Book 6: Spirit Light

Chapter 1

How long have you been here, Miss Thorndale? The snarl wasn’t a surprise, I was doing stretches, since I’d been running the north track for the past fifteen minutes. His question sounded like I was doing something wrong. And I know I wasn’t.

After five. Why? I paused in my stretches, taking in the man before me.

Damien Balrok. Lord of EzRah, Bond of Lyr’Rax Twisthorn, of O’Pulsan sign. Two hundred and nineteen years old … and like all Ryders of Dangora, he looked twenty-five—well, Damien looked older, harder in the face, a depth of time showed his age at thirty. Dressed in a dark leathers, and dark denim, his pure white hair hung to his shoulders, perfectly straight, as was his nose, slim form and bad ass attitude. A severe scar ran the left side of his face, from brow to lip, splitting both and making him twice an ass to look at; and the look was etched with a distinct emotion.

Hate.

Damien an I hated each other.

No. Hate was too soft. Loathed. Disliked. Detested. Yes, we reviled each other with bile and slug guts meshed with turds and worms. His cold ice-blue stare was the thorn in my side—neck, backside—ugh. Why he agreed to be my mentor was a mystery.

That’s not true, said La’Kera, not wanting to argue with me this early.

Okay. Not a mystery. Last week he had captured me—intercepted according to Karson—collected us—according to the Committee—brought you back to me, according to La’Kera.

I was on a mission, you know that saving Connor was the right thing to do.

Yes. Saving him from being a Ry’Delgori.

And I did. It worked. It really did work. One health sucking spell, and his soul was returned last week. He was now living in MaBela where he was to remain for the rest of his life. I was here in Draeos, seven hundred and fifty leagues away. And as punishment for running off, Karson was removed from my training as mentor and the man before me was his replacement.

He was Lord. He was law. He was now a pain in my ass.

Lords were usually renowned for doing… lord things. Running a city of fellow guards, organising Ryders, maintaining order in the land. Order. Control. Discipline. Yep. That’s what he was. And now here he was… asking me how long I had been on the running track? I always woke early with Karson and he never stopped me from working out, though I had a feeling no matter what I did, early or not… it wasn’t going to be good enough for the Lord of EzRah.

Your time isn’t until six. You should not be out here until then.

Who am I hurting. I always train early in the past.

Well, in that case, we will start at five from now on, he sneered.

Fine. I flexed my arms, pressing on the muscle, I narrowed my eyes as the annoyance etched his features deeper—if possible.

He raised a crooked brow, a knowing look touched his features. I want you to do ten laps, Miss Thorndale.

I already did seven.

"That would assume I saw you do them. You may well be lying."

Yeah right. I’m not a liar.

We’ll see about that. Ten laps—Now!

Whatever.

The wisp of air startled me. His grip on my arm had stopped me moving another step. His face was an inch from mine. Whoa—wasn’t covering it. Or even a—wh—His lip curled with disgust.

"That’s—Master Damien to you, Miss Thorndale. And Yes is more preferred." His fingers dug into my skin.

I pulled from him. "Yes, Master Damien." I hissed, running off from him.

I wish I didn’t have to return. I loathed that the track had to turn west. Wishing the track took me out and away, but instead it veered towards him. I was thankful that Damien didn’t run beside me. He stood to the side post, watching me as I passed by. His eyes narrowed, his arms held behind his back. Not so much as threatening, but capable of pulling me up at any time. I didn’t give up. Knowing I hadn’t run hard earlier, I was hoping I still had the energy to do these ten laps. By the time I hit my fifth lap or as I knew—my twelfth—I was feeling the pain in my legs. I was ready to drop. My breath was hushed, my heart was beating out of control. It was on my seventh lap—fourteenth—that I was starting to slow in my run, struggle was a better term. This was when he did join me.

You’re slowing down, Miss Thorndale.

Uh-huh. I breathed. Better off not saying anything. Just two laps after this one. I can make it. Two more laps. Two more laps.

If you were getting chased by a delgori, you would have been captured already—killed.

Uh-huh.

