Mythia: and the Awakened Beast Page 22

  Mythia stood directly above Bello, who raised her hand, expecting Mythia to pull her up. But Mythia leaned down and tore off the sleeve from Bello’s left arm. Regulus watched silently, as the mark of a phoenix revealed itself on Bello’s shoulder.

  “You’re a phoenix,” Mythia noticed. She wasn’t surprised.

  Bello tried to regain her dignity while laying on the ground, clutching at her right ankle. It appeared to have been sprained when she was knocked over. Her eye still swollen, she looked defenseless. “Obviously.”

  “But you’re clever, Bello.” Mythia spoke slowly. Her voice was low, but full of something bitter she had apparently just tasted. “And full of knowledge. You know more about the legends than anyone else I’ve met. You’re smart and cunning.” Mythia opened her palm at Bello, threateningly. “You’re a phoenix. Through and through.”

  Bello raised an eyebrow. “You’re very observant, Mythia. But I don’t see your point.”

  Mythia leaned closer to Bello’s slanted, gray eyes. “You’re not Rejicio.”

  Her gray eyes widened with fear for only a moment before immediately regaining her composition. “So what?” She smirked. “They needed a leader. If you let a bunch of people wander a forest without a path, they get lost. I was more than willing to show them a way.”

  "If you're not Rejicio, then who are you?” Mythia asked suddenly. A battle was in full bloom around them, but Mythia and Bello paid them no attention. Regulus glanced nervously between them and the fighting soldiers and knights.

  Bello’s eyes fell on Mythia’s sword, which lay stained with blood upon the ground. She then glanced at her own weapon, the dragon etched blade identical to Mythia’s. She winced at the pain her ankle was causing her. It swelled from beneath her leather, fur lined cloak. “I’m a lady of Draconis. Just like you.” Bello nodded her head at Mythia’s sword. “My father gave me the same sword. It is a symbol of one of the oldest noble families of Draconis. Passed down from generation to generation. Only one family bears that symbol, Mythia.” Bello looked up into Mythia’s face. Snow stuck to her brown and silver hair. She trembled slightly in the cold. “My father was your father’s brother. We’re cousins.”

  Mythia’s eyes widened. She pulled her palm slightly back but kept it open. “My father never mentioned having a brother.”

  “You're father didn't mention much about himself, did he? That’s because if you knew who you really were, Mythia… you wouldn’t have stayed hidden for as long as you did.”

  “What do you mean?” Mythia asked slowly.

  “You and I. We’re all that’s left of the noble family of Draconis. And once this guy is gone,” she nodded toward Regulus, “we're next in line to the throne.”

  18. THE STORM

  Regulus pulled out his sword just as Mythia sent another blast of wind out, knocking Bello over again. This time, she remained unconscious. The sound of clanging swords brought Mythia back to the present. She turned around just in time to catch Ventus excluding all of her effort in fighting Lord Ulric while Miles, Zane, Krea, and Ten battled the rest of the retired knights. All the young knights were busily engrossed with the remainder of the Rejicio army. Mythia noticed far more fallen bodies with light blue capes than ones without.

  The Doctrine walked slowly up to them, his sapphire eyes somber. Regulus bowed down onto one knee. “Thank you, my friend.” He stood up and grasped the Doctrine’s hand.

  The Doctrine studied Mythia’s face from where he stood. “I must return to Titus. He has been gravely injured and is currently resting in my house… But Mythia.” He peered at her as though his next words were the most important he had ever spoken to her. “You must awaken the three beasts with their spirits that dwell inside of you.”

  Mythia stared at him for a moment, before understanding what he meant. The beast that had been slowly awakening within her… The dragon spirit that fled from her mouth and brought life into the great statue. She must awaken the others. “I understand.”

  The Doctrine then turned to Regulus, who looked completely bewildered. “If there is anything else I can do before I leave…”

  Regulus nodded at Bello. “Would you mind bringing her with you? Tie her up well. She needs to be kept safe until she can be questioned in an appropriate trial.”

