Heart Of Destiny_Book One Of The Heart Of The Citadel Page 3

  “Yes. I need your help. Will you help me, Kara?” The child held out his hand.

  “OK. But how do you know my name?”

  “We have known your name since the day you were born. You are a very special little girl. Do you not wear the crystal heart?”

  Kara nodded. Her hand tightened around the pendant that her mother had given her. Her parting words echoed in her ears.

  “Didn’t your parents say that one day you would be singled out by that present and called to a special future that only a few can perform?”

  Kara nodded again. “Mama said not to be afraid. She said when magic presented itself I would know it in my heart and I should go willingly to my calling. The magic within me would call to my teacher when the time was right. Are you my teacher?”

  “I am but one of many.”

  “I like your dragon.”

  “This is your dragon.”

  Kara’s eyes widened, lighting up as a grin curved her lips.

  “Who are you?” she asked, curious.

  “I am Chryso. I am a Dragonmerger. I am also a Djinn, a race of shapeshifters. I can take the form of anything living: plant, animal, bird, even a bug. I am not the same as you. My race is eternal.”

  “Where are you from? Do the dragons live there?” Kara, wide eyed and excited, edged around to look closer at the dragon.

  “We are from the islands of Jintessa. And yes, the dragons live there. It is time, Kara. You are a chosen one, Kara. One gifted with magic and that places you a step above all other humans. This is the destiny for which you were born. It is time your true lessons began. Give me your hand.” Chryso bent down over the side of the dragon and extended his hand to her.

  Kara placed her hand in his, and he pulled her up in front of him, settling her into the front of the saddle.

  “This leather strap will keep you from falling if Beryl needs to dive.” He buckled the strap over her legs then lifted a harness on his chest and extended it to encircle them both. “This way you are secure if you fall asleep. Hold on now, we are leaving.”

  With a cry, the dragon launched into the air and out over the wall. Kara threw back her head and shouted at the sky, squealing with delighted laughter. Minutes later, the dragon had left the land behind and winged away out to sea with Kara on its back.

  ***

  Alarm bells sounded across the Citadel of Melina, for a girl was missing. The panicked teachers led by the headmistress searched the school from top to bottom in every favoured hiding spot. They checked the seal at the gates and lined up the young men to quiz them in case this was some horrible prank instigated for the first day of school, but the girl could not be found.

  An urgent plea went out to the Citadel and special guards were brought in to assist with the search. With military precision, they searched the school and the surrounding woods but to no avail. The gates had remained locked and sealed, and no one had accessed the sole passage to the school. Bastion had been robbed of its most precious treasure, and no one knew how. A first-year female child of Bastion was gone.

  Chapter 3

  The Second Day: The Citadel

  EMPEROR MADRID STOOD by the window of his council chambers, gazing down at the provinces arrayed like a fine quilt spread out at the foot of the island Citadel. From his perspective amongst low swirling clouds, the difference between the provinces was barely discernible. He could make out the volcanic jungles of Bastion, the flattened grasslands of Samos, and the fringe of hills that marked the lands of the Cassimir. He left the north window and walked to the next tall opening and flung it open.

  To the east, the bubbling swamps of Peca were easily identified, always hidden under a cloud of steam. The steam thinned and dried up at the edge of Hindra, a desert infested with poisonous spotted camels.

  Madrid shifted to the next window. To the south, the lush orchards of Tunise filled the eye with no break in the greenery. In the springtime, the entire province was one huge blossom, the perfume reaching the lofty windows of this tallest tower of the Citadel. Next to Tunise, the mountains of Shadra rose, their cropped peaks of a height to challenge his line of sight. Some believed that the mountaintops had been shorn by the gods.

