The Godling Staff_Book Three

  Dragons of Daegonlot

  Book Three

  The Godling Staff

  By Shanlynn Walker

  Dragons of Daegonlot: Book Three, The Godling Staff

  Written by: Shanlynn Walker

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  Cover Design by: Fiverr.com/moonmachine/emmybeks

  Copyright © 2018 by Shanlynn Walker

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This story is a work of fiction. Names and characters are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing, 2018

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  The midday sunlight streamed down from the sky and illuminated the large black dragon sleeping in a meadow of gently swaying grass. Her onyx scales glittered like priceless black diamonds and the crimson spikes running down her spine shone like garnets, reflecting the sunlight and creating dancing spots of red on the ground around her.

  Tucked against her side was an anomaly of grey, also sound asleep with its massive head lying on its front paws which were the size of a human’s head. The creature appeared to be a dog, although one of such a size would normally be associated with a horse or some other kind of beast of burden. A falling leaf landed on the beast’s nose, gently disturbing its sleep, and suddenly it seemed to fade away, only to reappear solidly, now sleeping on its back with all four feet in the air.

  Trakon rubbed his eyes and chuckled quietly to himself. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to the sensation of seeing Sylas switch between his ephemeral and corporeal forms. He turned and went back into the cabin. Opening the cupboard, he began picking out vegetables and herbs to add to the pot of dried pork cooking over the fire.

  It had been a little over a week since they had returned from their trip into the Myste. They had realized soon after their return that Jessa had somehow come into possession of a staff made from the tree of a godling, and ever since Dax had been trying to find the only godling he knew of; the one that resided on Daegonlot and had fed him as a child. Originally they had planned to travel to Daegonlot the next day, but had decided to let Dax scout ahead to see if he could find the godling. With his newfound powers it was easy for him to teleport and cover more ground alone. So far, however, the search had been in vain.

  Absently, Trakon transferred the cut up vegetables into the boiling pot and slowly stirred the contents. He wondered if there was more to Dax’s frustration than just the fact he had thus far been unsuccessful in tracking down the godling. His foster parents, Borl and Sikir, also lived on Daegonlot, and Trakon knew Dax had not contacted them since his return from the Myste. It had to be weighing heavily on the young man’s mind how they would react to seeing him since his recent transformation. The young man who had entered the Myste had been a blonde-haired, blue-eyed elf with lightly tanned skin kissed by the sun, but that is not who had returned. He had been changed, merged into the being they now knew as Malitak, a creature created and enslaved by the Myste. The Daxon who had emerged from the Myste was paler, and his blonde hair now trailed down his spine, hiding a row of sharp quills. His fingernails were now sharp talons, and his previously blunt teeth now held more than a hint of sharpness, but his blue eyes were still the same.

  As if on cue, a roiling, dark grey cloud of smoke swirled into existence and suddenly Dax was standing in the middle of the small living area, cursing. “I’ve looked everywhere, Trakon,” he said without preamble, popping a piece of cut up carrot into his mouth. He swallowed and said, “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve scoured every inch of the island and I haven’t seen any sign of the godling. Maybe it doesn’t live there anymore…” he said thoughtfully.

  Trakon sighed and considered telling Dax his idea. He had been thinking on it for the past few days and had begun to think maybe the godling didn’t want to be found. “You know,” he began reluctantly, “I’ve been giving this some thought and maybe I should go with you the next time you search.”

  Dax looked at him blankly and gestured for him to go on.

  “Well, it’s possible the godling doesn’t want to be found, and I just thought that since I can channel earth magic, I might be able to tell where the largest concentration is, which, hopefully, would be where the godling is,” he explained.

  Dax looked thoughtful, considering it.

  It’s a good idea, Drakthira said from outside. Perhaps we should all go, just in case.

  Silently, Trakon agreed. Dax was ideal for scouting alone since he could simply teleport away from any danger. He could teleport with Trakon as well, but he had to be touching him, and Trakon could imagine all sorts of scenarios where that wouldn’t be possible and they may well end up in a dangerous situation. If there were any possibility of that happening, he would prefer to have them all together to face it.

  “Agreed,” Dax said after a moment of contemplation. “I will teleport us all there tonight after we eat supper. We can get an early start in the morning.”

  They all agreed and Trakon went to pack the rest of their dried meat and various other foodstuffs in a small pack, along with some basic supplies including rope, a knife, a skillet, and a heavy cloak for himself. When he was finished packing, the stew was done and he and Dax sat down to eat. Sylas had caught a large stag, which he happily shared with ‘Thira.

  Each of them ate in silence, their minds wandering back to their recent trip through the Myste. Although none of them would admit it out loud, they hoped this trip would be less dangerous, but none of them wavered in their determination to see it through. When they were finished, Trakon took his and Dax’s bowl, washed them in the small stream, and strapped their small pack of provisions on Sylas’ back. Straightening, he looked at Dax and nodded.

