Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin Read online

  THE DRAGONMAGE SAGA

  BOOK 1

  BOOKS BY CAREN J. WERLINGER

  Novels:

  Looking Through Windows

  Miserere

  In This Small Spot

  Neither Present Time

  Year of the Monsoon

  She Sings of Old, Unhappy, Far-off Things

  Turning for Home

  Cast Me Gently

  Short Stories:

  Twist of the Magi

  Just a Normal Christmas (part of Do You Feel What I Feel? Holiday Anthology)

  The Dragonmage Saga:

  Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin

  Coming soon:

  The Portal: The Chronicles of Caymin

  The Standing Stones: The Chronicles of Caymin

  Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin

  Published by Corgyn Publishing, LLC.

  Copyright © 2016 by Caren J. Werlinger.

  All rights reserved.

  This work is copyrighted and is licensed only for use by the original purchaser and can be copied to the original purchaser’s electronic device and its memory card for your personal use. Modifying or making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, without limit, including by email, CD, DVD, memory cards, file transfer, paper printout or any other method, constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions.

  e-Book ISBN: 978-0-9960368-3-2

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9960368-4-9

  E-mail: [email protected]

  Web site: www.cjwerlinger.wordpress.com

  Cover design by Patty G. Henderson

  www.boulevardphotografica.yolasite.com

  Cover photo: Jane Morrison

  Questions of Light Photography

  eBook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For all who still believe in magic…

  and dragons

  Contents

  PROLOGUE: The New Cub

  CHAPTER 1: The Ghost Child

  CHAPTER 2: The Reaping

  CHAPTER 3: The Forest

  CHAPTER 4: Fire and Crow

  CHAPTER 5: Elements

  CHAPTER 6: Provocation and Promise

  CHAPTER 7: Claiming Her Name

  CHAPTER 8: An Arrow Through the Heart

  CHAPTER 9: Lughnasadh

  CHAPTER 10: The White Worm

  CHAPTER 11: The Invaders

  CHAPTER 12: Back Into the Mist

  CHAPTER 13: The Worm Who Isn’t

  CHAPTER 14: Samhain Trials

  CHAPTER 15: A Traitor Among Them

  CHAPTER 16: Unexpected Tidings

  CHAPTER 17: Reunited

  CHAPTER 18: The Secret Shared

  CHAPTER 19: The Dragon Egg

  CHAPTER 20: Betrayed

  CHAPTER 21: The Traitor Revealed

  CHAPTER 22: Enemies Everywhere

  CHAPTER 23: Nowhere to Hide

  CHAPTER 24: Over the Endless Water

  CHAPTER 25: Alone No Longer

  CHAPTER 26: Back to the Forest

  CHAPTER 27: Trial by Fire

  PROLOGUE

  The New Cub

  Broc lay still under a heavy thicket. Up in the sky, a ring surrounded the cold moon. Snow was coming. She could smell it. Normally, she didn’t venture so close to the two-legs, but this night she did. She’d felt a trembling and vibration in the earth that she’d felt before, and she knew what it meant.

  The birds that flew near the edges of the land told tales of various bands of two-legs that came over the endless water in strange hollowed logs to their land. They said when the logs settled, out spilled more two-legs than they could count, and when the different bands met, they nearly always fought. Broc had never been so far from her sett as to see the water, but she remembered other days, when she was a cub and had unwisely ventured too close to a village and she had seen them fighting. She never forgot the screams and the fire, and the smell of blood and fear.

  Now, she flattened her body even lower under the thicket, her bright eyes glittering as she watched a band of two-leg males stealthily approaching this village from the forest. The badger sow sniffed the air as they approached, all wearing tunics and cloaks bearing the same design, all carrying weapons of metal, and the scent of the animal skins that the two-legs wore in place of fur of their own came to her on the cold night air. She shivered and retreated deeper into her thicket, her smooth fur shielding her from the prick of the thorns. Silently, she turned and began to retrace her steps back to her own hunting.

