Isle of Dragons (Quest of the Nine Isles Book 1) Page 2
I wasn’t the only one to notice the flight of the birds. The guards around me pointed toward them and murmured fearfully. So did our followers. On our progress through the streets, curious strangers had attached themselves to the back of my escort so that we now had a small crowd in our wake.
I heard their comments all around me.
“Why are the birds leaving?”
“Is another quake coming?”
“Has the Sheltering Stone failed us?”
And most ominously, “They say this is how it all happened before, with the other islands.”
I knew what they were talking about. Once Corthium was not alone in this part of the ocean. According to ancient stories, in the old times there had been nine glorious islands that were home to the people of the dragon. Corthium was the largest and positioned in the center, with the six smaller isles circling outward like the spirals of a seashell. This was in the days of plenty, when dragons had been many and the people had profited by our special relationship with the winged creatures. We had lived an isolated but contented existence, happily cut off from the outside world except for trading with the big ships that came in. All the Nine Isles had prospered.
But then the quakes and the floods had come. One by one, the foundations of the small isles collapsed. The cities slid into the sea, and the angry ocean rushed in to claim the land until no one would ever know the small islands had existed.
Some believed this was the result of an evil curse. Others claimed the floods and landslides were a natural phenomenon, the shifting foundations caused by an underwater volcano. Either way, the only sure thing was that by the end of it all, the Ninth Isle of Corthium alone was left.
It was believed that we survived only because of the Sheltering Stone. Even the wisest elders couldn’t quite remember how we had acquired it, although there were many myths. But no one on the island would argue against the importance of the stone. In a way we didn’t understand, its magic kept us safe. It prevented quakes from tearing us apart and the sea from swallowing us up.
But now I had broken it.
I shivered in the evening breeze blowing in from the near shore. The fading light of the sun couldn’t warm the cold I felt inside. There was a weight in my stomach, and my heart was heavy with guilt. What had compelled me to touch the stone? Simple curiosity or the pull of some terrible spell? What price must be paid for my crime, and who would pay it? Would our entire civilization be destroyed?
My hand still tingled with the magic I had drawn from the stone. I wished I could peel the shimmering radiance off like a glove and cast it away from me.
It was hard to believe such a short time ago my only concern had been the swiping of the artifact still concealed in my beltpouch. What an insignificant thing that now seemed. The stolen minuteglass made me think of my grandmother. Had she felt the quakes? Earlier today, I had left her in her sickbed in the house we shared near the depository. Was she safe there? But it was no good wondering, for I was obviously not going to be allowed to go to her and make sure she was all right.
As we neared our destination, I realized where it was the depository guards were taking me. We followed a winding path toward a roofless stone edifice standing atop a hill. The Chamber of Rule was more of a long porch than a hall. Open to the outdoors on three sides, it was surrounded by marble columns and was sunken a few feet lower than the ground, with different levels of circular seating. The stone benches could hold up to a hundred people, although the space was rarely filled with a gathering of that size. This was where the high council of the king met.
All two dozen of the king’s councilors were assembled together now, and a crowd of ordinary citizens ranged around the surrounding gardens, observing the meeting. I didn’t know how word of the emergency had reached the ministers so quickly. Then again, the tremors had probably been felt all over the island.
As the troop of armed guards pushed through the onlookers, the crowd parted to let us through. The king’s council was in full debate when we marched between the entrance pillars. They paid our arrival no notice.
I spotted King Athanasios on his backless throne atop a dais, raised slightly higher than everyone else. I had seen him at a distance many times before, for he often walked openly through the city, among his people. But he had looked taller and prouder on those occasions, amid the elegance of his company. Now the stoop-shouldered figure I saw before me might have belonged to a different man. His once-blue hair had been threaded with white for as long as anyone could remember, but this was the first time I had seen him appear old and tired. His eyes were filled with uncertainty, the muscles of his face taught with worry. His folded wings, painted in garish shades of red and gold, drooped limply to the ground behind him.
When we entered the chamber, he was listening in grave silence to the report of one of his ministers.
“The destruction is everything from cracked supports to minor surface damage, Your Majesty,” the minister at the foot of the dais was saying. “A few broken pillars and missing roof tiles are easily repaired. But if the Sheltering Stone is truly failing, we must determine what is to be done should this disaster progress to the next phase.”
“And what is likely to be the next phase?” asked the king. He looked as if he dreaded the answer.
“Majesty, we’re still investigating, but it seems likely the island’s very foundations are shaken. Any further quivers could trigger landslides.”
“And after that?” the king pressed.
“Shattering. Flooding. Annihilation.” The minster’s face beneath the translucent scales dotting his cheeks was pale. “Our ancestors have seen it all before. They’ve left the recorded histories behind. Corthium could sink into the sea in a single day and join the other eight isles resting at the bottom of the ocean.”
