Something fought to free itself from within his mind, but as it was not able to or not allowed to, it levied pain. Pain that wrenched its way through his body, twisting away at his innards and his soul. His vision grew dim. He fell to the ground at the foot of the tower.
Thoughts filled his mind like a dream, reality bound by dreams. It was a strange and frightening dream. He dreamed of the boy he had once been. He dreamed of home, of his father and mother. He tried to force the thoughts away.
“Vilmos, control!” a friendly voice said to him.
He fought the pain, tried to listen to the voice. “I am me!” He cried out between clenched teeth, “I am in control!”
The pain grew. It was in brief moments of consciousness that the voice spoke to him, telling him to find control, to find a way beyond the pain. “The pain is their leash. Break the leash, become free.”
Other voices cried out. He gulped for air as if he had just returned from the dead. White-hot pain followed. It felt as if he were being burned alive. He wanted to tear off his skin to be rid of the pain. But he wouldn’t allow the pain to sweep him away again. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live.
His struggle was brief. Darkness enveloped his thoughts. The voices cried out telling him to come back to endure the test, yet he would not.
“Xith!” he cried out.
“I am here,” came the answer from beyond the darkness.
“Is it night already?” Vilmos asked as he sat up and looked at the night sky.
“If you say it is, it is.”
Vilmos started to reply. Xith cut him off. “We haven’t much time, Vilmos. We must hurry. Your struggle is not over. The real fight has only begun.”
“Struggle? Fight?”
“You have learned to get around their controls. They must never learn this. If they do, they will ensure you fail this test.”
“What if I fail?”
“If you fail, we won’t be able to let you live in this place. We will be forced to kill you here, once and for all eternity.”
“We?” Vilmos asked, “Kill me?”
“It would be necessary to try.”
“Try?”
“Silence, listen. Our time is growing short. I have things of great import to explain, things you must accept.” Xith moved out of the darkness. He sat on the ground beside Vilmos and stared into his eyes. Another approached out of the darkness but did not move fully from the shadows.
“Who is that?”
“All in good time,” Xith said, quickly re-directing Vilmos’ attention. “This is a dangerous business, this thing between you and I. Do you understand?”
Vilmos nodded.
“I knew what you were and yet I helped you into the world. Kept you safe. Have I made the right decision?”
Vilmos didn’t respond.
“Don’t struggle with the truth. You know. A part of you has known ever since I first came to you.”
“What have you let me become? What gave you the right to let this thing come to pass?”
“Even if I had wanted to I couldn’t have done what needed to be done until I was sure, so I waited and watched. When the time came near I felt the presence. It was then that I left. I watched you in the shadows of your thoughts, offering guidance as I could.
“If you refused my guidance I knew I would then have to do what must be done. The magic in you is great but your past does not have to be your future. Control it, without letting it control you. At times it will be difficult. You will feel it. This is when you must seize the moment. Focus. You are the key to the wild magic.
“The wild magic of the beginning when all was chaos. In life or death all things have a beginning and an ending. When one era comes to an end, a new one starts. It is an endless cycle. In the end all things revert back to the beginning. Out of the chaos comes order, but only at the very end, and at a cost that cannot be known.
“Long have I troubled over my decision. The great burden I have placed on everything and everyone you will ever touch. It may have been pity for a child that spared you. That pity may also be what changes the course of the path.”
Vilmos waved his arms, a caged bird trying to fly. “You talk as if you are leaving.”
“Of course I am, don’t be foolish. Our time is spent. Fight, Vilmos. Don’t give in. I will find you again.”
Darkness swept in from the corners of his mind. Vision returned. Reality spilled upon dream, dream upon reality. The robed figures around him started running as they realized what had returned from the darkness. Their rhythmic chants faded to a cacophony of muddled screams.
“Fools, don’t stop! You must maintain the rhythm!” cried out a strangely compelling voice, “Now we must begin again…”
“Begin again… begin again,” the words echoed in Vilmos’ mind.
A voice cried out to him in one last attempt to put reason into his mind, “Find, control… Remember, you are the sleeping dragon.”
Adrina collapsed onto her bed. She was exhausted, but pleased that Seth had been able to help Myrial. Friends, true friends like Myrial, were hard to find.
She tried to sleep. Her body was weary, but her mind wasn’t. She had so many questions, needed so many answers. She was struggling with her thoughts and deep in concentration when a hand clasped suddenly, unexpectedly to her mouth. Eyes round and wild, she resisted, fighting with all the strength she had.
