Sample of Book 1 – “Benevolence: A Testament of Dragons”
Chapter 2
(Voshím)
Possibility
Roah shut her eyes and basked in the feeling of weightlessness the wind offered her. Yet something in her chest still felt heavy.
She hovered a few feet above the tall grass of the cliffside as it bent against the heavy breeze blowing ceaselessly from the sea. She held her palms out to the wind and spread her scaled fingers to feel the breath of the new world as it ran between them, her retracted claws extending no longer than a few inches from their tips. She pitched forward to stay upright against the gale as it threatened to push her backwards. With such a heavy draft, she had no need to thrust her wings. All she had to do was unfurl them in the wind and lean forward to stay aloft. With small adjustments to her pitch, she floated in the air nearly motionless, with no regard for gravity as long as the gust remained.
A nagging sense of responsibility kept her from fully enjoying the sensation. She should have been working, but she could not bring herself to. The sky was dull, with grey clouds blocking out the light of the suns. She glanced at the world around her, and her lips curled in a snarl. The heaviness in her chest was replaced with a rising surge of indignation.
This world was far too dangerous a thing. Every rock was another repeat of their past failures, every tree another opportunity to relive their worst days.
She forced herself forward and fought to fold her wings, touching down in the long grass. The feeling in her chest stirred her soul like the crashing waves stirred the waters beneath her. She would remain silent no longer. Something must be done, she told herself. For all our sakes.
Turning, she ran on all fours through the grass, gaining speed until she was galloping as fast as she could. She spread her wings and let the wind lift her, sweeping her out of her run and into a low flight. As she glided out of the wind’s reach, she beat her wings and soared skyward.
There are infinite possibilities behind closed eyelids. Silently, Braem reminded himself of this truth that he had often told his children. In that void, lies the space to create something that has never been before.
In the blank canvas of his mind, Braem pictured his latest design. This world can be different. Whenever he had formed an image of something in his head, he was always eager to get it formed in reality, as if all of creation had been made incomplete for lacking that new piece of the larger whole. Braem opened his eyes, the picture he envisioned still entrained in his mind. This world will be different. He grinned, tapping one of his claws on the stone beneath him in rhythm with the music playing out from the plants beside him. He took a deep breath and got to work.
Like the blazing of a great forge, Braem exhaled white-hot magma on the smooth, grey stone of the mountaintop he had appropriated as his workspace. As it fell to the ground, the magma did not melt through the earth below it, but solidified, cooling into dark obsidian glass. He carefully worked to craft the perfect rendition of the creature that now lived only in his head.
First, he breathed out two passerine feet for the creature, with talons meant for gripping branches and other perches throughout the natural world. Next, he sculpted a tall torso for the creature with a wide wingspan that would allow it to glide effortlessly through the clouds. Finally, he gave the creature a head with handsome plumage that curled up from the top of its scalp, reaching proudly into the air like a decorated headdress.
With the pieces sculpted and arranged properly, Braem inspected his work closely, making small adjustments to ensure that the final creation matched the full splendor of the image in his head. When he was satisfied, he took a step back and admired the smooth stone of the outline.
Seeing that the creation was to his liking, he breathed once more upon the creature’s obsidian glass form, exhaling not fire, but a living, golden light. The radiant mist danced across the air between Braem and the sculpture, wrapping itself gracefully around the statue and enveloping it completely. Slowly, the light faded away, the obsidian glass replaced with flesh and soft feathers.
As a final touch, he gifted this bird with the ability to light ablaze without letting the fire consume the creature. The magic he had imbued in it ensured that when this bird died, its body would burn itself to ash, then rekindle the flame and be born anew, a new life taking the place of the old one in a fresh body. He colored the bird’s feathers a deep orange like the embers from which it would rise.
The creature’s limp form flopped to the ground, awaiting the moment when the Three would bring it and their other creations to the waking world. For now, there was still much work to be done, and Braem had many ideas which were yet to be materialized. He gently grasped the bird’s form in his paw, placing it off to the side, clearing his workstation and preparing to begin work on his next creation as he hummed along to the tune playing out from the foliage around him.
