The Banished Craft

Prologue

My three children are my universe. Yet, like me, they make mistakes. We all feel terrible about the accident, and hope there is a way to save these lovely creatures before they perish.

I will try to explain. The science behind universal theory is largely speculative, which may be why I enjoy it so much. But its core is solid, based on the universal axiom: From the three, one.

Our understanding of physics is entirely based on the axiom taught to every child, yet given so little thought. From the three, one.

The few scholars that continue to pursue it describe the universal axiom by the universal axes: space, time, and existence. Without any of these, there is nothing. And yet there is nothing that is not made of these three. From the three, one.

Unlike most, I think about this often. An explorer by craft, my specialty is observing and documenting three-dimensional spaces, or, as I have termed them: triverses. They are small and primitive, and usually concentrated into gatherings, floating through space. It took millennia of research to learn to detect them, but with the appropriate lenses tuned within the complex spectra, it can be done.

Given the ages it took me to convince others that triverses even existed, I find it ironic that the main debate I have now with my colleagues is on the existence of quatriverses.

It is logical that if there are triverses, then what we creatures of four spatial dimensions call the universe is really just a quatriverse, floating along as an unnoticed sliver in a five-dimensional space—our existence dismissed by their scientists just as the mythical three-dimensional beings are by ours. Because this quintiverse is beyond our comprehension, we assume it cannot be true. This is a limitation of our kind, though I do not consider it a failing.

Perhaps it is this perspective that provides me additional empathy toward the three-dimensional beings. After all, if five-dimensional beings happened upon my world, I hope they would let it be, rather than clear us away like unwanted webbing.

Triverses fascinate me. They are our only window into another manner of existence. Perhaps they can teach us more about our own four-dimensional world. And so I study them, documenting my findings for future generations. One of my apprentices, struggling to understand the nature of triverses, describes them as eggs; I think she is closer in this characterization than she realizes. But as I cannot prove my theories on this, I will need to set them aside. There are more urgent matters at hand.

It was my fault, not my children’s. I allowed the three of them to tag along on a routine triverse inspection. My second child is so curious. He wanted to know what the space would feel like, passing around his finger. He was too young to know that triverses were not stable to his touch, and I was too distracted by the readings of enlightenment to take notice.

My oldest child called for my attention, and I turned back in time to observe the triverse tremble and then split into two, with a mirrored precision I would have thought impossible. To the triverse, my child’s touch may have appeared as a ball in their skies that grew and then shrunk into nothing. Then their world ruptured. This must have been terrifying.

I could immediately tell that something of the creatures had survived, as dead triverses deteriorate rapidly back into the universal center. Thinking about this, I realized that while I could see the world split physically outside of me, it must have also been impacted in existence and time. The three axes—space, time, and existence—are intrinsically connected, in ways I admit I don’t yet understand and probably never will.

Simplified, the outcome of my child’s interference was that the physical world became two identical copies of itself. The matter with a singular existence dimension—that is to say the non-living creatures—would have been duplicated, simultaneously existing in both worlds.

The living creatures, only able to understand the concept of a singular world, would likely have been forced to choose a body in which to continue life. Based on their aggregate life polarity, they would have been drawn to one world or the other. Yet without higher levels of existence, they may have never understood this choice. It would have been as if a great trauma occurred, in which half of the creatures ceased to exist. It is difficult to say what instability this caused.

I have thought for a great while of a way I could repair the triverse myself, but have not come up with a way to influence it from the outside without disturbing its structure further. My world is simply not intended to intervene into theirs. The physics of this are complicated, even for me, having studied it throughout my current existence.

I believe that the creatures must pull their world together from within. My attempts to communicate with the enlightened creature continue to fail, as I sense it is weak in heartmind. There is budding enlightenment in creatures other than this one, but they do not reach for it. So how to tell them?