  “She will be safe with me while we await your arrival.” With a grunt, the Doctrine pulled the unconscious Bello over his shoulder. He hobbled away beneath her weight, squeezing himself through the battle and out of sight.

  ◆◆◆

  This was her moment. The very minute Ventus had been training for all these months. The moment of her dreams that cut into the nightmares of her childhood. She faced Lord Ulric, still at least a foot shorter than him, but up to par with his level of swordsmanship. Their blades clanged as she charged forth, slowly forcing him to move backward with each hit she dealt. Finally, she had him up against the benches. Ventus lunged at him one last time, pushing him back just enough that his calves hit against the lowest bench and he toppled over backwards. His sword slipped out of his hand as he landed in a heap between the first two rows of seats. Ventus stood over him, tall, her opal eyes shining with malice, the tip of her sword pressed into his throat.

  And yet, Lord Ulric smirked. “You don’t have it in you.”

  “Wanna bet?” Ventus sneered, pushing the blade even farther.

  Ulric winced at the pain. “You’re too weak. You always have been and always will be. All women are. My sister... your mother.”

  The sneer on Ventus's face faltered. "My mother was not weak."

  "Your mother was weak. Beautiful, but weak." Ventus twisted her sword slightly, but he continued to speak out in a rasp. "Perhaps she would still be alive, if she let me keep her."

  "What are you saying?" Ventus's eyes were full of malice, hate seeping through every line in her face.

  He struggled to lift his eyes up to her, peering into them. “You know what you are?”

  Ventus remained silent but jabbed her sword harder into his throat. A drop of blood formed beneath her blade.

  “You’re mine... My daughter.” Ulric’s high-pitched laughter was immediately drowned out by a gargling sound, as she dug the blade deep into his neck and he choked on his own blood. She leaned into him, pushing her blade through with all her strength. And then the light fled from her eyes. Lord Ulric became still. But clutched tightly in his hand was a smaller blade. And that blade was buried in Ventus’s heart.

  ◆◆◆

  Mythia and Regulus tore through the jousting field, as friend and foe alike battled to the death. There were so many Rejicio soldiers that some of the citizens of Terra took it upon themselves to fight. Not a single cowardly bounty hunter was anywhere to be found.

  They reached the recruits, who still fought against the retired knights. Mythia quickly released her magic, separating the two sides with a jolt through the earth beneath them. As they toppled over, Mythia knocked down the knights with a powerful gust of wind. Regulus ran up to remove their swords and tie their hands, as Mythia looked over the recruits.

  “Where’s Ventus?” she asked suddenly. Her friends simply shook their heads and shrugged. Mythia scanned the crowd around them as quickly as she could, her heart suddenly pounding. Regulus finished tying up the knights and ran up to her just as Mythia’s eyes landed on a pair of bodies in a crumpled heap on the benches up ahead. “No…” She broke out into a sprint and collided in the bench. Lord Ulric lay, sprawled awkwardly between two benches, blood pooling from his mouth. Dead. His arm was stretched out in front of him, connecting to the cloaked body laying on its front. Mythia took in a deep, shaky breath as she turned the body around. Ventus’s opal eyes stared back at her, round and still. She coughed slightly, as blood trickled out of her mouth.

  “Ventus!” Mythia gasped. She clutched tightly to her friend’s body, feeling the heat of life drain quickly out of her.

  “Mythia,” Ventus struggled to say. Their eyes locked in on each other’s. �
��Your worth… is so much higher… than you would ever know…” Ventus forced the words out painfully. Mythia suddenly felt as though they were back in the castle, on the morning of her wedding as Ventus spoke the very words Mythia had said to her. “I’ve never looked at you as a lady… or a queen… but as… a friend.”

  Mythia sniffed, her eyes shifting rapidly back and forth. “Why are you speaking as though you’re saying goodbye?” The words tumbled out just like they did when Ventus spoke them to her.

  The young soldier’s eyes floated away from Mythia’s and landed somewhere in the darkening sky, as snow fell steadily upon them.