  She froze as sudden yells and screams rent the night air around her. Two-legs crashed through the underbrush near her. Digging quickly, she made a shallow hole under the tangled roots of a yew tree and burrowed into it, watching their heavy feet stomp the earth just beyond the roots where she hid. She preferred to hide, but if any of them saw her and tried to get to her, they would be sorry.

  Broc stayed hidden for a long time as the sounds of their fighting filled the night – the blows, the sounds of bodies falling, and all the while, their voices raised. It went on and on until, at last, she heard the pounding of footsteps running away from her. It sounded as if the two-legs from the village who survived the attack had fled and were now being pursued by their attackers. She emerged from her tree roots, ready to scamper back to her sett. A new sound made her stop. Her keen ears and nose often picked up what her poor eyes could not, and now she heard a mewling cry, “Mam! Help me.”

  Startled, she paused. She shook her head as if ridding herself of an annoying fly. “It is not to do with me.”

  She turned again in the direction of her sett, but a renewed crying stopped her. Cautiously, she crept to the edge of the forest where she could see what remained of the village. She detected no movement of other two-legs, though many of them lay still on the ground. Shivering as she crawled among them, she followed the sounds of the cries to the burning remnants of one of their dwellings. She had never understood why the two-legs built their shelters aboveground instead of digging warm, safe setts as her kind did.

  There, thrashing and crying in pain at the edge of the fire, was a two-leg cub. Broc warily crept nearer and grasped the cub by the cloth that covered it. She dragged it back out of the fire. Not much bigger than a badger, it whimpered pitifully. Sniffing, she curled her snout at the smell of burned flesh and hair. It was a girl-cub. She freshened her grip on its covering and, using her powerful legs and strong claws, she dragged it farther away from the heat. She waited to see if any other two-legs would come to care for it. None came. She dragged it closer to the forest.

  “Broc?”

  She lifted her head and whickered at her mate’s call.

  “I am here, Cuán.”

  A large badger boar pushed his way through the underbrush, followed by two of Broc’s sisters.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “This two-leg cub was in the fire,” she said. “A girl-cub. She is hurt.”

  “Leave her,” said Broc’s older sister. “She will die in the cold. We would all be better if the two-legs left this forest to us as it should be.”

  Broc looked back at the girl-cub. “This one is different.”

  The boar sniffed, wrinkling his snout in distaste as Broc
had done. “Different how?”

  “She speaks to us,” Broc said. “Listen. I heard her call to me.”

  The four badgers became silent, and they could hear a tiny voice calling, “Do not leave me,” though no sound was made.

  The younger sister backed away. “How is it that this two-leg speaks as we do?”

  “I do not know,” Broc said. “But I wish to take her back to our sett. Help me to move her.”

  “This is not wise,” her older sister said.

  “I cannot explain,” Broc said, but she ached in sorrow, remembering her own cubs from last season, taken by wolves when she was away hunting. She had mated again, but would not give birth to new cubs for many moons to come. “I feel it. We must not leave her. Help me.”

  “We cannot drag her to the sett,” said the boar. “We will hurt her more and she will die.” He cautiously approached one of the fallen two-leg males, ignoring the sickening smell of the blood. He pawed at a wooden disc clasped around the two-leg’s arm. It had been pierced by a weapon, but was still intact. The two-leg was dead. Cuán dared to draw nearer until he could use his teeth and claws to part the leather straps holding the disc fast, and then dragged it to Broc. “We must put her on this, and then we can move her safely through the forest.”

  The four badgers crept close enough to grasp the girl-cub by the cloth covering her. The older sister shook her head, wiping her tongue with her paw. “She tastes like ash.”

  They pulled her onto the disc.

  “Wait,” said Broc. She went to another of the fallen two-leg warriors and chewed loose the clasp holding a heavy cloak. She brought the cloak back to the girl-cub and covered her with it. “She has no fur of her own. We must keep her warm.”