She broke the grip, slipped to the side of the bed.
Strong hands grabbed and groped. She bit down in the fingers of the hand at her mouth, tasted the leather of the gloves on the attackers hands.
Her muffled screams were barely audible. The attacker was strong, wouldn’t let go. She stomped down, winced in pain as her bare foot met rock-hard boots.
“Dear Father, help me,” she prayed as she struggled. All she could think about were the events of the last few days. The turmoil in the palace. The whisperers who wanted to kill her father and everyone else who stood in the way of claiming the throne.
“Revolution,” Valam had told her. “You don’t want our family to end as King Frederick II’s.” She didn’t. King Frederick, his wife, and most of his family were murdered in their sleep. Two sons and a daughter escaped the slaughter, but they were hunted down by the new, self-proclaimed ruler.
A flicker in the mirror caught her attention. She could see the dark robes of the figure that was holding her.
She looked back to the mirror. It took a long, extended second to understand what she saw.
The attacker was a woman, just like the whisperer in the hall. Could it be the same person? Had she returned to finish what she started? Where was her accomplice? Adrina had heard two speakers—both feminine.
“Do not scream,” an ominous voice whispered, “I will lower the hand, but do not scream.”
The voice was feminine. Adrina recognized it as if from a dream.
Strong, steady hands twisted her around. She looked up into the dark eyes, saw the long flowing black hair. Momentarily her despair edged toward panic.
Then the hand was removed from her mouth. Adrina considered screaming. She could have, easily, and aid probably would have arrived within moments, but she did not scream. Instead she regarded the figure that stood over her.
“Must we always meet like this, sister?” she asked. “Can you not knock and announce yourself like a normal person?”
“Silence,” Midori said, touching a finger to Adrina’s lips.
Adrina would not be silenced so easily. “Not again, and not like this. Father has forgiven you in his heart. I know he has.”
“Dear sister, I am as an enemy to the crown and people, only the robes of my office will protect me if I am discovered.” Midori passed warding hands about the air. “It is time I told you the truth of it.”
“Truth of what?”
Another figure stepped out of the shadows. Adrina recognized the face of the burly captain immediately. “Captain Brodst?”
Midori understood the expression in Adrina’s eyes. She took Adrina’s hand and coaxed her into a chair. “Ansh and I are more than we seem.”
Adrina didn’t understand. She felt uncomfortable and suddenly underdressed in front of Captain Ansh Brodst.
“I know the ways of your heart and mind, sister. You think that King Jarom’s bitter harvest would not be so wrought if I had wed him as father commanded. Father thinks it and so do the members of the council.”
Midori paused, looked at the captain. He nodded. She continued. “I told you once that I remembered it all. That I lived with the pain and paid and paid and am still paying a debt that I never owed. You told me that you could not forgive me and that I was dead to father—that he had buried me and there was a grave marker to prove it. It is true, Adrina. No matter what I do, I am dead to father, but I am not dead to you.”
Adrina stared coolly at her sister. She started to speak. The captain cut her off. “Let her finish,” he said.
“I am not responsible for Quashan’ or the attacks on Imtal. Even if I had wed Jarom, it wouldn’t have changed the path. To the contrary, it would have hastened the path—Jarom’s path to power. He wants to sit upon Imtal’s throne and from there rule all the known lands of our realm.”
Adrina turned to Captain Brodst. “How can you know this with such certainty?”
“The shaman, Xith,” whispered the captain reverently.
Midori continued, “Xith showed me the path. With my own eyes I saw what the future would bring if I wed Jarom and birthed the child from my womb. The child that was…” She took Captain Brodst’s hand. “Not Jarom’s, but ours.”
Adrina looked from her sister to the captain, for the truth of it only their eyes could tell her. “Is the captain? Is the—”
“I am,” said Captain Brodst.
“Is that child Emel?”
Midori turned away to look out the window. A sound in the night caught her cautioned ear. “We have told you this, our deepest secret, so that you may know that you can trust us above all others. Knowing who you can trust will save your life in the days and weeks ahead.”
“Save my life?”
Midori’s eyes were drawn to movement few others could have seen. “I must go. The captain will tell you soon what we require of you in return. For now, I ask only silence and I give you this.”
Midori thrust a scroll into Adrina’s hands. Adrina unrolled the scroll.
“Read it now,” Midori commanded. “Hurry, we haven’t much time.”