  One more window. Madrid shifted to the west where the sun blazed on its journey to the horizon. The final three provinces were visible through this window. The fast racing waterways and deep inlets of Fjord sparkled in the late-day sun, shining ribbons of silk teeming with fish and snakes and purple crayfish, the rarest of delicacies. The houses there were built into the hillsides to stay above the flood plain during the spring rains and snow melt contributed to from the neighbouring foothills of Tyr and Bastion. Tyr was the only real mixed economy, enjoying grasslands and mountains and also boasting three islands, although no one tempted the monster-infested waters by going out onto them. Wydra was a rocky land strewn with boulders and grey lions large enough to ride. The nomads of Wydra trained some of the best carvers in the world.

  And as emperor, these were the lands of his dominion.

  Madrid had come to power in a roundabout way. When his predecessor fell ill, the council of twelve had sought out an emperor who was neutral to all parties involved. Each counselor was nominated from his or her province to represent that city state in the governing body of the Citadel. The other two positions were normally taken by the current emperor and the past emperor, assuming he lived to fill the position. The emperor was normally nominated by a vote of the council with the outgoing emperor casting the deciding vote in the event of a tie.

  But when the emperor suddenly fell ill (poison was suspected), Madrid had been pressed into service. He had been serving as the emperor’s censor, his conscience. The role of a censor was to provide a dissenting view should the emperor’s theories or plans grow out of alignment with the council. Madrid had been groomed personally by the emperor and was a familiar face to the council. While they did not trust each other, they did trust Madrid and had unanimously voted to raise him to full emperor.

  That had been six months ago.

  Madrid smiled. He had big plans for the provinces. Very big indeed. If the current rumours were true, then they were about to turn to their emperor in record numbers and beg for his intervention.

  At that moment, the door behind him opened and the counselors filed in, one by one, to take their appointed chairs around the council table.

  Each member’s chair was a product of his or her homeland and carved with the emblem of that province. No two chairs were alike. The chairs were placed around a circular marble table with thick carved legs, large enough to seat all twelve and in their exact positions in relation to each other within the world. In these tense times, the arrangement sat quarreling neighbours beside each other, within striking distance should tempers flare.

  The emperor’s chair was located in the center on a platform that swiveled on a disc so that he could turn to face the speaker at any given moment. Madrid took his seat and waited, studying the men and women as they settled into their chairs, their personal guards at their backs. For every member of council, there were at least two personal guards. No two entered side by side, casting suspicious gazes that blanketed all present.

  Once all were seated, the Citadel guards closed the door and took up positions on either side to guard the entrance. The Citadel guards were the fiercest of the forces, handpicked and trained at the Citadel for just this purpose. To squash wars and squabbles and rebellions before they had a chance to flame into open conflict.

  Their continent had long operated under a loose confederation of provinces. Each enjoyed complete autonomy over the internal affairs of their people. Once a year, the provinces were required to send a tribute consisting of the choicest cuts, the most succulent fruits, the finest gold or silver, or the fattest catfish. In short, the best of the best of their lands was due, in tribute to the Citadel. They were allowed to turn the tithe into gemstones and send those instead, but either way, the tithe tax was owed. In return, the Citadel
acted as an overall governing body, resolving disputes and conflicts between the provinces. It also trained guards to enforce peace between provinces and pulled from the sons of the provinces. The young men were chosen by lottery so as to not leave a family bereft of the help of one of their only two children. After a four-year tour, they were sent home to their people. Once every ten years, a son was sent to stay with the guard, never to return. This tithe of a tithe was also drawn by lottery. He was chosen to be “the son of all,” stripped of his original name and given a new name and a new identity. He was to forsake the family of his birth to train with the elite forces of the Citadel. Most lands considered this to be a great honour, to have their child selected to serve the Citadel.

  But in every land, some practiced the old arts. There were always those that clung to dark, unenlightened beliefs, involving magic. These heretics were a quiet minority that hid in open view, practicing their ways away from public light. Their secret society, called the Jintessa Ru, was not loyal to their emperor nor to the provinces in which they lived. Sometimes associated with witches, the Jintessa Ru was a society of women, ruling their societies through influence and position but always from the shadows, from the wings.