  Mythia dropped her hold and clutched at her mouth. Her body trembling, she backed up away from Ventus’s dead body. Mythia felt the pressure of Regulus’s hand upon her shoulder. “Heal her,” she pleaded in a whisper as soft as the wind.

  Regulus walked up to Ventus and leaned over. He blinked out a tear. He waited for a moment before sliding his hand over her wide, gray eyes, closing them. He looked at Mythia, pain etched into his face and slowly shook his head. “She’s gone, Mythia.”

  Torment wrenched through Mythia’s heart, burning through her like a searing flame, as she collapsed onto Ventus, wrapping her arms around her small muscular body, squeezing life into her. She poured out every ounce of her magic; poured out fire, water, earth, and wind. Let the white light of healing flood into Ventus’s cold, dead body. But nothing brought her back. Mythia raised her hands to her own neck and unfastened the silver buckle. She laid the light blue cloak over Ventus, the symbol of the knights of Trigonus. Mythia did not know anyone more worthy to be knighted than her.

  Regulus gently pulled Mythia back. He peered deeply into her eyes. “Remember why this is all happening? Remember why you came here, Mythia?”

  Mythia sniffed and nodded her head. Regulus’s face was grim as he pulled out his sword. She opened her hands.

  She thought back to the first time she stepped foot in Trigonus. What had she come to the city for? She had come looking for answers. And she got them. She now knew who she was and what she was meant to do.

  “There is only one thing that will stop this,” Mythia agreed.

  She turned around and faced the royal box, where the king continued to stand in absolute confusion. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide with fear, staring dumbfounded as his kingdom was crushed beneath the weight of war. She marched straight passed the fallen, bloodied bodies and continuous battles. His green eyes grew even wider as he stared at her in disbelief, as though uncertain whether or not she was real.

  “My queen,” he gasped. “Is it truly you?”

  Mythia lifted up her chin, her eyes blazing with power. “My king.” She bowed down deeply. “It is, indeed, I. But it isn’t you I wish to speak with now.” Mythia walked slowly closer to the royal box. “I wish to speak with the Dragon King.” For a moment, Tribus appeared to look puzzled. But then his handsome, chiseled face began to stretch into a snarl. His stunningly emerald eyes filled with black ink, his teeth grew into razor sharp fangs, and his lips pulled back into a sneer. His shoulders appeared to swell and heave as though ready to sprout wings.

  The sun was suddenly blocked by a swirling black storm, spinning above them. The day quickly turned into night, even though it was still late in the afternoon. The people remaining gasped and screamed, pointing up at the sky or toward the king. Battles were quickly ended as the fighters fled in fear. Only the bravest of the knights and soldiers remained

  His voice was deep and thunderous, seemingly coming from the developing storm itself. “Ah, you’ve returned.” His sneer stretched out. Mythia put one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other palm open and facing him. “I see you can not stay away from your king. Do you love him, Mythia? Do you love him as he loves you?” His booming voice was mocking and insinuating. She ignored his question, sliding her sword out of its sheath and aiming it toward him. His sneer only stretched wider. “Ah. So you have come to kill him. How easy it must be for you, to take your rightful place at the throne. To overcome the father and the son.”

  “I do not wish to kill King Tribus,” Mythia said. She was surprised to hear her voice was loud and clear, despite the trembling inside of her. “I only wish to defeat you who taints his soul with darkness.”

  “Oh, but my dear Mythia, don’t you know? King Tribus is me and I am him. He sold his soul to me… for you.” The Dragon King stretched out his arms as the skin beneath his leather tunic ripped open and a scaly, gruesome pair of green wings emerged from within. Mythia stumbled backward, nearly losing her footing, as the half human, half dragon hybrid tilted his head up to face the swirling blackness above and let out a roar, just as thunder burst from the clouds. He lifted his wings and jumped high, soaring through the space between him and Mythia. The earth shook as he landed shockingly close to her in a crouch, his fist pummeling the ground beneath. A circle of green flames surrounded them, separating them from Prince Regulus, the recruits, and the remaining knights. Regulus’s shouts were immediately shut off and replaced with the sound of the roaring fire.