Adrina regarded Midori quizzically. She started to read, felt the urge to turn back to her sister, but found that she couldn’t.
The words printed on the scroll began to move about the parchment as if they were marionettes controlled by unseen hands. The words stopped moving when they formed a dark ring. In the center of the ring these words appeared:
Dragon’s Keep
Kingdom of the Sky
Through danger deep
Death’s door does lie
As Adrina read the words the world around her began to bend and shift. She could see ripples in the air. The center ring of the scroll no longer contained words but a picture—a picture painted in vivid colors, portraying a scene that seemed utterly real. She could see a stairs, twisting and winding into the heavens. At the very top of the stairs was a door.
Midori’s eyes darted to the window. She pushed Captain Brodst to the door as it started to open. “Forgive me, sister,” she said, plunging Adrina’s hand into the image.
Adrina’s hand disappeared into the other realm the scroll revealed. A glowing white aura raced up her arm, across her chest, then down to her feet until only her head remained outside the searing white glow.
Midori stared directly into Adrina’s eyes—the last bit of Adrina that remained in the Kingdom realm. “Don’t give in to the fear,” she said. “Remember, two as one.”
Vilmos remembered and something inside of him cracked. He recognized the voice. It was Xith’s voice but something else raked at the edges of his consciousness. It cried out to be released from the blackness that surrounded it. It demanded to be freed from its prison.
The pleas were heart-wrenching. Each ripped further and further into his heart. He had to get away. He had to escape. He began to run, running until he was breathless.
He ran north out of instinct, finally stood heaving by the side of a small wading pool. The voices in his mind seemed to fade as he ran and now they were gone. He was alone.
He leaned toward the quiet waters of the pool, following the beckoning call of the cool, refreshing water. As he leaned down, the strange fiery radiance of the heavens cast his image onto the pool and this was the first time he had seen his reflection, in what seemed ages to him.
He saw a small boy, a boy not even close to being a man in that image. He didn’t like what he saw. He knew he was not a boy. His vanity would not allow him to continue in this form. He decided he wanted to be older, to be more mature looking. It took the flickering of an eye to gather the energy required and then release the full force onto himself. The power exploded throughout his body, knocking him to the ground and where a small boy fell to the ground, a man rose in his place.
Vilmos steadied himself. He looked into the pool and smiled. He liked the broad-shouldered, muscular young man staring back at him. He stared at the image for a very long time, then turned around and walked away.
He walked all morning. Something clung to the edge of his thoughts and drove him on. There were eyes on his back. He felt them.
Off in the distance he spotted a pure black horse. It looked so pristine and powerful. It called out to him to take it. He walked toward it, climbed onto its back, and with the heels of his boots, he spurred it on.
The wind flowing through his hair and blowing on his face felt so wonderful. It was then that a troubling notion came, sending his thoughts spinning into turmoil. Pain ripped through his body. Darkness enveloped him. An instant of coherent thought came and in that brief twinkling he saw the forces in his mind fighting to gain control.
A familiar voice called out to him. Against the wishes of the other, Vilmos went to it.
“Welcome, Vilmos, keeper of the new age. Stay with us. Do not flee.”
“Who are you?”
“I am he who is you. Stay with us. Let us preserve this time forever.”
Vilmos backed away warily. “No. You are not me. I am me.”
The voices grew distant. A light sparked in the darkness. Vilmos followed it. He saw Xith. Behind him was another, a stranger who seemed to loom up suddenly from the darkness.
This stranger wore a costume of feathers. Xith held out his hand and the orb of light which had drawn Vilmos blossomed. It beguiled him as it wandered through the colors of the spectrum—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. It revealed the newcomer as he truly was. Vilmos stared at the clawed hands and feet, the beaked mouth, the great wings.
“I am Ayrian of the Eagle Lords,” said the stranger. The words seemed to drift through the air into Vilmos’ ears, for surely the sound didn’t come from the throat as it did from other beasts. “Sole survivor of my kind.”
“We are the same,” came a voice out of Vilmos that was not his own.
As Vilmos stared at Ayrian, thoughts flooded his mind. Memories from the past. He remembered seeing the Eagle Clan flying over their domain. They had been a beautiful, proud race. He remembered the leader of the Gray Clan. He had also been powerful and proud. Ayrian didn’t look so powerful or proud anymore. With sudden acuity, he knew the sadness of Ayrian’s soul.
“Do not mourn for times past. We live in the present,” said Ayrian almost coldly.