You need to focus more. His speed was perfect, his timing right, his heart rate normal. No jagged breath escaped him. He’d just started—what a load.

He couldn’t run seventeen laps, so why make me. I bit my tongue all the way as he constantly snipped comments at my arms, my legs and my body leaning the wrong way. Finally I was done. I started straight into stretches to bring my heart rate down, against my body’s desire on collapsing.

What are you doing? Did I say you could do stretches.

Ignoring him I continued on with my stretches. It’s normal, t-to stretch … af-after s-seventeen l-laps …

He narrowed his eyes. "You will do weights, forty lifts of the five kilo bells. forty lifts of the ten kilo bells and fifty crunches. Now! Miss Thorndale."

Really? Forty lifts! Fifty crunches! Double to what Karson ever gave me. I smiled through the pain. As you wish, Master Damien. Not my fault if I fall over on my way there.

I was in agony in moments. My sides, my back, a stitch was killing me. I wanted to lay down. Drop. My legs felt like jelly and I realised other students and mentors were out in the Combat Yards. Glancing around for Karson and Creston with hope did nothing but get a snarl from Damien. Keep focused, Miss Thorndale. They are not your concern. Damien’s voice was annoying, like a snake hiss.

Did you wish for me to intervene, La’Kera was suttle, and I bristled at the thought of her doing that.

NO. This is my argument. My problem.

I wasn’t going to let him get the better of me. And he probably wants her to do just that and make me run the track for it. No way. I won’t back down.

My crunches were the worst, and without stretches in-between my weights, I was feeling light headed. Finally, I was done. And as a reward, I could do stretches. My body was screaming in pain. He hadn’t even started a normal routine yet.

Archery, Miss Thorndale. Time for your focus to pay off.

I was still shaking from my hard weights lesson and my minimal stretches. My hands were shaking. Knotting the bow and lining up my targets, gained a lip curl and a sneer from Damien. I managed to get two lousy shots with a bullseye. I missed the rest, hitting the side, or … nowhere near the target and at some lame point, five feet from the target. They were the far shots, I hissed to La’Kera. After ten shots, Damien brought out the balance platform, Karson had shown me this only a few times. This was a bad idea.

The platform rocked side to side unexpectedly. I did get two out of twenty targets and several hit the trees behind. He smirked at my incompetence and forced me to the gymnasium where I was to practice my agility, swinging from poles and beams high in the air, rope climbing with knots. Pulling myself up. I was tired, weak and unprepared for this type of workout so soon. Two weeks of nothing and I was falling over more than I remember doing with Karson. I was stuffed, buggered, and waisted.

Nothing I did was good enough for Damien.

Unfocused. Undisciplined. Wild. Smart mouthed and limited in all areas as a Ryder of Dangora. Again, Miss Thorndale. He’d constantly drawl.

At the Combat Yards I was able to choose my two half-swords, he disapproved, though a cocky brow raised told me he was impressed (not by much,) that I would chose two weapon. He’s hoping I can’t use them. And he’ll be sorry.

I wanted to stop. I wanted to drop. Or at least my body did. I was sweating, breathless and yet, I wanted to hit Damien.

Karson was always a hard person to hit in mêlée training. And the first time he did practice with me, he started off slow, poses, tap ins, strike and lunge. Damien didn’t.

There was no introduction to the mêlée, the feel for the fight at hand and definitely no preparation for his attacks. In the first three minutes, I didn’t get a hit in. I was far too busy blocking everything he threw at me. Evading his attacks timelessly and finding myself on the ground with him standing over me with that drawled snarl. Again! And I’d stand with a hiss to the scraps I had, and start again. Getting angry with each hit, block or sting from his staff. I dived in, getting one good hit on his shoulder. It wasn’t hard, and I was surprised I could hit him at all. It was enough for him to turn and hit out. He had struck my legs, my arms, my shoulders and my head with the lethal triple-hit strike in less than two minutes. He hit me so hard, I was sure I was going to pass out from the pain.

Oh, please let me.