I do not know if the creatures within are intelligent enough to communicate. And even if they could understand, I do not speak their languages or know much of their world, despite my observations into them. Perhaps using existence I could convey ideas in ways they would understand. But I am daunted by this approach; how do I convey to them a means to pull their world in directions they do not know exist, in ways they cannot sense?

As so many others would have done, I considered ending their suffering. But my youngest begged me to find a cure for the little beings. Don’t worry, the others reassured her. Mother will save them. At that age, they still believe Mother can do everything.

I have decided to try again to communicate. This time I will try to speak with the intelligent creatures, rather than the enlightened one. Not through space or time, but through existence. I remain convinced there is some sense of enlightenment present, though primitive. It may be enough.

I deeply regret that we split their world in two, and I doubt I can help them repair it. But I promised my children I would try. So I will hold vigil, signaling them as best I am able, to at least give them that chance before the end. And it will end soon, for the instability of the poor little triverse is accelerating rapidly out of control. There is little time left.

In all of this, there is one certainty. If they cannot understand my messages, and even then, reach beyond themselves, beyond what they can know or understand, then their world will collapse. That, they would not survive.

Again, I am very sorry. We didn’t mean for this to happen.

01

The Wicked Ways of Women

Cor felt an odd sense of worry in the air.

It was a faint sensation—like an echo from far away—warning her that something terrible was about to happen. She shook it off, telling herself it was just nerves associated with being in this place of dreams. At last, she had persuaded Iohn to help her into the history tower of the University library.

The tower consisted of a series of stacked circular rooms, each one slightly smaller than the floor below. A wide, spiral staircase circled inside in an enclosed passageway, with entrances onto each floor. The lower floors, filled with more popular books, bustled with life. This high into the tower the rooms were small, vacant, and dusty. Cor sneezed.

The curved shelves stretched in every direction, extending higher than she could reach. A ladder leaned to one side, able to glide around the higher shelves. Fortunately, the section that piqued her interest was right at eye level. Ladders made her nervous.

Cor traced her finger along the edge of the shelf, leaving a line behind in the dust. Secret Societies. Yes, here it is. Just like the catalogue said.

How long are we going to be here? Iohn asked, his eyes flitting around the sweeping bookshelves as if the books themselves were threatening to sound an alarm. I never should have let you talk me into this.

Cor smiled at him with fondness. Iohn worried too much, and she found his fretting endearing. Unlike Cor, Iohn was from Farmstate, the lush, expansive land boasting the magnificent University.

For the most part Iohn carried the traits of people of the south: thick brown hair, rosy cheeks, and medium build. It was his eyes that set him apart: golden like Teirrah’s suns. His hair, long because he forgot things like cutting it, fell casually over his radiant eyes. He reached up and brushed the strands away, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Cor’s heart leapt. She averted her gaze, certain that he had seen her expression flicker.

She told herself that she didn’t want him to know how she felt, that it wasn’t worth risking their friendship, or—she admitted—risking the support of the only person willing to help her access the library. But secretly, she wished that he knew. She always felt better when he was there. He calmed her, complemented her. They had so much in common, including an unconventional view of the world, a shared irreverence for unnecessary inconveniences, and a passion for research.

Research. Right! Focus! she scolded herself. She had made it to the library at last, against all of the rules, only to get distracted mooning over a guy. But not just any guy.

Cor glanced over to see Iohn was watching the door. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed, but reminded herself that it didn’t matter. Her time here could be short, and this was important. She concentrated on the books in front of her.

One at a time, she tilted each book out from its place on the ancient shelves to read its title, stifling her coughs as poufs of dust stirred into the air. She snuck an occasional look at Iohn. His intense gaze toward the entrance indicated no recognition that she was even there.

Cor knew what the townsfolk of Oak Grove, the largest of the villages just outside the University, whispered about her. It was curious enough that she was from Cavestate, a self-sufficient people living in the mountain caves beside the desert coast of Teirrah. Her bronze skin stood out among the ruddy faces of Farmstate, and her slight accent only served to accentuate the point.