  Mythia quickly regained her posture. Her heart pounded so fast she thought it would explode but held her sword steady and her hand out. Her eyes narrowed in concentration.

  He struck first. His green tinted fire bursting out from him as he roared, a shrieking, soul rattling roar. Mythia released her gift of water just in time, as it met the flames midair and turned the fire into steam. The Dragon King’s black eyes widened.

  “You’ve grown stronger, my queen,” he raised his eyebrows. “No matter… I like a challenge.” He tilted his head back and let out another roar that made the hair on Mythia’s skin stand on edge. The roar reached up into the swirling sky, connecting with a new round of thunder, as a thin streak of blinding lightening cascaded down to the ground. Right at Mythia.

  She rolled onto the snow strewn ground just as the lightening struck the place she stood only a second before. The dirt it hit was scorched and the snow turned black. The Dragon King lifted off into the air again, but this time, Mythia was ready. She pulled the earth she stood on off from the ground, and floated up to face him.

  “You continue to improve,” he sneered. She could just make out the prince running around the circle of flames, trying to find a way through, his sword held high. She looked back at the Dragon King who was watching her carefully. “Ah. I see.” He smirked. Just as he raised his hands she funneled water through the sky at him, but his fire wasn’t directed at her. It was directed at Regulus.

  His forearm seared with an agonizing sting, more painful than anything he had ever felt. He looked down to see his chainmail had been singed right off, and the remaining tunic beneath was smoking with flames. He screamed and dove into the fluffy layer of snow that lined the field, immediately taking out the flames. He looked up to see the Dragon King staring right at him, flying in the intense, darkening storm. Mythia stood on a slice of earth, long roots sticking out from beneath, her face white with fear as she caught his eyes. He gave her a quick nod to show he was okay before he watched in horror as she jumped off her floating piece of earth, which fell heavily into the circle of fire with a strong shuddering crash. A gust of wind caught Mythia as she slowed down midair, making her way toward him. She landed neatly at his side. He raised his eyebrows at her, amazed by her ability.

  But the Dragon King was already making his way over, followed by crashing thunder and lightning. Regulus grabbed Mythia’s hand and they ran, as bolt after bolt of lightning cascaded down at their trail, so close they could smell the electricity burning in the air.

  A tremendous roar trembled through the air, but rather than coming from behind them where the Dragon King flew, it echoed from the opposite end of the field. For one bewildering moment, Regulus thought his father had somehow reappeared across the field. But then a dragon, an actual full fledged dragon with great blacks scales and tremendous wings, appeared from the swirling blackness in the billowing storm. He tried to pull Mythia aw
ay, to turn to the opening of the jousting field to put as much space between them and the two dragons as he could. But instead of turning in the direction of his pull, Mythia ran even faster toward the oncoming black dragon.

  The great beast lowered itself in front of them just as another streak of lightning struck their shoes, burning holes in the leather heels. In a moment of insanity, Mythia leaped onto the dragon and pulled Regulus up with her. The dragon stretched out its wings and flew up again, Regulus clutching onto his queen before the beat of the wings could throw them both off.

  The Dragon King roared in anger, sending lightning after lightning at the queen and the prince. Mythia steered the great Dragon around to face the king again. With the height and speed of the beast, she was finally able to fight back. She slid her blade quickly back into its hilt and faced her palms together, forming an orb of water that grew bigger and bigger, floating with a shimmering blue light, just as the Dragon King stopped in front of them, his disfigured wings flapping relentlessly to keep himself afloat. He opened his mouth and shrieked out a wall of green flames, just as Mythia pushed out her elemental gift of water. A tidal wave cascaded over the Dragon King’s flames, and a tumultuous rain came pouring from the sky above, immediately taking out the fire. The water continuously washed over, blocking him from their view. As soon as the final drops trickled away, there was nothing beneath. The king was not there.