Vilmos suddenly felt the bitterness that had replaced Ayrian’s pride. “Where do we go now? Is the test at an end?”
“You shall continue north, that is the direction you have chosen. Find the tower and the key. We need the key to reach Over-Earth.”
Vilmos didn’t recall choosing any particular direction.
“Well, at least we won’t have to walk anymore. A quick jump and we’ll…”
“Still so impatient. You forget where we are. Soon your memory will clear. They can’t control forever, although they try. You will know how to do many things. You will know the names of places, peoples, things from ages past. It will take time.”
Vilmos sulked. Without being asked he went to get wood for the fire. It would be a long night. The air was growing cool. He walked away into the darkness. When he returned Xith and Ayrian were gone.
“Xith?” he called out, “Where are you?” His voice echoed in empty air for an instant, then the world around him became clear once more.
“We are here,” said Xith. “You must not walk away again. Promise me?”
“Yes,” returned Vilmos.
“Listen very carefully for we haven’t much time. They come. There are those who wish this time to end. We must not let that happen. Do you understand? We must kill them or chase them from our lands. We must burn their houses and their fields so that they have nothing to return to. We must do this to ensure our survival.”
“Hurry, he comes,” said a voice.
“Vilmos, you are evil. You were spawned from evil and you will always be evil. You must help me end all that is good. The people of this land have no right to dwell here. You should rule over them. Let the power take control. Let it devour you. Can you feel it? Can you truly feel it?”
“Yes,” whispered Vilmos, enticed by the luring voice.
“Drink it in. Bath in it… You are he. Let go, follow the power! Release those that have served you faithfully through these many dread years.”
“Yes!” Vilmos shouted. A surge of power jolted through him. A part of him cried out in release. Another part of him knew something was terribly wrong. Suddenly he felt cheated and empty.
“You are not Xith! You are not Xith!”
The chanting became louder and more frantic. Vilmos fought the control. Agony found its way back into his mind, yet he was beyond pain. He had found truth.
The priests struggled to regain control. Their rhythmic cries echoed into the night sky, but it was too late. The warrior was upon them.
The warrior’s eyes blazed with hate. The muscles of his arms bulged as he gripped his long blade. He let out a guttural rasp, a blood cry, as he set upon the priests, “In the name of the Great Father, I banish you to the pits of hell!”
Pure shock and reflex made Vilmos turn away, cover his ears.
Turning away only made things worse. He could see the warrior’s movements reflected in the shadows of the campfires. He saw the warrior’s great blade lash out over and over.
Screams echoed in the night.
He fell forward. Someone wretched his arm out of the socket. He screamed, a long wailing sound. He didn’t fight back. He couldn’t move and whether frozen from fear or something supernatural he didn’t know.
Shooting pains went through his arm and shoulder. The wind went out as he took a powerful blow to the stomach. He feared this might be the end.
He was aware of everything. He wouldn’t let himself black out. If this was the end, he wanted to face it.
Strong hands levered him up. This is it, he thought, oh please, oh please, not like this.
Suddenly his hands were free, then his legs. He got to his knees, only to be knocked down. He hit the ground hard. Lancing pain radiated from a blow to the side of his head.
“Help! Somebody please help,” he heard himself saying.
“I know the truth about you,” the one holding him said. “I know your secrets.”
He saw a long double-edged knife coming toward him. He braced for the pain that he knew would shoot up his side. There was no escape.
He heard a loud crack, a sound like thunder. Blood sheeted from the man’s neck. The man’s face was frozen in disbelief. Then the man fell over like a stone on top of Vilmos.
Everything was quiet.
Vilmos twisted and turned, trying to get out from under the heavy man. The weight was lifted off. He spun around, fearing another attack.
He waited.
“Run, you are free,” whispered a voice into his mind.
Other voices followed in a flood like voracious fiends. He huddled in the darkness, clutched the golden medallion of the man who had fallen on top of him. He wondered if this was a trick, some kind of new torture.
“You are home, you are free,” the voice said.
Vilmos stood on weak legs, saw an ancient tower with its twin spires in the distance. With a jolt of unwelcome recognition he knew the tower represented two serpents. The twin spires were tails. The base of the tower, the heads. Where the serpents faced each other was a great doorway.
He listened to the sound of a bell tolling.
But something about the toll was wrong.
The toll came again. A piercing ring that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It increased in intensity until he couldn’t bear it, then it was gone.
He stared in awe.
The tower beckoned.
He went.