The whispers went deeper than her skin. Single at nearly thirty years old—there must be something wrong with her, they said. Not even burnt dinners would keep a woman alone this long. The people of Farmstate viewed women as illogical, dangerous, and best kept out of trouble. Thus she must possess either a foul affliction or perverse desires to still be alone at her age. Cor’s cheeks warmed with anger.

There were times she wanted to pack up and go home, back to the isolation of her childhood cave. But she needed answers. She needed to know what had happened to her parents, and what secrets they never had the chance to tell her. Her passion for this knowledge was so great that she had stayed here in Farmstate, this land so far from her home, and learned to live among the whispers.

None of them knew anything about her. They knew nothing of the love she put into the preparation of savory meals, her deft hand with threads and fabric, or her fondness for music. They didn’t know about her lonely upbringing or her search for answers. They didn’t know her feelings toward Iohn. They didn’t know anything, and yet thought it was their business to gossip. But it’s not.

Irritated by these recollections, Cor returned to examining the books. Books always had a calming effect on her. Who needs people when there are books?

The library contained books of every variety. The older books were small, their bindings now detached. Others were more intricate, with laced bindings in dark shades of maroon and evening blue. Some had titles emblazoned with real gold.

Up this high in the history tower, some books dated as far back as the founding of the library, around 100 AN. Being around books that could be more than six centuries old excited Cor to no end. Reading a book, she had written in her journal once, is like seeing through time itself.

Many of the volumes housed here were obscure and not available elsewhere, like this section on secret societies Cor was searching. She had wanted to look here for so long, to follow through on a hunch.

She paused a moment, distracted by another wave of anxiety. The foreboding feeling had returned, a nagging pull on the back of her mind like something was shouting, hoping that she would hear. But hear what? She didn’t know, and again tried to ignore it. She had to stop being distracted.

The section on secret societies was larger than she had expected. How can there be societies for so many things? she wondered aloud. Iohn didn’t appear to have heard, his fists clenched and his gaze still fixed on the door. For a moment, Cor wondered how he would react if someone did walk in.

She scrunched her face and then returned to scanning the books, one by one. Association of Hygienic Rat Catching? Horrible. Garlic Lovers? Oh, sign me up. Society for the Purity and Continued Secrecy of Bourder Arts? she muttered. What is that, even?

Do you even know what you’re trying to find? Iohn asked, a vein of irritation creeping into his tone.

Of course I do, Cor snapped, tossing her long rust colored braid over her shoulder. He was right, though. She really had no idea what she was looking for, despite her quest for the unknown having become an obsession. But he was also wrong. The answer was here somewhere, and she’d recognize it when she saw it.

Cor had so little to go on. She had only been a toddler, the only witness the day someone invaded her home and killed her parents. A neighbor, Calci, had taken her under her wing that night, promising to care for her as best she could and vowing she would not be taken away. And with that, Cor’s life had changed.

Calci always said it was a miracle she was alive, but Cor felt certain there must be more to the story. Her parents had to have been murdered for a reason. People didn’t just get killed in their own homes, with no theft or other crime. She had no doubt they were targeted. But why? What had they done? Or known?

And there was the other thing, one she had never shown to anyone, not that she had been close enough to anyone to reveal such a secret. Cor’s hand subconsciously reached toward her belly, where the little symbol rested in permanent ink. She had never heard of giving a child a tattoo. It must have been a message. A sign, in case they ever left her.

She had never told anyone this—showing tattoos was illegal, and anyone who could get past that would have dismissed her theory as a romantic notion. Cor knew this, yet remained convinced it represented something her parents needed her to know.

This fit into every description she had heard about her father. Thoughtful, reserved, and organized. Why wouldn’t he have left her a message? She had looked everywhere for the symbol, but still had no idea what it meant.

Calci, her soft-spoken caretaker, had never been able to answer her questions with enough detail to satisfy Cor’s curiosity. Calci had described her father’s role as a Council Elder, saying he had often traveled the coast, engaging in meetings of some kind. Calci had once speculated that he must have been active in an organization. When Cor pushed her for more detail, Calci had become reticent, reminding her that it wasn’t polite to pry.

