Beastborne: Voracious (Book 5) [Chapter 7]

Hal jerked awake, a scream bursting from his throat. Pain lanced through his chest.

Motion caught his eye, and he lashed out with everything he had at hand, his mind still wrapped in the muzzy half-formed land of sleep. A spiraling flame shot out of his extended, thrusting arm. It spat toward the dark shape, which roared as the flames splashed against it, illuminating its scaly hide.

He was certain somebody was trying to kill him. But as realization dawned, he remembered.

Why did I think I was dying in the Fathomways?

Taking stock, Hal patted his chest and realized two things immediately.

One, there was no bloody hole where he swore he had been impaled.

Two, he was utterly naked.

And then, shuffling along behind the other two thoughts, trying in vain to hide behind them was another nugget of reality: he had just shot fire out of his fist… and that fire had hit Orrittam square in the jaw.

“Sorry, Orrittam,” Hal said sheepishly.

The Noble Gold snorted and wiped the soot off with a claw. “It is all right. We tried to let you sleep, but you began to thrash and flail. When I came to investigate if you were all right….” He cleared his throat. It sounded like a muffled cannon shot. “Well, we will speak no more on it. Are you well?”

“Aside from being naked?” Hal looked around at the blackened patch of grass around him. “I… suppose I am.” It took him by surprise that the burned circle around him was already beginning to shrink with fresh growth.

Looking around the dimness of the Manatree Glade, Hal lifted an arm and shoved, trying to summon that strange fire again.

Nothing happened.

Orrittam chuckled, which sounded quite a lot like a bumblebee the size of a grizzly bear. “At least you looked before you flamed,” he said kindly. “It is a common enough mistake in young dragons.”

“You mean what I did was—?”

“Indeed.” The Noble Gold rested his head on massive, gilded forepaws. “You shot Dragonfire from your core, and I take it you are trying to do it again. Not quite as easy this time, is it?”

Hal got to his feet, nakedness forgotten for the moment. He threw a fist into the air like he was trying to punch through the air. Nothing happened.

He shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cold. Turning a slow circle, Hal looked for the source of the uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades.

Why does it feel like a very tiny, and very disapproving pobul is staring at me from a million miles away? For a second, he swore he heard a double-whine and then the faint words, “Deklin’s is better.”

Who the flork is Deklin?

Orrittam’s voice dragged him back to the here-and-now. “Controlling Dragonfire is much more difficult than it looks, isn’t it, Hal?”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” he said defiantly.

“I am sure you will, but I would be a poor teacher if I did not guide you, yes?”

“I suppose so,” Hal conceded.

“You are trying to force it out.” Orrittam raised an enormous claw and pointed at him. It took an effort of will, despite knowing Orrittam would not harm him, to stand still and naked as a claw the size of a small backhoe glided through the air toward him.

With infinite gentleness, the claw touched just below Hal’s diaphragm. “Your core,” Orrittam said, “young Beastborne, is the center of your power. But you cannot force it out. It must be guided. Channeled.”

“Like a spell,” Hal said.

“Yes… and no.”

“That certainly clears things up then.”

“Remember, Hal, that I have never known a human—or mortal for that matter—to ever wield Dragonfire. It is something very personal to each dragon. Many of us wield it out of a specific emotion or desire that means a great deal to us. I hope, upon realizing this, that you understand why we were so reticent to this Oath.”

Hal’s thoughts were moving smoothly now, though he still felt a dull ache in the middle of his chest. Rubbing it subconsciously, Hal nodded. “I think I’m beginning to grasp that, yes.”

“Then tell me, young dragon, what is it you think I believe in most with all of my heart? What drives me?”

“Bit of a tall order, Orrittam.”

“Humor me.”

Hal folded his arms, thinking. He found himself looking at his biceps as he thought. I would have given almost anything to be this jacked back home… and now I hardly am surprised this is my body anymore.

“It’s not something simple and base like a singular emotion,” Hal ventured. “There would be no way you would be that… forthright. No, it’s something else.”

“You say many words to tell me you don’t know,” Orrittam pointed out with a smirk the size of a barn door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hal said. “I’m thinking aloud, okay? Besides, contrary to what you might believe, people don’t think better if they’re naked.”

Orrittam harrumphed. “Excuses.”

Hal ran through all of his rather limited experiences with Orrittam. Most of his interactions with Orrittam were about one pressing issue or another. When had he just sat down and had a conversation with the dragon?

Mira had, but Mira wasn’t here. He thought he knew the dragon’s heart, but did he really? What was it that Orrittam wanted? What drove him?

His daughter, for one. He loved her dearly. Enough that he imprisoned her in a pseudo-Dungeon just to make sure she was safe from people who would kill her. At first blush, you could be forgiven for thinking that he was a brutal dictator of a father but that couldn’t be anything further from the truth.

No, he loved his unruly daughter fiercely. He only wanted her to be safe, if not happy. Happiness was something that came and went with the wind, Hal knew.