He shut his eyes and began to picture his next work when the sound of beating wings came from the skies to the east. One of his children must have been approaching. Abriel’s style of flight prioritized speed. Whenever he flew, he was eager to arrive at his destination and went as fast as he could. Since the rhythm of the wing beats was not slowing down dramatically on the landing approach, that meant it clearly was not Abriel. No, these wings carried the steady, measured congruence of Roah.
Her father turned to her as he landed gently on the mountaintop. Roah approached him with her head held high and a determined look on her face, as though she were on a desperate mission.
Making no time for pleasantries, she said “Father, I must speak with you.”
Braem nodded slowly, as if trying to deduce what might be on her mind. “Surely you haven’t come for creative input. What—”
“No. Not quite.” Her gaze fell. “ Though it is… our—our creation that concerns me.” Roah’s boldness had quickly faded away. She spoke slowly, measuring each word as they spilled forth from her mouth. They came out as a jumbled mess of sentiments compared to how they had sounded in her head. The gentleness in her father’s eyes made her reluctant to share her thoughts as brazenly as she had rehearsed them for the last hour. She planned to rebuke him for his plans for this world and would refuse to participate in fostering it. If that could ensure her brother was not hurt again, then she would face the consequences.
Braem would have already considered Abriel and how this new world might break him if it fell apart like the last one. Braem always thinks of everything, thought Roah. So why did her father choose to risk that, to risk his son once again, even after everything Abriel had already been subjected to? The thought had been driving her mad for days. She would put her foot down here and now. For Abriel’s sake. But it would not be easy. For all the things her father did, the choices he made that drove her to rage, she could not help but remember how kind and caring he was when he would look at her in moments like this. The way he looked at her now. Suddenly unable to meet his eyeline, she turned her face aside and bit her lip.
Braem turned to the plants beside him, still singing out their assigned melody. “Shh,” he breathed. The musical flora silenced themselves in response.
As the anxiety in Roah’s chest began to boil over, she extended a claw on her right forepaw and quietly began to tap it against the stone beneath them rapidly. Slowly working up the courage to speak her mind, she changed the subject to buy herself more time. Nodding to the plants near Braem’s workspace, she said, “I like them. What are they?”
Braem looked at his daughter with a caring smile, but something in his eyes revealed that he was on to her. He turned his gaze to the flowers anyway. “I call them ‘songpetals’. If you pick up a tune, they will begin to carry it, continue it, even add to it.”
Roah let out a soft chuckle. “Musical plants.” Moving over to them, a sparkle of curiosity and wonder crept into her eyes as she swept her gaze over them. “Oh, I see. The bulbs grow filaments across themselves, stretched taut with age, that can respond to the vibration of sounds and move in order to recreate them like strings. Wonderful design.” Once again, Braem thought of everything. She became thoughtful and quietly said, “I’ve missed music.”
“So have I. Though, I do hope these plants do not suffer the same issue as those dreadful parrots.” Braem rolled his eyes and shook his head exhaustedly. Braem often teased her about his annoyance for those overly chatty mimics. He always exaggerated his distaste for the birds in an effort to inspire some humor from her.
Roah laughed, unable to help herself. “Hey! I made those. And I stand by them.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. Birds that repeat what you say, even when you are not speaking directly to them. Oh, what a headache! Only my daughter could make something so irritating and then defend it vehemently.”
“Well, they’ve certainly given you enough laughs over the years.”
Braem chuckled with a smile as his daughter turned back to face him. “I suppose they have. But…” He took a step towards her. “I don’t think you came here to talk about musical plants. Or parrots.” Roah’s smile faded. He nodded towards a flat spot for them to sit. “So,” he asked, “what’s on your mind, daughter?”
Still dreading the coming conversation, she sat at his side. Something inside her had softened since she arrived. Perhaps putting her foot down was not the best approach. If she was going to appeal to Braem, she would not have much luck getting him to surrender to her force of will. Still looking at the ground, she finally said, “I’m worried, Father.”
