“Don’t,” Clay heard Kriz say in a gasp, but of course, Hezkhi couldn’t hear her. Taking one of the flasks from his belt he took a hefty gulp and concentrated his gaze on the crystal. It began to emit the tinkling that told of being subjected to Black, but instead of being refashioned into a sculpture it spun violently in the air and let out a loud crack. The light bathing the stone eggs flickered and died, the crystal tumbling to the floor along with the chambers, each one birthing a loud boom as they toppled and rolled.
Clay heard Kriz let out a sob, rich in the kind of despair and grief he remembered from his last visit here. Then she had seen proof of the deaths of her companions, now she had been forced to witness their murder. He wanted to say something to her, reach through the invisible veil separating them to offer comfort. Even the most empty, awkward expression of consolation would have been preferable to impotently witnessing her anguish. But, try as he might, the veil proved impenetrable and he could only watch her stagger, sobbing after Hezkhi as he made his way from the chamber.
The memory blurred and accelerated then, Clay catching only glimpses of the rapid mélange of images that followed; Hezkhi making his way through the mountains to the cliff-face covered in wooden scaffolding . . . taking two eggs from the terraces at the base of the cavernous chamber within . . . drinking more product, Red this time, and bathing both eggs in heat before retreating to a safe distance.
The memory slowed when the eggs hatched, bursting apart like bombs. When the smoke cleared two infant White Drakes sat amidst the shattered shells, chirping as they nuzzled each other. Hezkhi approached to crouch near by and they leapt into his arms, wings flapping in excitement. Seeing how Hezkhi nodded in response, Clay realised he had seen his expression before. Silverpin, he thought. He’s their Silverpin. They were able to call to him even from within the egg.
Hezkhi gave another nod and set the two infants down before moving to the row of crystals, drinking from one of his flasks as he did so. A short pause and then the Blue crystal began to glow, growing brighter as it rose from the chamber floor. Hezkhi spread his arms out wide as the crystal emitted a pulse of light bright enough to swamp the vision. When the light faded Hezkhi had collapsed to his knees, shuddering. Seeing the light play over the scales on his back Clay knew what he would see before Hezkhi raised his face, the yellow eyes, the ridged brows, the spines. The first ever Spoiled, he thought.
The memory blurred again, the images racing by with dizzying speed too fast for Clay to catch. When it slowed again Hezkhi stood over the wet, naked form of an old man. Beyond them a segmented sleeping chamber hovered in the air below a glowing crystal. The two infant Whites snapped at the old man as he slowly heaved himself up, raising his gaze to regard Hezkhi’s deformed visage.
“I grew tired of your prison, Father,” Hezkhi told him. “I have been offered freedom, and a whole world to play in.”
Zembi’s gaze went to the two drakes. They hissed in response, one lashing out with its tail to score a cut into the old man’s arm. “The eggs,” Zembi groaned, his head sagging. “We should have destroyed the eggs.”
“Yes,” Hezkhi agreed. “But you didn’t. They called to me for centuries, Father. Though I fought them, tried to resist their enticements, the many dreams they planted in my mind. When the promises didn’t work they made their dreams into nightmares, but a free mind can wake from a nightmare, and I was not free. For year after year I suffered, and then a very important question occurred to me: Why?” Hezkhi crouched in front of the old man, speaking softly. “Why suffer so much for a man who gave me so little?”
“You’re insane,” Zembi told him. “They drove you mad.”
“They set me free,” Hezkhi corrected in a chiding tone. “Guided me to the facet within the crystal that would unlock the sarcophagus. No longer would I live according to your whim, or Krizelle’s.”
Zembi’s head snapped up at this, eyes bright with alarm and anger.
“Oh don’t worry,” Hezkhi told him. “I intend to leave her very much alive. One day she’ll wake.” He rose and stood back, gesturing at the Blue crystal which floated close by. “And find you waiting for her.”
The Blue crystal flared into life, Zembi letting out a short pain-filled cry that soon choked into a strangled gurgle. When the light faded the old man remained on the floor, convulsing. To Clay it appeared as if the scales on his back were only partially formed, his hands twisting into claws then back again. He’s fighting it, Clay realised.
“A parting gift,” Hezkhi went on, moving to the Blue crystal. He drank from one of his flasks and focused his gaze. A tinkling sound rose as one of the crystal’s spikes separated from the core and floated into Hezkhi’s hand. He stared at the shard for a moment of intense concentration, a faint light flaring then fading within.
“Perhaps you’ll kill her,” he went on, returning to Zembi. “Or she’ll kill you. In which case, I should very much like her to know. She can think about it for however long it takes her to grow old and die down here.”
He opened his hand, offering the shard to Zembi. The old man’s face was contorting now, ridges swelling on his forehead, gritted teeth elongating. It would only be seconds before the transformation was complete.
Clay heard Kriz let out a surprised yelp as Zembi’s hand shot out to grasp the shard then stab it into Hezkhi’s chest. The younger man shouted in pain and shock, reeling away, the shard falling free as he did so. He staggered back, blood leaking from the wound. The two infant Whites set upon Zembi, biting at his flesh in a fury, then stopping abruptly and scurrying back.
Zembi slowly rose to his full height, remade features now firmly in place, a fully converted Spoiled.
“You vicious old bastard!” Hezkhi railed at him, hand clutched over his bleeding chest. But the insults were wasted now, for Zembi replied with only an incurious glance. Hezkhi let out a grunt of impotent fury then reached for another flask, drinking the entire contents in a few urgent gulps.
“It’s not healing right,” he said in an aggrieved whimper, casting a desperate gaze at the two Whites. “The bleeding stopped but it’s not healed. I can feel it.”
The two infants let out an identical hiss and his mouth clamped shut. Hezkhi stood frozen in place as the Whites turned their gaze on Zembi. He blinked and turned back to the sleeping chamber, climbing inside whereupon it closed around him once more. The Whites issued a brief squawk and Hezkhi shuddered. The memory faded into a grey void as he started towards the rear of the chamber in an agonised stumble with the Whites scurrying close behind.
“You were right.”
Clay blinked and found himself back in the cabin. Kriz sat before him, face downcast and tears falling onto the blankets.
“It was a trap,” she went on in a whisper. “I should have left it be.”
“We learned some things we didn’t know before,” Clay said, reaching out to cup her face, thumbing the tears away. “Hezkhi flew them to Arradsia, but his wound must’ve killed him on the way and the aerostat crashed in Krystaline Lake. Sad to say the Whites didn’t drown with him. Somehow they made it out, made their way to the enclave and started making eggs. In time they had a big enough brood to start their war.”
“It doesn’t help us,” she said. “There was nothing there beyond malice, my brother’s need to hurt me.”