  Working together, the four badgers hauled her back to their sett.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Ghost-child

  Ash prowled the edge of the village, keeping to the shadows, though there was no real need. She wore a dark cloth stolen by Cuán from another village long ago, and her hair was interwoven with twigs and bits of moss so that, if she stood still against a tree, she became nearly invisible. Winter’s hold was loosening, but small pockets of snow remained at the base of the trees. She carefully placed her feet so as to leave no trail and make no noise. She cocked her head as she listened to the two-legs’ speech. It was odd that she could understand it still, though, if she had ever spoken it, it had been long ago, when she was a cub, before the fire. Sometimes, when she was alone, she tried to speak their words, but they felt strange on her tongue. Talking with Broc and the other four-legs was much easier, as she could hear their thoughts and they hers.

  “Go around,” she said now to one of the dogs that accompanied her.

  She crept a little closer to where a man and woman sat beside their fire in front of their dwelling, and she let herself be seen.

  “What’s that?”

  “Where?”

  “Over there, just beyond the firelight.”

  The man strained his eyes, trying to pierce the veil of darkness beyond their fire. “’Tis just the ghost-child. Can’t talk or hear. Leave her be. She does no harm.”

  “Poor thing,” said the woman. “And no one to look after her.”

  “We’ve enough babes of our own to care for.” His strong teeth bit into the meat clinging to the bone in his roughened hand.

  “I know,” the woman said. “But she looks so hungry.” She took a few tentative steps toward the girl, holding out a hand. “Won’t you come closer?”

  But Ash backed away, drawing their attention, just as she’d planned. Behind the people, unnoticed by either of them, the dog crept close enough to grab a bird roasting on a spit over the fire.

  “Give her just a wee bit,” the woman said.

  Scowling, the man tossed what remained of the bone in the girl’s direction. She snatched it and scampered away into the underbrush.

  Ash was neither deaf nor mute, but it served her purposes for humans to think she was. The dog who had stolen the bird came to her, dropping it at her feet.

  “Good,” she said. She gave him the bone with the meat left on it and picked up the bird, still hot and greasy from the fire.

  Within a few heartbeats, she was surrounded by the village dogs, who sat or crawled near on their bellies, their noses twitching eagerly in the direction of the meat. She pulled a piece loose and put it in her mouth. It was the first meat she’d had in many days. She ate another couple of mouthfuls, and then tore other bits off, handing them out to the waiting dogs.

  Some nights, the dogs fed them, stealing hunks of meat from the fires when the two-legs weren’t paying close enough attention or bringing down a fawn or a rabbit. They always shared with Ash, as she did with them if she was able to scrounge food. She preferred the cooked meat, but food was food. Many days, her only option was to paw through the remnants of the fires while the humans were sleeping or away hunting, looking for something that wasn’t so rotten it would make her sick. Ash could always dig for roots or look for berries in the right seasons, but the dogs couldn’t eat that. She ate a bit more and let the dogs have the rest. She glanced up at the moon as the dogs tugged on what remained of the bird carcass, growling at one another. Broc would be back from her hunting soon.

  “Tomorrow,” she said as she got to her feet.

  She limped through the forest, the scarred skin of her right leg stretched so tightly behind the knee that it couldn’t straighten completely. It had been that way for as long as Ash could remember, from the night Broc pulled her from the fire.

  “You whimpered and cried like a new-born cub.” Ash had asked Broc to tell her the story again and again. “You were no bigger than I am. I licked your wounds and bit away the dead flesh until you began to heal.”

  “And what did you feed me?” Ash asked, though she knew the answer.

  “I tried to feed you earthworms, like I feed my cubs,” Broc said every time. “But you would not eat them. I did not know what two-leg cubs eat, but you finally ate roots and berries I brought you.”

  Ash slowed as she approached the sett, sniffing the night air and listening to make sure no wolves or foxes were near before pushing aside the curtain of moss that hid her entrance. She crawled on her hands and knees down a long tunnel to a larger cavity lined with more moss and leaves.

