Dragonbound: Birthrights (Book 2)

It was still early morning, the sun yet to rise. Kiaran sat in her bed, the only light coming from the moon outside her bedroom, beaming in through the windows and the open door of her balcony, washing everything in a colorless light. Nurra slept at her side, his scales gleaming beautifully.

She played a finger over his head before standing and stretching her body. As she worked her muscles awake, she thought about the sights she saw through Kriettor’s eyes. Her old companions living in their new lives...She desperately missed them.

She wondered how Davin was doing, what he looked like. Had his hair grown out? Her curiosity was peaked as she sat in the floor, reaching for her toes. What about his beard? Did he shave it off? Shape it differently?

Nurra leapt to the floor, touching his nose to the tip of her big toe. She smiled at him, saying, “Mirliette agrahh, Nurra.” Good morning, Nurra. He tilted his head at the smooth Draken that she spoke. Trilling, he closed his eyes in acceptance, sitting on the cold floor.

Soon, she was dressed and ready to meet Cyrin in the library. She and Nurra walked down the quiet halls of the castle. Not many people were awake except a few cooks and one or two maids as they cleaned and dusted. Her boots clicked softly against the wooden floor, the chains of her belt and coat making soft sounds as they jingled together.

The library was clear on the other end of the castle, taking what seemed like an hour to get there. But finally, she moved down the stairs to the library door which was propped open with a bronze doorstop.

Stepping inside, she saw the fire to be blazing and the table set up for class. This was the only class she enjoyed, the only one that she didn’t fight against.

Cyrin sat at the table, staring at the papers. His eyes glanced to her, but it seemed he didn’t register that she was there. She reached the table, resting a hand on the back of the chair beside him. Again, he glanced to her and sighed.

“These papers...” he hummed. She leaned over him to inspect the strange language, the unique letters... “They were found in the far northeast.”

“It is strange, no?” Kiaran asked. He looked to her, this time his full attention was on her. “Dragons burn their words into walls, stone. It is hidden from the naked eye, but the dragon’s eye can see it burn as bright as the sun. So...Why is it on paper?” They could practice speaking it and they could write it in their own script, but for it to be written in Draken rune was impossible. No one knew what it looked like.

“This is Draken?” he asked, lowering a brow.

She shrugged a shoulder, her eyes burning upon the letters. “I suppose so. Some of it is familiar.” She touched one of the words, saying, “That is varth, the Draken word for war.” There was a bit of aggravation in Cyrin’s eyes as he looked her over. “Why do you think their script is on paper? Only your grandfather’s seen it, and I’ve only come across a few with Kriettor.”

“It is difficult to say,” he replied. “I assumed it was Draken and thought it strange as well. The only people to see Draken writings would be those who’ve bonded with Kriettor or another Great Dragon, or the Drakes.”

“Drakes?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “They are the closest to the dragons than any other being. But they have been missing for centuries, thought to be dead or their blood thinned out among the humans. These papers...they are historic if nothing else.”

“Do you know what it says?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he sighed, looking back to them. “No one has ever seen them, no one’s recorded this script.”

“I see,” she pondered as she sat beside him. “Shall I visit Kriettor to see what he has to say?”

“It would be great to decipher these,” he agreed. “Let us gear up and get a couple riders and be on our way, shall we?”

“Absolutely,” Kiaran shot up. Cyrin packed up the papers in a book and the two left the library, getting ready for their departure.

As the sun began to rise, the two had mounted their riding dragons. The saddles were comfortable, more so than that of a horse. Kiaran’s hands gripped the handle of the saddle as they moved forward. Dragons were much quicker than horses, even these which were wingless. They moved across the ground with great ease, and as smooth as water.

“Will Kriettor reveal these words to you?” Cyrin asked over the wind in their ears.

“I’d suppose he would,” she shrugged. “I am skeptic to believe that he would want you to know.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you going to record the Draken script?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like something I would make time for,” she answered honestly.

Soon enough, they reached the hollow mountain and left their riders outside. Kiaran touched a hand to her dragon’s face before leaving it.

Cyrin lit a torch, standing at the entrance that stretched wide. He faced Kiaran and waited, watching her silently. Once her hand dropped from the dragon, she turned around and walked to him. “Let us be off,” she nodded as she stepped into the darkness.