“What troubles you?”
“I’m troubled for,” she sighed, “this world. For Abriel, for you. Perhaps even for myself. We have all been through—” Her shoulders sagged. “an ordeal. I do not think we are ready to go through another.”
Braem’s brow furrowed thoughtfully as he nodded, letting out a sigh. “Ah.” His shoulders began to sag as if he carried on them not only the weight of this world, but also the ghosts of a world long past. “I see.”
Roah felt her righteous anger beginning to bubble up in her chest again. Suddenly she was prepared to endure a thousand speeches from her father about ‘the greater good’ or how ‘sacrifice is a part of life’ or another exhausting principle of the same kind. But however disappointed he might become in her, she was determined not to budge. Not this time. She lifted her chin high and prepared for his response, ready to hold to her decision no matter what Braem might say.
But then Braem did the most unexpected thing of all. He agreed with her. “I have been feeling quite the same way for a while now,” he said. “Worried.”
Roah cocked her head back in surprise. That was the last thing she had expected to hear from Braem. He was the one who had driven them to create this world to begin with. Yet now, even as he toiled to craft new beings to inhabit the place, he felt that it was too soon? That was unlike him. Thrown off balance by his sudden confession, she balked at the statement for a moment, “W-what? You have?”
“The last world and the war took their toll on everyone. It changed us all. The damage may be irreparable, but I hope not. That’s why I thought it best we take a good…” He sighed. “long while before the three of us started any other adventures for ourselves. I thought all those years would let us…” He shrugged. “heal? Become who we used to be before all the bloodshed.” His face grew somber as he said, “All of us were greatly affected by the last world’s events. Perhaps none more than Abriel.” She thought of Abriel’s many scars and missing claws, lasting reminders of the last world’s failings. Reminders that Abriel would carry with him for life, regardless of how much the red dragon might try to forget what had happened. Braem looked his daughter in the eyes with a combination of pride and sorrow. “And yourself.”
Roah shook her head. “Please, Father. Abriel endured—”
“He endured much, yes. But it is not lost on me just how much I put you through as well, my daughter. You may not have experienced the torment your brother did, but you still suffered through more than I would have asked you to. None of us have been the same since Prymaron. And I thought that we would all need time. Time to heal. Each in our own way. Abriel sat and talked with me often during those years, but I hardly saw you at all. I thought perhaps it was… because he was grieving more than you? No matter what has come your way, you always seem to handle it with ease. But I see now that I should have come to you. I should have taken you and Abriel under my wings, dealt with it together—”
“Father, please,” she said, her tail twitching as she averted her gaze from him once more. Roah stood, having grown more uncomfortable in her scales the more her father lamented. He always had so much to burden himself with, even now. She refused to add on to the weight he carried, let alone make him regret, for her sake, the care he gave to those in greater need. “Please.” She ruffled her wings. “I am fine. You did as you should have done. I am not coming here on my own behalf. I came to talk to you about Abriel.” She looked him in the eyes as she pleaded. “He still needs time. If something were to go awry in this world…” She shook her head pleadingly. “I don’t think he could take it, Father. Not yet.”
Braem smiled, as if touched by his daughter’s care, but not entirely convinced. “Abriel is fine, Roah. He and I have talked extensively and I’m sure that this is what he needs.”
She shook her head in confusion. “But you just said—”
“My greatest worry is not for our creation of this world, but for what may happen to us and our people if we choose to remain stagnant any longer. We need to press forward. It is essential. Especially for your brother.”
Her cheeks flushed red. Roah’s voice became more desperate as she felt her chance slipping away. “Abriel does not show you all of himself—”
“Abriel is not the problem.”
Her heart pounded, the beating intense enough to throb in her skull. She stood tall, bringing her head as close to his height as she could. “He cares too much about what you might think of him. I know he is still vulnerable.”
“Sitting around for another few years is not going to help any of us move on.”
