Wonderland Ch 14 - Teaser

Without any preamble, here's the unedited teaser to chapter 14 of Wonderland. Enjoy! (And let me know what you think! ;)

Wonderland Chapter Fourteen - teaser

Thatcher

The dragons distracted Fuyher long enough for him to escape.

Gritting his teeth, he drew himself to his feet and stumbled into a run, his blood leaving a crimson trail behind him like glistening rubies in the snow. Raspans scrambled through the trees ahead of him, screeching their fear as the dragons stormed the forests. Thatcher was right behind them, gasping hoarsely for air as sprinted towards the Lunar’s camp as fast as he could.

Suddenly, a single dragon’s roar filled Thatcher’s eardrums and a not-so-soothing warmth against his back urged him to run faster. Thatcher leapt over a split pine and glanced briefly over his shoulder.

Behind him, the world was ablaze in gold flame, the rusty red dragon behind it disappearing in the fire. Fuyher, at the dragon’s feet, was bathed in the same element before he too vanished to nothing.

Thatcher landed awkwardly on his left leg and fell, the telling snap and radiating pain seconds later telling him all he needed to know.

He stopped rolling when his back connected hard on another pine, his face taking a lashing from the low branches. With a groan, Thatcher propped up on his good elbow and surveyed the damage to his leg.

One swift look at the bone poking through flesh and jeans had his stomach rolling, but he managed to keep his food down once he looked away.

Bum arm, bum leg…what else could I possibly break today?

Closing his eyes, Thatcher focused his magic on his breaks, intending to heal them, but the massive headache that struck like daggers into his temples forced him to stop. Opening his eyes to glance around at the forest once again, Thatcher had to shake his head.

No magic.

No one to watch his back.

And the forest is on fire.

Thatcher sniffed and then swore, his body protesting as he pulled himself out from the pine’s undergrowth and straight into a wall of smoke.

Unnatural colored flames clung to the pines and crept ever closer, thanks to the soft wind of a coming winter storm. The smell of snow and fire and old magic filled his sensitive nose, the scent growing exponentially stronger with each passing second.

He had to get out of the forest.

Not giving himself time to consider the danger of limping out from his hiding spot, Thatcher pulled himself onto his one good foot and gripped the branches of the pine for balance. Finding his location quickly, Thatcher turned east and began to shuffle through the snow, grimacing at each jarring jolt that his arm and left leg took.

The flames were coming quickly now, the heat of them warm enough to send sharp tingles through Thatcher’s numb limbs. Panting heavily from exertion, he shuffled faster, his eyes never still as he swept across the silent landscape, searching for signs of the enemy.

The closer he got to the clearing, the noisier the world became.

Thatcher’s bum leg caught on a root and with a whoosh he fell to his stomach, bringing him face-to-face with a Common Raspan, its dull black eyes staring accusingly into Thatcher’s soul. Closing off his air to keep from breathing in the smell of death, Thatcher used the pine stump responsible for his fall to pull himself to his feet again, his eyes never leaving the still-smoking body of an unfortunate Raspan that had been caught in a dragon’s flames.

Another ear-splitting roar turned Thatcher’s eyes to the valley, causing a sickening feeling to settle in his gut.

Common Raspans ran unchecked through the Lunar camp, screeching and wheezing and wheeling about in terror as they sought to escape the danger from above. An entire herd streaked up towards the Elite Raspan’s nests, only to be encountered by the white and blue dragon and set ablaze.

Luna women and children scrambled for the safety of the forests, clinging what little belongings they had left to their chests, their eyes constantly darting back over their shoulders to see if they were being followed or chased.

The forests aren’t safe! Thatcher tried to scream. But the words, like his breath, were caught in his throat and he could only stare after them in mute protest.

As he watched another one of his brother’s fall to the flames of the dragon, Thatcher felt his resolve waver. For so long, he had wanted revenge and freedom from his father’s legacy and now that it was here…the victory left him hollow.

Death in war was inevitable, he knew that. He had seen Gargoyle clans die by the hundreds under a single Drul spell. He had seen humans slay one another by simply releasing a ten-foot weapon of uranium out of a passing airplane.

But seeing the deaths and knowing that he was the cause of them was something entirely different.

Father was supposed to be the only one, he thought, as he watched a Luna male be stampeded beneath the large clawed feet of a Raspan wreathed in green flame. I didn’t want anyone else to die.