As a young child, Cor had been convinced Calci knew more that she would reveal. But over time, she began to accept that Calci was doing her best to tell her what she knew, without making assumptions. Still, Calci was sharp and insightful, and so Cor listened attentively to her stories, hoping for a possible clue.

Her parents had had secrets, and thus, Cor had secrets. If someone sought answers, there was only one place that held them all: the University. A stone maze of prominent domes and towering spires, it was the crowning achievement of Farmstate. University was a haven where men from all four corners of Arev traveled to learn, share, and expand their knowledge.

Cor was in the place of her dreams, more than halfway up one of the oldest library towers, deep within the history section. This was no time for her mind to be wandering. She needed to get it together.

She hastily began to leaf through the books again, desperate to find something of interest. One of the books she was holding slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor with a soft thud. Cor felt guilty; it was no way to treat a book.

Spheres, Cor! Iohn hissed, his anger now evident. Are you trying to get us caught?

She grimaced, knowing that she was putting Iohn at risk by being here with him. Women were prohibited from studying at the University in any regard, even forbidden from passing through its gates. Every person on the grounds, from floorsweepers to clerks, was male. It was an old and sacred policy, strictly enforced. Iohn assisting a woman in accessing the library, the most precious resource of the University, could land him in serious trouble—perhaps even expulsion.

Cor felt another pang of guilt. Iohn lived for his studies, his research project nearing readiness to go to board. If he were caught having let her in, it could put his entire studies—even his pending grant—in jeopardy. The fact that he had been willing to do it proved how much he must care for her.

I’m sorry, she whispered. Just a few more books, and then we’ll go. Ok? She gazed into his eyes, hoping to see a hint of sympathy or understanding, or a flash of his warm smile to reassure her. Instead she saw only worry, and not for her. But he was here, helping her. That meant something.

Fine, but at least cover your face again, Iohn grumbled.

Iohn, look around. These books haven’t been touched in years. Nobody visits this part of the tower. Nobody cares about history these days.

Iohn said nothing, but his expression caused Cor to tuck her braid back into her hood. It was an absurd disguise. As if the guards wouldn’t notice that the pageboy accompanying one of the senior students had breasts. Apparently Iohn hadn’t noticed either, as he seemed to find great security in the safety of Cor’s cover within the plain brown robes.

Iohn sighed as Cor’s face disappeared into the shadow of the floppy hood. Look, I wouldn’t do this for anyone else except you. I wouldn’t be here at all if I didn’t know the protective policies are seed-shaking offensive and against everything that a scholar represents. My mother was the smartest person I ever met, and sometimes . . . seeing your passion for these things, he waved his arm, I can’t help but think of her. And what she would say if she were here.

Cor’s heart stopped for a moment, and she felt as if she had swallowed a clump of seaweed. His mother? Best not to think about that now. She returned to the bookshelf, flipping open another book.

Then she saw it.

It was an old book, and judging by its coating of dust, hadn’t been read in a very long time. Across the cover, the title Villains Amongst Us was emblazoned. She opened to the introductory page and gasped. It was embellished with crude drawings of hunched-over, obese women with misshapen noses. One of the women was topless, exhibiting unrealistically alert nipples for a woman of that age. But her eyes rested on the woman’s exposed stomach, which displayed a simple, yet familiar, symbol. A circle, with two lines, crossing at the center.

For a moment she stopped breathing. It was the same symbol found on her own skin: the symbol for which she had no name, and no meaning.

Her hands shook as she leafed through the book, wondering if its absence would be noticed if she borrowed it. Removing a book from the library was considered violating a sacred trust. Iohn would never allow such a thing.

He didn’t need to know. She could slip it under her clothing while he was staring like a hawk at the hallway outside, and she’d be sure to return it. She debated the idea as she flipped through the pages, scanning back and forth in the hopes something would jump out.