There was nothing you could do to make somebody happy, but you could safeguard them.

That was what Orrittam had done, and he remained in such a vulnerable position in order to continue guarding her. So… what did that say about him, exactly?

He loves deeply, Hal thought, even if he doesn’t show it in the way that a human might be able to understand. He wants something better for his daughter, but that’s not exactly different from any other decent parent.

And then it hit him like a thunderbolt.

It can’t be that simple.

Orrittam’s golden visage smirked. “Have I got you stumped, Hal?” he rumbled.

Hal shook his head. He motioned, palms up, as if presenting or revealing something to Orrittam. It was only one word, but as soon as he said it, Hal knew he had guessed true.

The booming laugh of the Noble Gold echoed throughout the Manatree Glade, rebounding and startling several flocks of birds suited to the new springtime warmth of the supernatural area.

After a while, the sound died away. Orrittam raised a single claw to wipe at a glistening diamond drop of a tear.

Hal, ever the opportunist, rummaged around in his Inventory for a bottle as the dragon carefully brought the drop of scintillating liquid closer. A small creature beside him raised up her own bottle, startling Hal because he had not noticed her arrival at all.

“Havior be needings, yes?” Lurklox said, holding up the bottle.

“Yes, thank you.” Hal lifted the bottle to receive Orrittam’s tear, it was, by the standard of bottles, quite large. Definitely not the sort of thing you would carry on your waist.

And even then, the [Dragon’s Tear] nearly overfilled the bottle. Hal tucked it back into his Inventory, his head inclined in thanks to the dragon’s unexpected gift.

As much as he wanted to inspect the item, he felt it would be rude. So, Hal folded his arms behind his back and met the dragon stare-for-stare.

“Quite the remarkable man,” Orrittam said boomed. His ability to talk quietly seemed to have ended with his freedom from the mountain. Which brought to Hal’s mind another opportunity: Orrittam’s library was still unsearched. “Few would suggest that the very core of what I am revolves around ‘Hope’ as you put it, Hal.”

“It explains everything, however.”

“Perhaps more than I wish it.”

“None of us can remain an island forever,” Hal said, though he felt he was rapidly approaching depths of conversation that he was ill-suited to.

“Indeed?” Orrittam folded his massive paws again and rested his scaly chin on them. “I shall have to relay this information to my brethren on literal islands unvisited for centuries. They would most assuredly enjoy the joke.”

Hal made a stab in the dark. “Time may move differently for a dragon,” Hal said, “but be it a century or a millennium, eventually every creature craves the company of another.” Judging by Orrittam’s thoughtful expression, he was getting quite good at hitting his mark without seeing it.

“From whence have you gained this unfathomable insight, young man?”

Hal could only shrug.

Orrittam gave Hal a weighing glance with his massive eye. An eye large enough that Hal could have easily walked up and—pretending for a moment that the slit in Orrittam’s eye was a cavern entrance or some such—squeezed through with minimal difficulty.

“Well, you are not far off.” Orrittam cleared his throat. It sounded like a car the size of a 747 backfiring. “You see, while you can use Dragonfire in a fit of extreme emotion such as fear or anger, it is… unpredictable.”

“Meaning it’ll hurt me?”

“No. It is part of you, Hal. There is nothing it can do to hurt you in its current state. How you choose to develop it, however… well, that is up to you, is it not?”

“Yes,” Hal said, “but magic tends not to harm the caster.”

“Dragonfire is no mere magic, my friend.” His piercing gaze seemed fixed on Hal’s middle. “You have a core now, yes? Good. All proper monsters need a core. Dragons have them too, you know. Decent things, cores. You already have my drive understood, yes? Now I want you to close your eyes.”

Hal could already see where this was going and as he followed Orrittam’s instructions, he visualized his core. He could see himself standing in front of the large, but significantly less vaporous core since it’s Advancement.

It spun like a miniature sun atop a stepped dais that took up this strange room somewhere in the realm of his soul. He started as something streaked across the exterior of the core, followed immediately by another flash. One gold, one white.

Like those old diagrams of an atom with its electrons zipping about in oblique orbits around the nucleus, two streaks of Dragonfire were whipping around his core.

True, they seemed weak and pale compared to what he imagined they would look like, but they were there.

“Huh,” Hal said aloud. “I thought it would be another core or… something.”

“Count yourself lucky that our Dragonfire did not roast you alive on the spot, young man,” Orrittam said amiably. “Would you want to manage three cores?” Though Hal kept his vision inward, he could practically hear the large dragon shudder. “I would not wish such a horrid fate on anybody. I have enough difficulty with one core, thank you very much.”

“So what do I dowith it?” Hal said.

“Dragonfire is not like other types of magic you may be familiar with. It is a living, breathing thing. You must—forgive the pun—cultivate it properly. Open yourself to hope, Hal. To the thought of a brighter day tomorrow, to a Brightsong worthy of the name.”