Tears fell down Thatcher’s grime-covered cheeks as he stared at the results of his own making. Stumbling backwards until his body connected with the stump of a pine, Thatcher sank awkwardly to his side in the snow, the colors around him blurring as exhaustion and pain, both spiritual and physical, swept over him.

The last thing he saw before he succumbed to darkness was a single fleeing Raspan covered in arrows streaking across the Lunar camp, its eyes wild and rolling as it tried to escape the large gaping jaws of the black dragon…and failed.

Tempest

As the Druls sang a low haunting tune to ferry the lost souls to the next life, their subtle magic spell calmed the flames that the dragons had started until nothing but sweet-smelling smoke was left in their wake.

After the last Common Raspan had been brought down in a volley of arrows, no one had been able to move, some out of fear and others out of wariness. But when Lennox had released his shrill battle cry, one of victory, the instant answering call of the Lunar had signaled their rise. Everyone rushed to the gates, stabbing at fallen Raspan carcasses to ensure their stillness was out of lack of a beating organ and not out of play, their once fear-filled eyes now sparkling with relief and joy at being able to live to see the end of the day.

The battle was over now, and the funeral-of-sorts for those who had not made to see the sun set had to be made.

I hadn’t ever been to a funeral before. My family had all passed before me, but yet, I had never buried anyone in the ground. I have never stood before a mass grave, surrounded by those whom the dead had once loved, laughed, and dined with, bemoaning the shortness of life and the dire consequences of war. I had never shed tears over old memories or prayed for a happy, peaceful life in realms where the dead souls mingled.

I was detached, but yet…I could feel everything.

I could feel the sorrow and pain of the Luna female standing next to me, her golden eyes locked on the small body of a young girl as her fingers clung to the torn hem of the girl’s furs desperately. She cried soundlessly, as though still in shock.

That was not the case of the many Lunar who stood behind me and to my sides. Their moans and whimpers almost overpowered the soft, droll hum of the Druls song, some women wailing so loudly and in such pain that goose bumps spread across my body at the sound.

My eyes cut across the gathered circle of Lunar and Elites, across the pit of bodies to the place where Lennox and his father stood, their Council at their back. Talon stood beside them, his silver eyes staring at something in the distance, his lips moving softly to the words of the Druls hymn.

I looked up at the golden spikes that protruded from his skull, swallowing thickly.

Sometime during the battle, I had mutated into what the Drul’s called ‘a child of the dragon’, shedding my human skin for scales. In return, Talon too had changed – his magic, suppressed by a two thousand year sleep in a castle that I had freed him of, had broken free of its restraints. He stood taller than he had before, and had aged dramatically. His eyes were constantly silver now, reflecting the Ancient magic that flowed through his veins – and now they looked so old. The golden spikes that encircled his head to resemble a crown bespoke of whom and what he was: the Gargoyle King, the last descendant of the Tze clan, and the last Gargoyle in existence. The Druls told him it was an ancient honor, one bestowed upon those worthy of such a title. I guess they didn't stop to think that as the last Gargoyle, there was no one else to “bestow” such a title to. Worth and honor were most likely not the key factors in the spell, but I wasn't going to say aloud.

The Druls’ haunting song came to a soft end, the final note lingering heavily in the air long after.

I swallowed hard as Kynan’s voice, low and rumbling, cut across the entire valley with a prayer of the dead for the slain Lunar warriors. Lennox followed with a eulogy for the innocent, his husky tone more soothing than Kynan’s had been, but just nearly as haunting and lost as the hymn of the Druls.

After he had finished, the scant remains of the Lunar camp was packed onto carts and into sacks for them to carry. No one spoke beyond carrying out a command, and the grey sky above did nothing to help alleviate the black mood.

Strong Elites in their natural form were made to carry the wounded on litters that were nothing more than planks of roughly cut wood roped together and covered with furs. Not exactly the most comfortable of conditions, but considering their time constraints and the charred forest that expanded as far as the eye could see in all directions, no one had a choice as far as comfort went.

I ended up towards the back of the long procession, next to Georgina and Saoirse as we led the women and children behind the remaining Elites, now numbered to a slim one hundred and twelve. At our sides, the Lunar warriors rode up and down the line, keeping everyone together as we passed out of the sweet smoke of war and into the frigid cold snow and the mountains beyond.

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