  Without a word, Dax climbed atop Drakthira’s back and rested his left hand on Sylas’ head and clasped Trakon’s forearm with his right hand. A column of dark, churning fog surrounded the small party and, when it cleared, the cabin and surrounding meadow were empty.

  Chapter One

  The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes 'sight-seeing.'

  ~ Daniel J. Boorstin

  Trakon stared off to the east. He could feel an intense pull of immensely powerful magic coming from that direction. Past experience told him that this could mean a variety of things. It could be a large field of trees, plants and flowers raising their arms to the sun and channeling the energy into life; or possibly a recent death, the life energy escaping from the corpse and feeding the earth and animals around it. For that matter, it could also be a newly born litter of some sort of animal just experiencing the first breath of life.

  He sighed in frustration and turned, looking to the northwest. Something strangely unfamiliar, partially obscured from his vision, was pulling him from that direction as well. It was odd being lured in two directions at once, but Trakon felt the strongest urge to go east.

  He g
lanced at the other members of his party as they lay sleeping. He had taken the last watch once they arrived on Daegonlot the day before so he could get his bearings and, hopefully, lead them to the godling. It was time to wake them and get started on their journey. With a last look to the northwest, he pulled a skillet out of one of their packs and set it on a large stone that had been warming in the fire and set about making breakfast for himself and Dax. It wasn’t long before the noise awakened the others.

  Dax yawned and disappeared in a cloud of smoke only to reappear a few feet away, standing now and packing up his bedroll. Sylas, obviously thinking this some sort of new game between the two of them, also disappeared and when he reappeared he had the other end of the bedroll in his mouth and nearly tugged Dax off his feet as he tried to run off with it. In his surprise Dax lost his hold and began chasing after Sylas, shouting for him to bring it back.

  Trakon laughed uproariously as he watched Dax teleport in a puff of fog in front of Sylas, who instantly dissipated, dropping the bedroll. Cursing the playful dog, Dax bent to pick it up, but at the last moment Sylas reappeared behind him and, sticking his head through Daxon’s legs, snatched the bedroll away. Dax spun around, shaking his fist at the feisty dog, but even he couldn’t help but laugh at the huge dog’s antics. The two disappeared once more in the smoke, and when they reappeared, Trakon saw that Dax was draped around Sylas’ neck, clutching the bedroll in his hand, trying to wrest it from the dog’s mouth. Sylas dissipated again, surprising Dax, and both he and the bedroll landed on the ground. Dax stood and brushed off himself and the bedroll, still cursing Sylas, but grinning all the while.

  After breakfast Dax and Trakon packed up their belongings and strapped them securely to Sylas. Straightening, Daxon looked at Trakon and asked, “Which way do you think?”

  The old man hesitated for just a moment before answering, “Northwest.”

  After the word was out of his mouth it felt… right somehow. Up to that point he thought he would lead the party east and had surprised even himself. With a last look to the east, he firmly turned himself northwest and began walking, the others falling in line behind him.

  The first day passed uneventfully for the party. They stopped at midday and ate some dried fruit and meat and refilled their water from a nearby stream, then started on their way again. Although he knew this was the right direction, by the time they made camp that evening Trakon didn’t feel they had come any closer to the mysterious magic calling to him. He began to doubt his decision to come this way, but still felt in his heart it was what they were looking for.

  Rising early the next morning, Trakon asked Drakthira if she would mind flying with him for a while. He wasn’t worried about Sylas and Dax being able to keep up and he wanted to cover more distance. I can carry you, dragonrider, but tonight I will have to eat to replenish my strength, she answered him. He nodded his understanding and Dax, having overheard the conversation, assured her he would hunt for her once they set up camp. He, too, was eager to find the godling, and covering the distance faster meant they would find it sooner rather than later.

  Trakon climbed aboard ‘Thira’s back and with a mighty leap she snapped open her wings, catching a passing current of wind and soared higher into the skies. He was once more overcome with exhilaration as he watched the ground grow smaller and smaller, remembering his flights with Rakisa so long ago. A tear escaped and was swept away by the wind before anyone noticed it, for which he was grateful. That momentary, painful reminder of his lost dragon companion reinforced his determination to discover what was hidden from him ahead, and reminded him of the importance of this quest.

  By the end of the second day, their destination still seemed no closer than it was the day before. The island wasn’t very large and Trakon knew they wouldn’t be able to fly another day without reaching the edge. It suddenly occurred to him that, although he could feel the magic that had beckoned him, it still remained somewhat obscure, as if in the shadows. He began to think that no matter how long they traveled northwest, the magic would still be as far away as it felt now.

  As the others settled down, Trakon contemplated a more serious course of action while Dax excused himself to go hunt for Sylas and Drakthira. He patted Sylas on the head when the big dog jumped up to accompany him, but firmly asked him to stay.

  Trakon found a secluded spot not too far from the campsite and settled himself into the tall grass and exhaled loudly, trying to purge his mind of anything and everything, and simply be as one with his surroundings. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and simply listened. At first he didn’t hear or feel anything, but as he continued to focus on the world around him he began to hear stirrings of life.