Women are evil beings who have destroyed the world through their practice of sorcery . . . Every word spoken by a woman is a lie . . . demons . . . Women exist as a vessel in which to plant man’s seed, so that vines may grow . . . eww! Women must be monitored, especially at night . . . Women exterminated all the dragons in a fit of jealous rage.

Dragons?

Cor scanned the pages in disbelief. The words and images seethed with prejudice and distrust, the same barriers that Cor had faced her whole life. She lived in a world that treated women as unremarkable, yet here their description was mixed with warnings of magic and beasts of myth.

Sorcery was one thing; it was a common jest used to spook folks into believing evil was afoot. Many people spoke in whispers of sorcery, from traveling healers to the local fooler. But dragons? They didn’t exist.

Cor closed her eyes, stunned as much by the book’s harsh depictions as by this new connection. As a child, she had dreamed of a purple dragon, flying past. The dragon could not hear Cor call to it and would fly on, to return again another night. Sometimes the dragon did not fly but rested in a corner. On those nights, Cor almost thought the dragon knew she was there.

Calci had pursed her lips when Cor mentioned it, and Cor had resolved not to mention to anyone that her dreams still included childish fantasies. Especially not to Iohn. Iohn.

The floor under her began to tremble. Without warning, Cor lost her balance. She smacked her face against the shelf, scrambling to steady herself as the floor shook again and the books rattled on the shelves. No. Not this again. Not another quake. Not now.

She grasped the shelf as the sense of worry within her surged into a clear warning of danger. Had it tried to warn her that a quake was coming? Or was this feeling just an overactive imagination, a result of the uncertainty she felt about her own life?

The quakes had grown more frequent lately, as had other inexplicable occurrences, like reports of plants or rocks disappearing without cause. It was making everyone feel on edge these days. Cor forced herself to shut the feeling out.

Spheres! Iohn shouted, rushing to her side. Cor, are you alright?

Her lip stung from where she had hit the shelf, and blood trickled from the side of her mouth. She rubbed her gums gingerly. Nothing seemed broken. She wasn’t one to worry about looks, but she would appreciate keeping a mouth full of teeth. I’m fine. She clutched the book tightly against her chest.

Iohn glanced at the book, reaching a hand to take it from her. I’d say that’s our signal to leave. This has gone far enough anyway. The librarians will be in here soon, checking over the books, and resetting the—

Cor ignored him. For being as dedicated to science as he claimed, he was also the most superstitious person she had ever met. Quakes were just quakes. They were sudden movements caused by instability of the rock formations under the dirt. Not signals. Not omens. She leafed through the book with urgency; now that he had seen her holding it, he’d never let her leave with it.

She also knew once Iohn had made up his mind to leave, her time was short. She scanned the pages, the words flying by. It was all nonsense, about how to protect society from women, what women meant when they spoke, even a whole section on women murdering their own children in a crazed fervor. Where is the part about the symbol?

A second tremor hit. It was the largest quake Cor had ever felt, and the tower swayed like a ship. It felt as though the ground ceased to exist beneath her. Cor felt herself gliding across the room, just like in one of her nightmares. The book slipped from her grasp, landing out of sight behind the reading table. No! she screamed as she hit the floor with a loud smack.

Cor! That’s it! We’re going! Iohn grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the door. Cor pulled against him, away from the door. What are you doing? Not that way. The door is this way!

The book, Iohn, I need that book!

Cor scrambled on hands and knees toward the reading table. The shelves shook violently, raining books across her back. The contents of a whole shelf slid into a pile, covering the book she had been reading. She rifled through the mess, apologizing to the books as she tossed each one aside. It was here. She had to find it. Iohn’s hand reached down and pulled back her hood. His face drew right next to hers.

Are you pinecones, Cor? It’s not safe here. And I think you’re hurt.

I’m fine! Cor protested.

Cor, please! His face hardened as their eyes locked. I am not going to get caught. I can’t, ok? The ground lurched again, and Cor fell backward.

