Before you begin this story, I must warn you first. This is not a tale of dashing knights and lovely damsels awaiting rescue. It is not the tale of happy endings, with birdsong and rides into the sunset. It is a tale of light magic and dark, of drag...
Val Estus - the capitol city of Valory, where the Emperor lives
ALYXEN
The Rose Farm, Northwestern Valory
1 Veyshin 573A.F. - 28 Narens 574A.F
If the years in my father's house taught me anything, it is that there will always be moments, however brief, when life could be joyful and happy, and our fear, if not erased, was at least temporarily forgotten.
I knew at an early age that it was my talent to create these moments, to breathe long-lost laughter into our lives. I began by retelling the stories Janis had once read to us, changing them bit by bit. Then I started to create my own, acting them out before bed. The tales were ridiculous and absurd, often a blending of too many ideas, but they made my brothers and sisters laugh, and that was all the encouragement I needed.
As I grew older, my stories grew more elaborate. I think I was the first to dream of what would happen when we were old enough to leave our father's house- certainly I was the first to speak of it, though I disguised it in a comical story of a family of squirrels that set off into the world to find dragons.
The others were quiet when I finished, though I knew they were still awake. I was too large for the bed by then, so I lay on my pallet on the floor, my hands pillowed behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling.
"Do you think it's really possible?" Reyce asked at last, his voice quiet and wistful. "Do you think we could really leave one day?"
"We can't stay here forever," I pointed out reasonably. "One day we'll be able to leave this place. No more farm, no more Desperation."
If he understood the double meaning of my words, he did not choose to comment on it. "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere we want." I shrugged. "Mejares. Cardoza. Even Tante."
"We should stop in Fallor first, meet Mother's family. Get provisions for the road." Lanya twisted in the bed, getting comfortable. "Then we can see the world."
Reyce sighed, wistful. "I would really like to see dragons one day."
"I want to ride one," Brannyn joked.
"Well, I want to be the first to ride a unicorn." Kylee's voice was filled with determination.
"Those are supposed to be really aggressive, you know."
"That's why I'm going to be the first. And then I'm going to the Ice Flats to get my very own pegasus, so I can fly wherever I want."
"Val Estus," Lanya murmured sleepily. "I want to see the golden spires. And attend a ball. Maybe even dance with a prince."
"Romance." I rolled my eyes. "Blech."
She sniffed. "Shows what you know. You-"
Reyce interrupted before our bickering could escalate. "Kryssa?" The bed creaked as he sat up to look at her. "What do you want to do once we leave here?"
It took her so long to answer, I thought she had fallen asleep. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke, so that we had to strain to hear her. "I want to be happy."
Her words silenced us, and we spoke no more of leaving, or of the future.
But that did not stop me from dreaming of it.
When I broke my arm, I had plenty of time to consider my freedom, since Kryssa and Lanya insisted that I remain confined to the bed to rest, not even allowing me to perform the simplest of chores. I prowled the house and the gardens when they weren't looking, careful to keep my shields up so they wouldn't catch me. Though our newfound telepathy was useful, it was also inconvenient. I was restless, and certain I would die of boredom.
Then I chanced upon an unused journal in my mother's belongings, plain and leather-bound, the crisp pages blank and beckoning to me like an old friend. I spent the rest of the long, uncomfortable weeks of my convalescence writing with the ragged quill and bottle of ink that Kryssa managed to acquire for me, recording my stories and dreams with a careful hand. I knew we would not be able to afford another journal, and so I made certain to keep my writing small and precise, taking up as much of each page as I could manage.
I carried it with me everywhere, the leather growing worn and soft beneath my fingers. Even when my arm was declared healed and I was once again allowed to return to my chores, I still brought it wherever I went. Lanya finally sewed a pocket to the inside of my tunic so that I could feel its weight against my chest as I worked, a reminder that one day my life would be different, better, more.
I suppose it was only a matter of time before Father noticed.
He came into the house one afternoon, in one of those rare moments when all the others were out. I was sitting at the table writing; the comforting scratch of my pen halted as I saw him.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his brows drawing together. "What is that?"
"Writing." I swallowed, but I saw no rage in him, merely curiosity. "They're stories, Father."
He took the journal from me, frowning at the tiny print. "Stories? What kind of stories?"
"Just... stories." I stared at him helplessly. "I write them."
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"Hmph." He dismissed them, and me, tossing the journal over his shoulder. It smacked against the wall, and I struggled not to wince. "Useless. Get out of your fantasies, boy, and face the real world."
My insides shook, but I managed to nod. "Yes, Father."
He left. I rushed to where my book had fallen, picking it up carefully and gently smoothing the pages. I did not care what he said; my stories mattered. They gave me joy, and brought the others happiness.
My words were a light in the darkness, and I would not give them up.
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[Author's Note: "Malachi and Alyxen" by Alon J. Rand of Dragonwing Graphics]