  Madrid’s gaze fell on the representative of Peca. The woman was tall, taller than most of the men and willow thin. She had long blond hair that hung to her waist and the narrow eyes of a hawk. She sank gracefully into her chair of moss and ferns blending into it so thoroughly as to be almost invisible in her gown of green. The people of the swamp practiced a black magic that cast illusions and tricks of the mind. Although they did not openly avoid the selection process, somehow the selector passed over them more often than not. Without a doubt, the Jintessa Ru could be found there.

  Madrid’s eyes flickered from one counselor to the next. In each, he saw the seeds of rebellion and the roots of sorcery. He settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers as the council began their debate.

  Turmoil. Confusion. Accusations.

  Bastion had been robbed and was blaming its neighbours. The counselor for Bastion actually shook his long finger under the nose of the squat woman from Samos so vigorously that he nearly shoved it up her nose. The woman swatted it away, and the councillor made a large-scale production out of removing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands as though they were covered in dung.

  Shouting ensued, harsh words delivered with an insulting slap of the tongue and more hand waving and growled threats. The gestures were rude, and the language foul with the provinces lining up alongside their allies, whether through trade or marriage and not always with borders in common. They formed the familiar blocks for dispute and voting that were seen in every forum. Madrid yawned, bored, and after ten minutes held up his hands to silence them. The counselor from Hydra was left shouting into the sudden silence about cursing the boils they called cities with the diseased excrement of a spotted camel. Madrid glared at her until she sank into her chair. The remaining councillors smirked to each other before turning their attention to Madrid.

  Madrid rose to his feet, silver threaded robes glinting in the final rays of the sun, streaming in from the west. Servants entered from a side door and lit some lanterns before bowing and retreating out of the room. Once the door was closed, all eyes settled back on his throne.

  He said in a soft voice that carried to every corner of the hushed room, “Do I have your loyalty? Do I have your allegiance?” The councillors shifted in their chairs and would not meet his eyes. His cold gaze travelled over the assembled faces. Only the counselor from Bastion had the courage to confront his stare. “Of course not. Who here believes that this is an isolated incident? Who here believes that they are sufficiently prepared to prevent a similar tragedy from striking within their borders?” A balding man from Wydra coughed, drawing every wandering eye. “You are fools, each and every one of you.” Madrid glared at him, annoyed at the interruption. “Commit your children to the protection of the Citadel. Who among you can afford to lose as much as one child?”

  The wild-eyed mountain of a man from Wydra stood, deerskin fringes swinging as he raised his arm to point at the representative from Tyr. “If anyone is snatching children, it is the Tyrians. They commune with the monsters of the sea! Any people who can talk to those creatures must practice sorcery. I say we enslave their children and give them to the other provinces. That is what I say. Take out the heart, and the beast lives no more!”

  The chamber roared again with fury, everyone springing up out of their chairs once again, shaking fists and flailing about with their hands, shouting to be heard over the others. All except for the representative of Bastion who sat still and silent, letting the words wash over him, his eyes fixed on the emperor.

  Madrid raised his hands once again and the shouts lowered to angry muttering.

  “The councillor from Bastion wishes to speak.”

  The councillor stood up, smoothing his emerald green tunic. When all were silent, he reached inside his pocket and withdrew a burgundy drawstring bag of monkey hide. All eyes followed the bag. He loosened the drawstring then handed the bag to Madrid.

  “Emperor, when the search of the Citadel was complete, the only thing found that did not belong despite our strictest security,” a soft snicker slid from the Samos councillor, “was that.”

  Madrid emptied the bag into his hand and out tumbled a tooth. About the size of his hand, the fang was black at the gum line, whitening as it tapered and narrowed to a point sharp enough to pierce dried hide. It was a fang of a size never seen before in Gaia. Madrid held it up for all to see. “What do you make of this?”

  The councillors shook their heads. No one knew what it was.