Admittedly, this would have been easier some time ago. With Besal missing—perhaps dead, though Hal would not admit thinking that thought under torture—his life felt bleaker than usual.

Not to mention the two Kinslayers coming for him, one who had already managed to attack and nearly kill him from who knows how far away.

He was well aware of the close scrape he had with Thirty-Six. And that had been with Besal’s help. Not to mention the Shadesblight eating away at him.

On his own, what chance did he have?

Your Kol’thil, came his own voice. Not Besal’s. Just his own thoughts spoken back into his head. It felt… lonely. Your Kol’thil was pivotal for the Battle of Brightsong, despite the damage it caused you. If you can unlock it fully before the Kinslayers arrive, you’ll have an advantage.

But would it be enough to overcome them?

Hal didn’t have the answer and nobody with whom he could discuss it. Scratch that, he could talk to Noth, couldn’t he? She understood.

Still, twoKinslayers? That would be rough.

If they each had a Khaeros present… that would be four against one. Tough odds, unless he could find a way to convince Orrittam and Naitese that the Settlement—and thus their home—was in danger.

He might be able to.

Then again, the Kinslayers might come for him alone. They had already managed to find and attack Besal without leaving a mark on the Settlement itself.

“You are troubled,” Orrittam said softly. “Let your worries go. Your cares and your burdens. They matter not. Look toward the future, not the past. There you will find strength. Strength to see a new day made better through your actions.”

Hal was no stranger to vicious intrusive thoughts, and though he had admittedly leaned on Besal as a bit of a crutch to see the worst of them banished, his Khaeros was not always the most accommodating.

More than once I can remember Besal actively making me angry just because he could, Hal thought fondly. The man had repeatedly tried to take over his body, driven him to the edge of madness… but in the end he was always there for him.

“Was,” being the operative word.

“Unburden yourself, Hal,” Orrittam said. “The world does not rest upon your shoulders. You needn’t take every problem as a personal affront. Let go.”

Hal let it all go.

It was, perhaps, one of the hardest things he had ever done.

Darkness washed over his soul, but he clung to that hope. To the thought of a brighter day, a better Brightsong and a world where they did not need to hide in the Shiverglades.

He thought of the koblins making their home in Murkmire, improving it against all odds and despite the hatred shown toward them. He thought of Altres, freed from the bowels of Rinbast’s prison and left to rot for merely speaking out against him, now given free reign of Murkmire out of (he hoped) Rinbast’s grasp.

The Windstrom refugees, children who might not have seen tomorrow, living alongside koblins in their newfound ward or district, whatever it was called.

An entire generation, small though they were, that would grow up alongside koblins. Not seeing them as monsters, enemies, or creatures to kill for loot and EXP, but as friends.

You did that, a small voice said. Again, Hal felt a stab of sadness that it was his own. And tomorrow who knows what more you will do?

The darkness parted.

A golden light flowed toward him. It leaped free of his core and swirled around his body. Golden flame surged along his arm, providing a sense of peace and tranquility the likes of which he had scarcely known.

“Open your eyes,” Orrittam commanded.

Hal blinked once or twice at the glare of the sun. Raising his arm, he expected to see swirling Dragonfire. Instead, he looked with awe upon the glittering light reflected there.

Soothing warmth flooded his body. The absence of pain made it all the more apparent just how much he hurt on a daily basis.

The agony behind his eyes that he had put off, pushed deep down until it was a dull ache in his very soul, vanished.

And all along his right arm a swirling, glittering light rippled across his musculature. Dragonfire flowed through his arm, suffusing it with strength unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

This was power without pain.

Without hatred. Without fear.

It was wonderful. It was new. It was… alien.

Curling along his bicep in a swirling pattern that extended onto his elbow and along his forearm was the scintillating golden scales of a Chinese Dragon. The kind that had taloned claws on short limbs and were all serpentine with glorious manes.

His skin had been tattooed in perfect detail so that it almost looked as if the dragon that entwined his arm would jump off the skin at any moment. The head of the dragon ended up on the back of his hand with its jaws opened.

As Hal lifted his hand to view the head in greater detail, he could not shake the thought that the dragon appeared to be baring its fangs at the gods themselves.

Am I going to be so tatted up that I end up looking like a Yakuza? Hal thought.

He had never been fond of tattoos back on Earth, but then again these were magical, and somehow that made them more interesting.

Merely thinking about Dragonfire brought it up his right hand, until he cupped the golden flames in his palm like a torch. The flames eclipsed his palm so that he looked like a child trying to hold up the sun.

“Very good,” Orrittam said. “Summoning it is among the easiest tasks.”

Hal gave him a flat look. That was easy?

Orrittam’s lip twitched, and he unconvincingly covered up a laugh with a snort. “You must remember, Hal. Dragons have centuries to understand and learn their Dragonfire. You are not only attempting to use something that you scarcely comprehend, but in such a short time that it boggles the mind. Now, let us continue to the true training.”

And with no further warning, Orrittam lunged at Hal, teeth gleaming.