Iohn grasped her arms again, lifting Cor and slinging her across his shoulders. She was almost too angry to notice that her hands had landed squarely against his rear. Almost. Down the stairs he ran, slipping at least twice and nearly dropping her as he slid down half a flight of stairs at a time. Cor wriggled to get free, but his hold on her was firm.

A group of men rushed past them on the stairs. Cor could feel Iohn’s muscles tensing, but the men didn’t spare them a glance as they rushed past. Cor was thankful her face was obscured by the cloak, the flaw in her disguise hidden from view between Iohn’s shoulder blades.

Iohn swore under his breath as the tower swayed again. One of the bricks lining the tower stairs dislodged, narrowly missing them as it fell. The brick rolled forward, clanging in rhythm against the stones as it fell from step to step.

Iohn barreled down the stairs, passing one floor after the next. Put me down, Cor implored, her voice muffled against Iohn’s back.

Quiet! Iohn growled.

As they swept through the main door into the fields, Iohn broke into a run. Cor bumped against his back, her shoulders aching from the awkward angle at which he was holding her. Several times she yelled for him to let her run on her own, but he ignored her. At last he stopped, sounding painfully out of breath. He dropped her into a bristly patch of flowers. Cor felt sick, exacerbated by the ground still shaking under her. She closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath, inhaling unnaturally with each tremor.

Not until the land had settled beneath her did she remember to breathe normally. She opened her eyes. The surviving flowers were tall and brittle this late into fall, and they scratched against her skin. She was certain Iohn wanted her hidden from view as the rescue workers and repair crew rushed to the towers to protect them as best they could from further damage. Cor stared up at the sky, the weathered yellow blooms swaying violently above her.

Cautiously she raised her head, noticing the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Iohn had carried her farther from the towers than she had realized, though she could see them looming behind her in the brightness of firstsun. There was no one in sight save Iohn, prowling around her like a lion. Well, a lion on two feet anyway.

Seeing her watching him, Iohn glared. Get back down. You have no idea how upset I am with you right now.

What the trick was that? Cor demanded. Were you trying to kill me?

Maybe I was! And can you watch your language? Do you know we are still technically on University grounds? I was just . . . too tired to go further. And can you get back in the weeds until I’m sure the way is clear? He squinted at her. Spheres, Cor. Your face is covered in blood. Are you ok? I didn’t mean to toss you so hard just now, it’s just I was tired and—

Stop! Cor interrupted. She felt frustrated and distracted, and she didn’t want to hear it. Stop making excuses, it’s just what happened. And stop saying spheres! Nobody even says that anymore. You’re completely out of touch! And yes, I’m fine. But thank you for finally asking. She stood, and then wobbled. Losing her balance, she fell back again into the flowers, a thorn pricking her thigh. She yelped.

Iohn’s eyes softened just a bit. I worry about you, Cor, he said.

The fluttering feeling returned to her chest. She smiled at him, her anger diffused by his concern.

He shook his head. It’s not funny, Cor. You’re dangerous, just like they say. It’s like you’re always trying to get in trouble, and I don’t know why. I wish you could be happier with what you have. You’re an amazing woman, Cor—maybe the most interesting person I’ve ever met. He hesitated, then added, Hey, I’m sorry you didn’t get more time to read that book, whatever it was.

Cor tried to process what he had said. Torn between the hurt of being called dangerous and the compliment of being called interesting, she landed instead on his last statement. That book. I must read it. It’s alright, Cor grinned, her eyes flashing. We’ll try again.

Iohn stepped backward, and Cor noticed he was shaking. Sph . . . balls, Cor. Again? Do you think about anyone but yourself? Don’t you get it?

Cor turned away, the fluttering feeling shifting to something heavy.

When she didn’t respond, he slashed his arm across the air. That’s it. I’m done for today. You find your own way back. And if you get caught on-grounds, it won’t be with me. Huffing, he set off at a brisk pace back in the direction of his apartment, just a few streets over from Cor’s.