The king looked stricken by the prediction, although he must have known it was coming. He looked to the rest of his council spread out around him.
“What can we do to prevent this catastrophe?” he demanded of them. “How can it be stopped?”
One skinny, nervous-looking council member said, “I fear prevention is impossible. All we can do is look to our people, evacuating as many as possible before it’s too late. Already many are crowding aboard the fishing boats in the harbor. But the vessels are few and fit only for darting around the little coves along the coast. They were not built to withstand the roughness of the open seas.”
Someone else suggested, “Those of us with wings could fly for the nearest shore.”
“The nearest land is many miles distant,” answered another. “It is unlikely any dragonkind’s wings would be strong enough to carry him that far.”
He didn’t need to point out that the wings of most of our race had become more ornamental than practical over the generations. The wings of the average dragonkind were too weak to carry significant weight for more than a mile or two. Neither was there any need to state the obvious, that children too young to have developed wings, as well as the lower classes of citizens who had been de-winged in adolescence, would have no possibility of flight.
At the thought, I instinctively flexed the muscles between my shoulder blades. Once I had possessed the beginnings of a budding pair of wings. They had been covered in iridescent scales and were studded with lovely bone-tips along the folds. But I never got the chance to see what they would look like fully formed and unfurled. Like all children of the servant class, I had been de-winged at the usual age. The prized dragon-like wings that distinguished our race were permitted only to the ruling and warrior classes. These men and women wore their wings proudly, painted, pierced, and ornamented them to announce their status to the world. But perhaps recent generations ought to have put less effort into beatifying their wings and spent more time using them for something besides flying around the island.
“This is your doing, Father.”
Every head in the chamber turned toward the strong young voice that cut through the solemn stillness.
“Had you not prohibited the building of great ships and disallowed voyages across the sea to trade with other lands, we might now have something better than a few flimsy fishing vessels to carry our people to safety,” he accused his father.
King Athanasios’s expression sharpened, and some of his weariness appeared to drop away. “Do not rest the blame for this tragedy at my feet, Milos,” he commanded. “You know full well it was my sacred duty to protect our heritage and the traditions of the dragonkind. As the last of our kind, isolation has long been accepted as the only means of keeping our people untainted by the outside world.”
The king’s arrogant son opened his mouth to argue, then froze. A second later, I knew the reason for his sudden change of expression.
It was only a slight shiver in the ground at first, accompanied by a deep groaning noise that seemed to come from below the surface. Then the tremor worked its way up through the floor tiles. They began to rattle beneath my feet. I braced myself, watching the guards around me stumble. The marble benches throughout the chamber shifted. Cries of alarm spread. People fled or threw their arms up and crouched in protective stances. The pillar closest to me made a sharp cracking noise and splintered around the base.
I and the guards nearest me dived out of the way just in time as the column toppled to shatter across the chamber floor.
CHAPTER THREE
It was all over quickly. One moment the earth was shuddering as if it would split into pieces. The next, everything fell still. It was as if a giant ripple had passed through the island and now was gone—for the moment. Slowly, people looked around and assumed normal positions. Those who had started to run out of the building returned when they saw the danger had passed. Some looked ashamed of having fled as they realized the king remained bravely on his throne.
The skinny, nervous-looking councilor was the first to break the shocked silence. “Majesty, time is running short,” he declared to the king. “We must act quickly. With your permission, I will send someone to move the city’s treasures and the Three Hopes to higher ground. The weight of the eggs would sink the fishing boats in the harbor, but at least they can be carried up into the hills.”
The king didn’t get a chance to respond.
“Surely you are jesting,” Milos interrupted hotly. The king’s son had recovered from the tremor and now tried to look as if he hadn’t been cowering in fear mere moments ago.
“The survival of our people is in doubt, and you’re going to waste time and manpower carrying three giant lizard eggs into the hills?” he mocked.
A few of the younger ministers in the room made sounds of agreement, but their elders looked appalled.
“King’s Son,” the skinny minister said in tones of forced civility, “The dragon eggs are our greatest treasure. We have protected them faithfully for centuries and cannot abandon them now. If they are destroyed, the mad Skybreaker will remain the last dragon left in the world.”
“Those eggs,” Milos answered angrily, “will never hatch. If it were possible, they would have done so years ago. When will you old fools see that?”
The minister ignored Milos and addressed the king. “Your Majesty, we know the eggs can survive for a while underwater, but they cannot be submerged indefinitely without damage. We must lose no time in making them safe.”
In the same moment he spoke, Sandros, at my side, suddenly interrupted in an urgent voice. “Majesty, I am Sandros, captain of the depository guard. I have brought something you may wish to see, the source of the Sheltering Stone’s failing.”
He must have been waiting for the right moment to announce our presence. Now he pushed me forward until I was in full view of the room.