They moved through the caverns, Kiaran finding her way with ease. The coldness of the cave was being replaced with heat the farther they walked. The lava that flowed through Kriettor’s room was hot, warming them before they even reached it.

The torch light flashed across the stone wall like glowing, black oil, Kiaran’s fingers touching it. Her silver eyes glided over to Cyrin and she smiled. He was a good man, strange, but good. She enjoyed his company, much like a closely aged brother.

Reaching the room, she rounded the corner and smiled at her Great Dragon. He woke from his deep slumber and sluggishly sat up, stretching his jaws. His teeth were broad and pointed, slick with burning saliva. His fangs, however, were much longer and sharper, sending shadows across his dark tongue.

Cyrin stood, tense, and uncomfortable. He had only met the dragon twice before, and each time Kriettor mocked him.

Kiaran stepped forward, saying, “Mirliette palon, Kriettor.” Good day, Kriettor.

“Ah,” he purred happily as he leaned toward her, his tail wrapping around her slowly, “Tu liscue mirli, ta escile.” You are learning well, my child. He only spoke to Kiaran, deafened to Cyrin’s ears.

“Hisam tu,” Kiaran’s grin grew. Thank you.

Cyrin watched them, clueless as to what they were saying. He wasn’t near fluent enough to follow her side of the conversation. Kiaran touched a hand to the spike that projected between the massive dragon’s nostrils. “We found something,” she said, her tone growing more serious and her volume softer.

Her painted fingernail tapped the very tip of the horn, her eyes lifting to meet his. Her expression held something of curiosity mixed with angst.

“Oh?” his silver eyes stared at her from beneath his black lids and shining, scaled brows.

“Draken script, it is only on stone, yes?” she asked.

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Except for what the dragon-people have written.”

“Well, we have found some script,” she reached out to Cyrin who fished the paper from his book within his pouch. She flattened the page out and showed it to him. A light chuckle emitted from his throat. “What?” she asked. “Is it not Draken?”

“No, it is,” he lied back down, tucking his arms beneath his broad, plated chest like a massive cat. “Can you not read it?”

“No.”

“Try, my child,” he said.

She sighed, looking it over; she was skeptical to find anything knew. Finally, as if her eyes were opened, she was able to read it aloud, though she stumbled over it at first. “Ah mirli varth wel pargost tin swian. Dus wel adarr korlorn. Dus wel adarr herit. Ah swienn wel kry iv vin ah unt in wel lu co silce. Dus if vil erren if ah dinji if harlenous. Vil pat ah vorlorn vin du: Ad co fal na friell ou zarfred. Pul hirth du velene. Ad co errenal pargost.”

Her tongue burned and her heart raced. Looking to Cyrin, her expression was alarming as her blood ran hot.

“What does it mean?” he asked sternly, stepping toward them. To him, it sounded like a bunch of gibberish.

“The boy wishes to be a dragon, doesn’t he?” Kriettor laughed as he looked at him.

Kiaran ignored Kriettor and said, “A great war will corrupt our world. All will know death. All will know pain. The earth will cry out for an end and will get no peace. All of this comes from the tinge of blackness. This is a warning to you: Do not fall into fear or hatred. But keep yourself clean. Do not become corrupt.”

Her fingers tightened on the paper, knowing how serious this letter was. “And notice, ta escile,” Kriettor said, “the words swian and swienn. World and earth. Many languages use the words interchangeably. But we do not. The earth will cry out, the land will even be sick. Not just the people--which would be the world,” Kriettor tutored.

“This is bad, no?” Kiaran asked slowly.

“It is certainly not good,” Cyrin said.

“I agree,” Kriettor closed his eyes, as if a cat about to nap. “But, for now...I will rest. You will know when to take action. That is why I have chosen you.”

“But should we not prepare?” Kiaran argued.

Cyrin watched them, waiting for a wise answer. What was he going to say to her?