We live in the same neighborhood, you bumdip, she hissed, waving her arms. I’m just going to follow you anyway.

Iohn continued walking, now a silhouette against the bright firstsun. She wanted to race after him, but the ominous sense again arose within her, and she paused. It was such an unusual feeling, pervasive and insistent.

Crazy, she murmured. I am going crazy. Remembering the maniacal hunched women on the mysterious book, she laughed to herself. Maybe next time they write that book, I will be on the cover. She threw off her pageboy robes and shoved them into her backpack. As if to reassure herself, she lifted her shirt a tad. The tattoo was still there, right above her belly button. She let her shirt drop and surveyed her surroundings.

The library towers stretched toward the scattered clouds as the bent flower stalks continued to wave happily in front of them, as if nothing odd had just happened. Iohn was most of the way across the field. Cor spat, spraying the grass with angry red spots.

Seeing the blood, she touched her lip and felt a large gash. She shuddered, hating having to stitch herself, but knowing it would probably be needed. She wondered what her face must have looked like to Iohn. Had she been sputtering blood as they argued? She cringed, thinking how insane she must have appeared.

It didn’t matter though. Nothing would stop her. Not Iohn, not stupid policies, not going crazy, not all the quakes in nature’s arsenal. She was going to get her answers.

Feeling suddenly very alone, Cor felt a flash of regret. Every time Iohn left, she felt a little ache inside. An emptiness only he could fill. Trick you, she muttered, as she limped, gingerly at first, back in the direction of Oak Grove, watching Iohn, now a tiny dot in the distance.

The bond between the worlds is not severed, or its existence would collapse. I feel its weak reverberations as they reach for each other, though I suspect unknowingly. The signals are dampened, kept from radiating as they should. I do not know what restricts them, but I will continue to offer my aid. It amazes me the tenacity with which existence fights to thrive.

The bond is scattered, but it persists.

02

Reasons to Worry

Dronna extended her talons before thrusting them into the neatly raked stones of the rock garden, scattering them into chaos. A startled bird flew past and Dronna swiped at it, spearing the hapless creature through its middle with one of her talons and flinging it into her mouth.

Behind her, a young aide flew into the mountain chamber to investigate the commotion. Dronna curled her lips, exposing her sharpened teeth, striped with the red blood of the songbird.

Want to be next, whelp?

General Dronna, stuttered the young dragoness, terror washing across her face.

Dronna smirked. There was no mistaking the Commanding General of the Imperial Forces. In addition to her sharpened teeth, the immense umber dragoness was covered in a series of intercrossing straps, riddled with blades and dotted with bone and other fragments from dragons she had killed. She always took care to ensure she looked every bit as ruthless as she was in truth.

The aide hastily began her retreat, almost tripping over her tail as she stepped backward. Gentle winds, Cir. Excuse me, Your Greatness. I meant no interruption. I am on duty. I was confused. I will go a different way. She continued to ramble excuses as she tried not to look at the disturbed rock garden.

Don’t let me see you again, Dronna sneered at the staggering dragoness, who was too afraid to turn her back even for a moment to run. Weak. Can’t look away? Want to see more? She dipped her head down, and a blinding column of flame burst from her mouth, searing the nearest blossom-covered tree beyond recognition.

Dronna laughed as the little dragoness fled from sight. With a kick, she knocked over what remained of the tree. It was a rare cusabloom, probably two hundred years old. The aides would howl when they saw its charred remains, but she didn’t care. She was only concerned about Emperor Zee.

Fools, Dronna muttered. Worrying about gardens when they should be worrying about Her Powerful.

Dronna raised her head and roared. Fire burst from her open mouth, scorching an entire side of the chamber, turning the polished wall black. Fury boiled within her. She had dedicated her life to protecting Emperor Zee, and now someone was daring to challenge the Emperor’s rule.

The challenger had already proven to be a coward. Rather than issue a challenge in the open, a series of clues