  “Broc? Cuán? Is anyone here?”

  There was no reply. They were still hunting. Ash wrapped herself in her cloak, the one Broc had covered her with the night of the fire. Her fingers traced the frayed threads that made a design in the cloak. She knew Broc’s stories of that night, but had no memory of it, or of anything that came before. Absently, she touched the scars that ridged the side of her face. Sometimes, while she slept, she thought she could remember being held by a two-leg woman, being sung to as she had heard them sing around their fires in the village, but when she woke, it was all gone, vanished like smoke.

  “Ash?”

  “Here,” she replied.

  Within the darkness of the sett, Ash made out the darker shadows of Broc and three nearly grown badger cubs as they waddled through a badger-sized tunnel on the other side of the larger sleeping chamber that had been dug to accommodate Ash as she grew. One of the cubs came to her and deposited a bird egg in her lap.

  “For me?” Ash reached over and scratched the cub behind his ears. He groaned in enjoyment and flipped over so she could reach his belly. She cracked the eggshell open and tipped the contents into her mouth.

  “Did you hunt?” Broc asked as she licked her paw and washed her face.

  “Yes. The dogs worked with me and we got meat from the two-legs.”

  Broc looked up from her cleaning. “Were you careful not to be seen?”

  “I let them see me,” Ash said.

  Broc sat up taller. “It is not safe.”

  “They call me ghost-child in their speech. They will do me no harm.”

  “Two-legs always do harm,” Broc said.

  Ash lay
down with her head resting against Broc’s broad, warm body, larger now with the new cubs she would soon give birth to. “How many winters ago did you find me?”

  “You know, little one,” Broc said, snuffling as she licked Ash’s face.

  “Tell us again.” The cubs crowded near, curling up against Ash as they listened to the story they all knew as well as their own names.

  “It was a cold night, eight winters past. Snow was almost upon us…”

  Cuán and the others waited until nightfall to crawl out the tunnels and begin their hunting. Broc was nursing three new cubs, their pink skin only just covered by fine, silvery fur. Their eyes were not yet open.

  “I will return quickly,” Ash said. She scraped together the soiled bedding from under the new cubs. The disturbance made them cry and wriggle. She carried the debris up the tunnel and out to dispose of it at some distance from the sett. Working quickly in the dark, she gathered more moss and leaves and brought them back inside. She gently lifted the cubs as Broc settled on the fresh bedding with a contented whicker. Ash placed the mewling cubs where they could get to a nipple.

  “Thank you.”

  Ash pressed her forehead to Broc’s. “I will hunt for both of us tonight.”

  Once out in the forest, she moved silently, despite her lame leg. She used a stick to dig for wild rutabaga and turnips. She knew the villagers grew these things, but she never took from their crops unless she was desperate. She rubbed the dirt off and munched on one as she dug for more. She gathered up all the earthworms and grubs unearthed by her digging and placed them in a large leaf for carrying. When she had enough, she stood with her prizes gathered in a fold of the cloth she wore. Walking more slowly now, she made her way back toward the sett.

  Suddenly, the usual sounds of the night forest – the scuffling noises of mice and voles, the hoots of owls, the squeaks of bats – were drowned by screams. Badger screams. Ash dropped her gathered food and ran as fast as she could in the direction of the screams. Topping a small knoll, she saw four wolves surrounding three badgers. One wolf lunged, teeth bared, and a badger screamed in pain, but all three snarled and bared their teeth as they held off the wolves whose teeth snapped again and again as they tried to get hold of one of the badgers. Ash picked up a large fallen branch and launched herself down the slope, yelling as she did. She swung the branch, catching one wolf in the shoulder and sending it tumbling. Pressing their unexpected advantage, the other badgers advanced, snarling fiercely while Ash continued to swing her stick and yell. The wolves backed away, circled for long heartbeats, and then slunk off into the dark.