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Galloping past the fallen gates, we made our way through the ruined city at the palace’s feet, and I swore you could almost envision what had occurred there. The hate that devastated those walls was visible on the half-melted houses of the village, and the burnt human-like shadows along the ground.
I forced my gaze away from the evidence of true evil, and faced forwards, to find a large plaza coming into view, after which, sat the ruins of the exceptional palace. I didn’t think I would ever be able to stop admiring our people’s ability to build. It was mind-blowing.
The horses took us under the great marble archway and into the building, only stopping when we reached a grand staircase like those seen in movies. Except, as everything else, its main structure had crumbled during the war, leaving only a very precarious way to the top.
Kingston dismounted the horse, and I did the same, seeing him gesture for me to go up the scary staircase. Using his spear as a walking stick, he aided his advance over the gaping holes along the way, and I wished I had one too. Though, I had a huge-ass sword.
Unsheathing the blade, I used it to aid me too, until we made it to the third floor.
“This is theHall of the Forgotten,” Kingston announced in a whisper that echoed all around us, but there was no one other than me to hear it. “Let’s go…”
Nodding, I followed him through the creaking door, entering a place that looked like a museum. A haunted museum, that was. Layers and layers of dust covered the space as far as my eyes could see, and that was saying a lot because the hall was long as hell. Large spiderwebs hung from the corners of the tall ceiling, and between a few pieces of the expertly carved furniture, which surely belonged in some exhibition called “treasures of a lost time.”
Although, most of it was covered in white sheets. It seemed like someone had taken the time to protect what they could to the best of their ability—probably hoping that this place would someday be the shining light of their world once again. Were I to uncover everything safeguarded here, I feared I might not even be able to fully appreciate all the historical relics I might find.
“This is where your sword was kept all of these years,” the chief confessed. “Along with many other treasures of our history.”
Shocked, I glanced down at my blade. Dad’s sword had been stowed here? Why? This place seemed too important.
When Kingston dropped to his knees next to a table, I sheathed the sword again and rushed to his side. He reached for a huge trunk placed under it, and I helped him pull it out until the ancient lock that protected its contents was visible. Lifting his arm, he brought the butt of his spear against it with force, hitting it twice before the metal broke. The chief took it off, lifting the lid.
A puff of dust exuded from it immediately, and we were left frantically swatting at it while we coughed. Dust tasted so gross. When the cloud finally dissipated, my attention fell to the contents of the trunk, and part of me thought it might have belonged to a mad scientist at one point. Broken flasks, and coiled tubes like those seen in a lab lay in pieces over bible-thick books. Rubber tubing resembling a hose was scattered along one side, and aged twine wrapped around a few bunches of different types of dried up leaves, as well as flowers that had definitely seen better days.
Curiosity and wonder unfurled inside me, and I leaned closer while Kingston rummaged through the other end. I noticed a grey mortar and pestle made out of stone that lay on its side. It was heavily scratched from repeated use, while several brown vials lay next to it. A few of them were cracked or shattered, their tonics spilled and dried onto the papers beneath them. It was evident to me that they’d jostled around with the movement of the chest as they transported it here, getting damaged in the process.
What a shame. It seemed like whoever owned this, had a lot of knowledge about natural medicine. Perhaps, they were an herbalist, or some kind of ancient healer.
A small, wooden box with a leather handle became visible through the broken vials, and I reached for it, pushing away the glass shards to discover a symbol carved on the top. It was the head of a Dragon, its body curved to form an “O”.
“It belonged to your father…” Kingston’s revelation startled me, and I froze before touching the box.
“It what?” I turned, to find him handing me a journal. Blinking, I tried to grasp what he was saying. “The book?”
“The trunk,” he explained, gesturing to everything that lay before us. “When we were all slaves, your father used what he could find in nature to help those around him. To help return a bit of the strength stolen from his brothers and sisters daily, or to heal the most life-threatening wounds—"
Kingston’s hands fisted as he stopped himself. The reminder of him being misguided into inflicting those wounds, scorched him as severely as the burns left on his palms… and soul.
“That was the past. You are not that man anymore.”
He heard me, I knew he had, but he ignored it, pushing the journal against my chest until I took it. I watched him close the large trunk again, pushing it under the table.
“That notebook contains everything your father uncovered about thesky godsthrough years of being around them. Through his affinity with them. I think you might find something there that will help you too.”
I loved that the chief sometimes referred to the Dragons as they had in the old days…sky gods.
“Have you read it?” I asked, wondering how he knew, but he just shook his head.
“He always carried it with him, and sometimes I would hear him talk about things with the king and queen, Ezra and Sienna, when they thought we weren’t listening.”
“Evanna’s parents?” I asked, remembering the names from somewhere. Maybe Evie had told them to me? I wasn’t sure.
“Yes.” Kingston’s brow furrowed when he scowled at me. “Well, aren’t you going to read it?”
“Now?”
“You have to start somewhere.”
With a heavy breath, I looked down at the journal, enjoying the way the soft leather cover felt in my hands. Severe creases extended vertically along its front and the body slightly curled inwards, making it clear that he had a habit of rolling it closed—probably, to fit it into his pocket. He really did carry it around with him always.