As the king’s council turned to discover the source of the interruption, I felt their annoyance shift to astonishment. My hand, wreathed in the reddish-purple light of magic, shone bright for all to see.
“What is this?” demanded King Athanasios from his throne. “Who is this girl?”
Under so many stares, I would have liked to withdraw. But Sandros took my elbow and pulled me deeper into the chamber. He didn’t bear me any ill will, I suspected. None of the depository guards did. But they would do whatever they must.
“This is Isaura Seastrider, a servant who works in the Depository of Knowledge,” said Sandros. “She was discovered in the forbidden vault, having touched the Sheltering Stone.”
A wave of stunned outrage passed over the audience. I heard their murmurs pass over the gathering.
“She touched the stone! The forbidden stone!”
“So that is why the end is upon us!”
Inwardly, I shrank beneath their wrath. But some flicker of pride on the inside made me conceal my fear. I held my shoulders straight and my chin high, as if I didn’t care that they hated me. As if it was nothing that I had single-handedly brought unspeakable disaster upon my people.
“Is this true?” King Athanasios demanded in amazement, looking around the room. “Can our destruction have been wrought by the mere clumsiness of an unwinged child?”
No one answered immediately. Then one of the ministers, a green-haired young female whose horns were painted gold and banded with rings, spoke up. “Majesty, if the source of the stone’s failing is truly the touch of this girl, perhaps it is not too late for the misfortune to be reversed. Let her return to the stone, lay her hand upon it, and attempt to send the power back into the rock.”
“Better still,” Milos broke in, eyeing me contemptuously. “Kill the girl and spill her blood over the stone. Then perhaps the magic she has stolen will be revived in the rock.”
Fear rippled through me. I knew I deserved some sort of punishment for my trespass, but it hadn’t occurred to me it could be death.
The green-haired minister frowned. “I don’t know that killing is necessary.”
“Neither do you know that it isn’t,” the king’s son challenged. “Why take chances? This island has no time for half measures.”
“Enough of this bickering.”
At the command, every eye in the chamber looked to the king on this throne.
Hope stirred in me, for our king was known to be a merciful ruler. Surely he wouldn’t permit what his son suggested.
“Our generation has never faced anything like this before,” King Athanasios said. “For centuries, the Sheltering Stone has protected us from sharing the fate of the eight sunken isles. Now that the stone has failed us, we must do whatever it takes to save our people.”
He never so much as glanced my way as he pronounced his judgment. And yet, even before he said it, I realized what he was going to say.
“Take the unfortunate girl back to the depository and paint the stone with her blood. It is a necessary sacrifice to save the lives of many.”
CHAPTER FOUR
As soon as the words left the king’s mouth, I felt Sandros’s fingers tighten around my elbow. Another guard stepped forward to grip my other arm.
But before any other action could be taken, it came again, a warning shudder under our feet. Everyone froze, waiting. The shaking rapidly grew stronger until the tiles shattered. This was no minor tremor like the last one. This time all the thick columns ringing the chamber began to sway and collapse around us.
The king leaped up from his throne, only to be tossed to the floor by the movement. Many of his ministers had also been thrown down, including Milos. The king’s son looked less proud now that he scrambled on all fours away from the center of the room. The chamber was rent in two by a wide chasm splitting it down the middle. Those who could struggle to their feet staggered away toward safety. Anyone too slow to move fell into the chasm or was crushed by the marble pillars as they came crashing down.
I made
it out of the chamber with the guards half dragging me clear of the falling columns. Outdoors, the surrounding gardens were no longer tranquil. The earth had been torn and churned. Statues and fountains had collapsed. Even as we exited the Chamber of Rule, the quake began to lessen. But nobody was fooled into believing the danger was over. We waited only long enough for King Athanasios’s personal guards to ensure the king and his son were safe. Then our whole party rushed across the green lawn toward the street. It was the path that would take us back toward the heart of the city—back toward the depository and my doom.
Out on the cobbled streets, we continued to be slowed down by frequent shakes. But no one turned back. The king and every surviving member of his council accompanied the troop escorting me back to the Depository of Knowledge. The accelerating rate of the island’s destruction seemed to strengthen their determination to see me executed as swiftly as possible in a desperate attempt to stop the chaos.
Even as I was pushed along toward my death, I felt not only fear for myself but for my island and the people of the dragon. Somehow I knew with a sinking certainty that killing me was not going to return power to the Sheltering Stone, that nothing we did could now stop what was set in motion.
The streets were crowded with panicked citizens fleeing broken and collapsing houses. They rushed up and down the streets, carrying their belongings and their children in their arms, seemingly unaware that there was no safe place to go.
We were still far from our destination when a fresh quake split the road before us. The earth groaned as a yawning pit opened up in our way. Simultaneously, the tall buildings lining the narrow street began to sway and topple. It was impossible to avoid the falling wreckage crashing down toward us. The path was clogged with screaming people shoving and trampling one another.