“There is no need. We do not know when this will happen. It could be years. This war will happen regardless. Simply do not become corrupt. Do not fall into hatred. And do not fear. You will be fine, Kiaran,” Kriettor replied. “Now,” leaning to her, he touched his nose to her forehead. Everything shined blue for a moment, and then her vision faded. Her eyes burned like glass shards had been thrown into them. “You will see as I see, Kiaran...”

She stumbled backward and his large tail lifted to her back, keeping her from falling. Blinking away the blackness and her tears of pain, her vision seemed to ripple like water. Nearly every inch of stone around them was etched with dragon fire, burning blue and white Draken script.

Ah lun, ki ah hirth minn, in ah timnani, ki ahna hirth krinnono. The dragon’s farewell: The sky, may it stay wide, and the mountains, may they stay strong.

Du dahna grand korlorn vin adarr livla. You must meet death to know life.

Ah varti hirth brithe vina ah morga . The water stays bright like the moon.

Relei ah brinta sctric, ad co friell ah esgarlet. When the storm strikes, do not fear the thunder.

There were so many words breathed by different dragons. They were not all Kreittor’s. They glowed different colors, had different styles of runes.

She looked to him, his eyes glowing the same blue and silver as the fire on the stone walls. “They are written by other dragons?”

“Aye,” he said as he looked to the scripts. “Other Great Dragons. Their words are to assist you for the future. They hope to advise you as you continue your journey. Through my eyes, you may not see the future as the legend says, but you can see the past. And as the wise know, the past repeats itself.”

The wavering vision was difficult to tolerate and her eyes began to burn again. Blinking heavily, she lowered her head. “Close your eyes, ta escile,” he said. She did so, listening to his lungs inhale slowly like the wind on a warm day. “Now, focus on your eyes before. You must harness this and you can see script whenever it is around.”

She nodded and cleared her thoughts. Slowly, she lifted her lids to clearly see Kriettor watching her. On the other side of his tail, Cyrin stood, watching her with concerned eyes. She smiled, still able to see the script behind him, but able to see him clearly as well.

“Your eyes are red,” he said.

“Aye,” she shrugged, “They will clear up.”

He leaned toward her, saying, “It looks like someone poked you in the eyes...Or threw dirt into them.”

“No, no poking,” she laughed shortly.

“Ah monne misvad vin pat ah drake,” Kriettor chuckled. Kiaran looked to him sharply, her grin still visible. “Der ad co enji pat ah monne...No?” Kiaran eyed him a moment. The man wishes to be a dragon...He does not enjoy being a man.

“Why do you say that?” she whispered.

“I can see that he wishes to be a dragon-person. But he is not. He is only a Drakeling. Tell him not to worry. I enjoy his presence regardless.”

She tilted her head slightly and slowly turned to Cyrin. “Kriettor says that he enjoys your company.”

“Alright...” Cyrin said slowly, lifting his gaze to the smug dragon.

Looking back to the dragon, Kiaran said, “Thank you, Kriettor.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I assume you have many things to get ready, no?”

“Aye,” she nodded. “Much to prepare for the ceremony and now this war.”

“Ah lun, Kiaran, ki ah hirth minn, in ah timnani, ki ahna hirth krinnono,” he said.

“In tu, Kriettor,” she nodded.

With that, the two people were out of his lair and headed back toward the entrance. She explained to Cyrin the new eyes that Kriettor had given her. “Not only can I see the script on the walls, but I can see colors that I never knew existed,” she said. “I can read the words and I understand the language better than my own,” she ended with a laugh.

“Can you explain to me, then, why so many words are used with only one Draken word?” he asked. “It is impossible for me to follow a sentence when one word is used for five of ours.”

“Well, as a dragon, our minds are linked, and whenever he says something, I am able to understand which word he is using. It’s also all about the context of the sentence I suppose.”

“It is all very...confusing,” he mumbled.

“I agree,” she said. “Luckily, I have bonded with a Great Dragon that can teach me such things.”

They rode their dragons back through the woods as the sun began to hide past the mountains. “Should we tell Ritiann?” Kiaran asked.

“Unlikely,” he muttered. “To cause an uproar over something that we do not understand is not a good idea. Besides that, I am sure no one will feel as strongly as we do about this letter,” he explained. “Perhaps we will just keep it in mind, heed its warning.”

“Right,” she nodded.