Page 256 of Of Empires and Dust
“Ah.” Rokka snapped his fingers. “Where are my manners? On a different path most like.” He gestured to the two women who stood beside him. “These are my kin, blood of my blood. As they are yours.”
“Mine?”
“Come now, Calen. Let us not play games. I’ve seen the paths, and so, I believe, have you.”
Calen made to speak but stopped himself. This man was always a step ahead of him, always knew what he would say.
“Hmm.” Rokka narrowed his eyes a little, his smile faltering. He gestured to the woman on his left, blue eyes staring through strands of blonde hair. “This is Una. To our people she is what is known as a Starchaser. A druid of the aether.”
Una pulled back her hood, revealing a face not much older than Calen’s. She gave a slight incline of her head. “Greetings, Wolfchild.”
The other woman took a step forwards, her eyes flitting between Calen and Valerys. She settled her gaze on the dragon. “You are beautiful.”
Her eyes turned a milky white, and a shiver swept over Calen’s body, something probing at his mind – at Valerys’s. His sword was free of its scabbard in a heartbeat, and Valerys unleashed a roar that sent the woman stumbling back, pressing her hand to her head, and then the probing feeling was gone. Shestaggered back another step, whispering to herself as the kat-like creature lunged forwards and snarled, its eyes fixed on Valerys.
“Stay out of our heads or lose yours.” Calen glared at the woman.
“Tamzin here, whose etiquette might need a little re-education, is a Blooddancer, or an Aldruid as some now say, like your sister.”
A flicker of rage rose in Calen, seeping over from Valerys as the dragon leaned forwards at the mention of Ella, but Calen pulled their minds together and calmed the dragon. “What do you know of my sister?”
“Maybe this is not the path I thought it was.” Rokka turned down his bottom lip, tilting his head side to side as he studied Calen. “It appears the dragon is not the only one who has grown. How many did you save? The eggs? Nine or five?”
“How…” Calen looked down at the satchels slung across his back. “No. No, you’re answering me. What do you know of my sister?”
If this man was indeed a druid, then perhaps he knew what afflicted Ella – perhaps he could save her. But Calen didn’t want to give away too much.
“There is plenty of time to talk of your sister. But there are other things more pressing. You?—”
Calen slid his sword back into its scabbard and moved so he stood within a foot of Rokka. “We will talk about her now, or we have nothing to talk about.”
Calen stared at Rokka for a few moments, and when the man remained silent, Calen turned and Valerys lowered his head and stretched out a wing for him to remount. He was sick and tired of people wasting his time, thinking him nothing more than a tool for their own devices. He would carve his own path now, not walk the one others had laid for him.
“Ella is awake.”
Calen stopped in his tracks at Tamzin’s words. The hairs on his arms pricked, his breath catching in his chest. “What do you mean she’s awake? How do you…” He stopped, turning slowly to face Tamzin. He searched the woman’s eyes. “If you’re lying, I swear by the gods I’ll take your head. That is not a lie I will abide.”
The kat-like creature stepped across Tamzin, hackles raised, enormous obsidian fangs bared. It snapped at Calen, hissing.
In a heartbeat, Valerys was over him, a deep rumble in his chest. Valerys could have ripped the creature in half with a single bite, and yet it didn’t back down.
Rokka flashed a glare at Tamzin, one that evaporated in moments. A glare that had shown Calen more about the man than anything else: Tamzin had said something she was not meant to say. Calen now knew for a certainty that Rokka played the same games as the elves, and Aeson, and all the others.
“Did you know what we’d find at Ilnaen?”
“Did you find what you needed?” Rokka asked.
Calen shook his head and laughed. “More twisted words. Good luck on your paths.”
Calen turned to mount Valerys, but the old druid leapt forwards and grabbed his arm. Ice flooded Calen’s veins, and the world turned to an oily black.
He spun in circles, breaths heavy, heart pounding. He looked down to see upon what ground he stood but instead found nothing but blackness. Panic flared within him at the sight of his limbs shimmering with a white light, mist trailing with every movement.
“Where am I? What did you do?”
“Níthianelle,” a voice echoed as though calling through a tall valley. “The world between worlds. The Sea of Spirits.”
Calen spun to see Rokka standing behind him. Though the man who stood before him was nothing like the ancient druidCalen knew. Not a line or mark of age touched his skin. His hair was dark as chestnut, his body lean and muscular. This was a man barely five summers older than Calen. And yet, Calen knew it to be Rokka. Unlike Calen, his body was wrought from flesh and solid things, but white mist still trailed after him.