  “Bring me evidence of this creature, and we will discuss the incident further.” Madrid turned to the counselor from Bastion. “One missing child is insufficient to secure the defenses of the Citadel on your behalf, especially when you have no evidence to support your accusations against Samos.” That earned the Bastion councillor a harsh glare from the Samosian representative. “Bring me evidence of the identity of the snatcher, and they will be dealt with harshly. Until then, this assembly is dismissed.”

  Madrid sat back down, pocketing the fang. He knew exactly what it was.

  Chapter 4

  The Third Day: Cassimir Province

  SHREYA FLATTENED HERSELF in the tall grasses, her spear at her side. Nothing moved except her eyes as they swept over the herd of fat elk that munched on the dying fall grasses. They grazed with a devotion and focus that all wild herd animals knew with instinctual understanding that the shortening days would soon bring snow and tough fodder. Shreya’s naturally tanned skin blended perfectly with the browns and oranges around her.

  The bull raised his head, chewing with tufts of grass sticking out of the sides of his muzzle and studying the hills that hid predators of all kinds. Shreya raised her head and a heart-shaped crystal swung out from her neckline, a many-faceted pendant on a leather cord. The sun caught the crystal and rainbows burst from it before she grabbed it and tucked it back inside her shirt.

  The bull snorted a warning. In the space of one second to the next, the herd was in full flight racing away from Shreya, alarmed by the flashes of light alerting them to her presence.

  Cursing, she pushed herself to her knees and picked up her spear. The sun was setting. She couldn’t delay any longer, lest she incur her father’s wrath. The welts from the last punishment had barely faded from her skin. Shreya abandoned the hunt and reluctantly headed back to her family’s tents, dragging her feet. She knew that the day of choosing had finally arrived. Once a year, the children of the village who had seen between ten and sixteen summers, were gathered to be tested for magic. Those that passed the testing were set aside to become wise women and wise men. Their training began that day. From the age of ten summers on, those with magic were no longer allowed the play of children. At the age of fourteen, Shreya had managed to keep her magic hidden, but she knew this was the ye
ar that she would be discovered. The wise women of the village had been watching her closely, and this year’s chief shaman never failed to find magic when present. The cauldrons were set, and the potions brewed. All would see her magic when she drank the potion. There was no fighting the hallucinations created by the brew.

  She set off along the animal trail that led into the rocks and across the undulating hillocks. Just outside her village a boy of fourteen launched himself off of the top of a bolder and dropped onto her back. The collision sent the pair of them tumbling across the grass, and they rolled and rolled until she came up on top, pinning his shoulders to the earth with her knees and panting heavily. A leather thong similar to hers rolled out of the neck of his tunic. She ignored it other than to flick it off of her weapon. She’d drawn her bone knife in the tumble, and the dull side of the blade pressed against his throat, which jiggled with laughter, making it bounce. Seeing who her attacker was, Shreya withdrew the knife, tossing it to the grass at her side, but not before she had replaced it by pressing her forearm against his throat, pinning him to the ground. He continued to laugh, and, annoyed, she pressed harder into the soft flesh under his chin. Her shoulder gave an angry throb of pain. She had scraped it tumbling past the ground cactus’s sharp thorns. It really did hurt.

  “That wasn’t fair. I am not supposed to get dirty, Jael! These are my choosing pelts! If there is so much as a scuff on them, you will explain to the elders why. Promise me, now!” She pressed her arm harder.

  “Okay!” he choked. “Okay! I promise. Now let me up.”

  Shreya frowned down into his brown eyes and then with huff sat back, blowing a loose strand of hair from her braid out of her eyes.

  “You promised!” she said and got off him but did not offer to help him up. Instead, she examined her tunic, double-checking the beadwork to assure herself that all of her careful stitching had not snapped. She was horrified at the embarrassment she would feel if the stitching failed during her ceremonial dance. There had been one ceremony where the candidate’s stitching had come loose. Her beadwork had unraveled faster than a binding made of smoke. Shreya brushed dirt off her knees, and her soft-tooled boots then crossed her arms. “What are you doing here, Jael?”