch of service, he'd return sooner and more frequently, and when his duty years ended, he'd settle back in our village, and life would continue as it should.
Dylon would hate me if he knew what I prayed for, but he would thank me later when he was surrounded by family, friends, and neighbors whom he'd known his entire life, instead of the cold, lonely skies. Because I’d volunteered to stay behind and watch over our livestock and Chicha so our parents could see him off, I wouldn't even get to hug him one more time and wish him luck before the start of his pilgrimage.
Suddenly the barking ceased, replaced by a quiet whining, which wasn't Chicha's normal mode of operation.
Something was wrong.
I bolted out of bed and hurried downstairs. My bare feet were silent on the wooden steps, but Chicha should have heard me and rushed to greet me, and the fact that she didn't added to my growing sense of dread.
In the kitchen, I found her wedged beneath the sink in her favorite hiding spot, her small body shaking.
"What is it, girl?" I reached for her.
She whimpered and pressed herself further back into her nook.
My heart began to pound. Chicha might be a cowardly little thing, jumping at shadows and fleeing from her own reflection, but in all her years, she had never shrunk away from me.
Her terror was eroding my courage, but I couldn't let fear paralyze me. I had to keep a clear head.
It was most likely a mountain lion or some other wild beast trying to snatch one of our sheep, and the distressed bleats from their shed reinforced my assessment.
A Shedun attack was always a possibility, albeit remote, but the guards in the watchtowers would have spotted the monsters long before Chicha could have sniffed them out and sounded the alarm.
Still, a mountain lion was not a beast to trifle with, and I have never taken one on by myself, but there was no one else home, and it was up to me to protect our livestock.
I could do this.
I might be only sixteen, but I had a steady hand and a true aim.
My skill with a rifle was praised not only by my father but also by my instructor in the youth training camp. Even Dylon had grudgingly admitted that I was a better shot than he was.
I can do this, I repeated it in my head as I hurried to the front door, pushed my feet into my mud-covered boots, got my coat on, and grabbed a rifle and two boxes of ammunition from the shelf above the doorframe.
My hand shook as I unlatched the locks and opened the door, but the little courage I’d managed to muster fizzled out as soon as I stepped outside.
Something felt off.