“Move on!?” Roah laughed as tears began to fill her eyes. “You’re asking me to go back!” She shouted. The silence of the songpetals grew deafening. Roah wept as her rage from the last few years erupted through her voice, her mind racing through the images she had suppressed for so long. “When I sleep at night, I see him there. My brother! Bleeding. Crying out for us! And we could not help him!” Her limbs trembled. “We didn’t! And it’s not my fault! It’s not your fault! It’s theirs! Your people! They betrayed us and joined her side after everything we did for them! Prymaron is ashes now! We burned it down together, and now you ask me to go back to the beginning? After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done? Well I won’t! I won’t.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, the raging tempest of her voice now barely a whisper. “I can’t do it again.” The wind whistled by, cutting through the silence between them as Roah fought to stifle her tears again.
Braem wrapped his sizable wings around her.“There there, shh. It’s okay.” In his embrace, she could no longer restrain her sadness. With a choked gasp, the floodgates of her tears broke free. Her father patted her side with a wing. “Let it out now.” She pressed her head under his chin. Braem soothed and held her as her sobbing subsided and returned, rising and falling three separate times over the next twenty minutes. As her fits began to calm down, Braem began to hum a lullaby that was quickly carried on by the songpetals near his workstation. She recalled hearing the song from a dwarven mother whose child had fallen and scraped their knee in days long, long ago, before the war.
Roah’s mother would always sing to her and Abriel in moments like this. Moments when they needed to be held. At least in the early days. Xenia had lost herself in a mad desire to gain the Three’s creative powers for herself. She had pushed aside everything else in her search, and lost all sense of reason. But however her mother’s story may have ended, there was a time when Xenia could teach even Braem things he had yet to learn.
Finally, when Roah had finished her long-neglected weeping, she took a step back, breathing shallowly so as not to incur another fit of sobs. She sniffled. The relief her tears brought to her chest was immense, but Roah still chastised herself for crying. I’m weeping like I’m still freshly hatched, she thought to herself, though she did not feel especially sorry for it.
Braem hushed the songpetals to quiet them again, smiling at his daughter with kindness in his eyes. Braem sniffed back the remnants of tears and composed himself. “Would you…” He nodded to his creations. “like to help me begin my work on some new ideas?”
Roah grew disheartened. “You’re still going through with it?”
Braem turned to his workspace and the few creatures that lay there, though none of those animals would be as potentially treacherous as the people that would come next. He turned back to his daughter and frowned sadly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Roah… they’re my children too.”
She scoffed and fought back another crying fit. She asked with a laugh. “Do they have to be?”
He let out a sad laugh, walked over to her and wiped a tear away from her cheek with his wing. Softly, he whispered to her, “My daughter. How magnificent you are. I would sooner be unmade than know that one of my children was never born.” He closed his eyes as he spoke. “I can see our people, Roah. And they’re so beautiful. But now, they live only in my mind. I cannot let that stand. I cannot allow them to fade into the aether, forever forgotten, and never once being known by another, never knowing themselves.” Her eyes dropped to the dirt once more. “My Roah.” He picked her chin up to face him. “You will always be my daughter. My only one. You and Abriel are my children more than any others. Never forget that.”
Two fresh tears ran down her cheeks at the honesty in his eyes. “Yes, Father.” She sniffled. “You’re sure that this is what Abriel needs?” she asked.
He nodded. “And I believe you need it as well.” He walked back to his workstation. “Would you like to stay?”
Roah gathered her courage once more as she faced her father, allowing her mind to start weaving together the threads of new ideas into her latest creations. “No. I’ve—” She sniffed back the last of her sadness. “I’ve got some ideas of my own that I need to work on if we are to do this properly.” As she turned to leave, she stopped, calling back over her shoulder. “Braem… I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Braem watched as she flew off into the clouds. Quietly, he said, “Yes, daughter.” He thought again of their new people—peoples, in fact—for there would be more than one. He felt more determined than ever to see them brought to life. When she had vanished from sight, the bird he had just made caught his attention. He leaned down and breathed out golden light over the creature once more. As the light faded, its feathers had changed to a stark, brilliant white. “This world will be different,” he said, as if willing it to be so. “It must be.”
A Testament of Dragons 