  Not more than a few feet from where he sat a strange, green and purple bug resembling a cricket began to trill out its nighttime cadence, a sound both beautiful and eerie. Directly in front of him, Trakon could feel the burst of life magic as a small, rodent-like creature gave birth to seven babies in a small den deep within the earth. The old man let his mind touch briefly on the newborn babies, feeling their thirst and the warmth of their mother’s body, before allowing his mind to seep into the earth itself, the lush, loamy soil teeming with tiny lifeforms and life-giving nutrients. He followed a system of roots back to the surface, emerging within a small sapling and slowly growing, feeling life as the sapling did, slow and immutable, before finding himself outside of the tree.

  His awareness expanding even more, he was now able to make out the smallest motes of magic coursing through the air, following the most miniscule currents. He allowed himself to rise into the air, looking down on the earth from a great height. When he thought he was high enough, he turned his awareness to the northwest, toward the mysterious magic calling out to him, yet remaining hidden. He followed the motes of magic, allowing the air currents to sweep him ever so gently towards a shimmering darkness that for some reason now didn’t seem that far away.

  He bumped lightly into the shimmering barrier, seeing the motes of magic continue on their way through the shield. He expanded his awareness more than he ever had before, now trying to imagine himself as nothing more than one of the tiny wisps of life and barely able to hold onto his conscious self in such a simple state. Losing himself to his magic, he was finally able to pass through the barrier and continued along with the magic, now more a collection of magical specks than a man. He floated along until, finally, he entered a clearing where the sun shone brightly at its zenith, beaming down on the most beautiful ancient tree he had ever encountered.

  Struggling to retain even the small amount of identity left to him, Trakon focused and brought his awareness back together with great effort. The tree before him was massive, even more so than the Whisperwood’s tree. Large streamers of moss hung from its branches and leaves in every shade of green imaginable decorated its limbs. The trunk was coarse and in varying shades of brown, from the rich, earthen brown of newly-turned earth to the light, creamy beige of a freshly-cracked nut.

  The particles of magic he had followed were swirling around the clearing, but what surprised Trakon the most and captured his attention was the stickman, who wandered around the tree, gently pulling up weeds from around the base of the massive behemoth and stroking its trunk lovingly. Trakon had heard the story of Daxon’s childhood benefactor from both Dax and Drakthira, but seeing the stickman himself was an entirely new experience. He watched as the little man picked up a small pail that looked to be made of pure silver, and handed it to a large stag, who took its handle in its mouth and trotted away to a stream Trakon could scarcely make out in the distance.

  The little twiggy guy (girl?) then raised its hands into the air and the bits of magic began to coalesce around him. Trakon, too, was gathered along with the mystical specks as they gently swirled in circles around the stick creature. The feeling of being entirely controlled by another being caught Trakon completely off-guard, causing him to panic to the point that his awareness abruptly began to pull itself back toget
her as it struggled to release itself from the stickman’s hold and re-enter Trakon’s waiting body. As Trakon made his move to escape the clearing, he felt a tremendous force close around him, preventing him from fleeing further. The mysterious force tightened its grip until darkness began to surround him. With one last burst of energy, Trakon telepathically summoned, “SYLAS! HELP ME!”

  Daxon teleported back to camp with a broski he had recently killed. Somewhere between a bear and a porcupine, the broski was large and covered with thick fur that hid a collection of quills. It mostly ate an assortment of flowers and berries, but occasionally had been known to scavenge meat, and made a fearsome opponent. Fortunately, Dax had seen the creature before it became aware of him, and had stolen its life-force before it could do much more than turn around. It was large enough to feed both Sylas and Drakthira, so he had quickly taken down a few rabbits for himself and Trakon before returning to camp. Ever since he had realized his ability to teleport, which was just a few days after returning from the Myste, hunting had become much easier. Now he could take down prey of any size and not have to wait for ‘Thira to come help him carry it back.

  ‘Thira sent her thanks through their bond before tucking into the broski. Sylas, always eager to show his affection, dissipated and swirled around Dax before his head alone became solid and he planted a large, canine kiss across Daxon’s face. Then he joined his dragon friend and together they quickly devoured the five hundred pound carcass.

  Dax wiped the dog drool from his face, grinning as he did so. When he had first met Sylas, he hadn’t known what to think of the huge dog, and he had neither liked nor trusted either him or Trakon. Now, however, he knew he could trust them with his life, and in fact, had done just that while in the Myste. He held the old dragonrider in the highest regard, and although Sylas sometimes annoyed him, he knew he meant no harm. Secretly he admired the dog. Those who hadn’t spent any time with him would think he was just a large, goofy dog, but Dax knew better. He had seen Sylas risk his life for Trakon and plunge fearlessly into danger without a thought for his own safety. Incredibly dangerous, yet retaining an innocence and affection for others, the dog had all the good qualities you would normally associate with a person: love, loyalty, and bravery without end.