My feet were unsteady, my head was pounding, my arms and legs ached; my eyes blurred and my hair was clinging to my brow and neck; sticky with sweat, dirt and anger. I held my pose. He lined me up. Rolling me, flipping me, slamming his shoulder into mine. Knocking me over, to be parried as fast as possible. For thirty minutes he fought me. I was going to pass out. In so many ways, I wanted too—just let me fall.

Did you want me to stop him for you now?

No. I will not give in. He wants to make me suffer. I will not let him win.

I blocked as best I could. He hit my ribs hard. Summoning healing to push the cracked rib to perfect health, had me breathe with the release. Pushing it across my body in moments, healing the scratches, the bruises and anywhere else that needed it. It was enough to revitalise me, sort of. Ah, the joys of being a Ryder.

You are weak; Miss Thorndale. The stories I heard are nothing but stories. He was baiting me.

Well, least you have heard of me then. I hadn’t heard a peep about him till I met him. I struck my half sword hard on his shoulder, to be blocked and thrust backwards.

He flashed towards me. I leaped, flash-speeds, hitting hard. I back-handed, flipped and twisted to his side, and I gave him three solid flash-hits. Knowing I got them in made me smile. He counter attacked with a leap. Pinning me to the ground where his staff pressed to my neck painfully; he held it to my throat, cutting off my airway.

"You are still weak, Miss Thorndale. Not a delgori slayer until you have slain them. Your powers might save you, but in combat. Your skill is barely a level of training."

He did not just mock Karson’s training skills.

The hide.

My vision was faltering, my breath was fading. Yes. Let me pass out now. He eased off his staff. My neck was bruised, stiff and maybe swelling. Having the bruises from him might make Darcia change her mind. And the idea had to wait.

I flipped out and hit without care. With several rounds, he attacked and I blocked his flash moves. Exhaling heavily, my last strike was pitiful, and he pinned me for the tenth time in a matter of seconds.

You can go and clean up now, Miss Thorndale. Meet me at the South Gardens—eight thirty. He was off.

I stayed on the ground. Too stuffed to move, too sore to think. Panting, blinking through the blotches of colour. Battered, bruised and angry. It wasn’t so much as loosing a fight, I was beaten. I was in two minds to roll over and cry. Tobias reached out a hand, helping me to my wobbly feet.

Easy now. He held to my shoulder, assessing my face and hand. You should go to the infirmary, Rehema. You look worse than a delgori beaten by other delgori’s.

Yeah. Thanks. I glanced around to see everyone in combat rings. Fighting or rather—being taught how to fight.

Lord Balrok, really doesn’t like you. I can’t believe he would make you battle at twelfth level for half an hour.

I don’t think it was a battle, more like a beating. Sides, he says I’m too weak any ways. I winced at my split lip. My head was pounding, and all I did, was block him, get three lousy hits in—that was it. I hated him with bile. It was a level of hate I couldn’t even place.

Well, that’s only because you’re really good. You’re real fast, Rehema. I was watching you keep up to him. I think he was the one struggling to keep up to you. Tobias was amused, honesty lingered in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes, wincing at the small cut on my left brow. Yeah right. I scoffed. There was no keeping up to the guy.

Well, Master Karson and Creston were going to say something.

"They were, how do you know?" I glanced for Karson, three rings over from me with Alyssa and Xavier in their own battle mode. Creston fighting Dawn on the opposite ring. Too busy to look up. Karson did. His face held with worry, he was close to walking towards me. I pressed my lips together and limped from the ring. I took note of the final years in battle, hard, painful and strong of stance. Yet none of them had the injury’s I had. I could heal myself and in some ways I would.

No. I will not give him the benefit. He’d beat me everyday just to know I can heal it. To watch me heal and it wasn’t worth it.

You can have the combat ring Tobias. I had cut him off, too tired to notice he was talking. Thanks anyway. I stumbled on towards my room.

I was sad, too sad to think; care or bother. My hate for Damien was definitely growing. With no way I could ever fight him and win. Even if it was just a combat ring for students. He was taking it to a different level and I was stuck with him—all week. To do whatever it was he wanted. For the next six months.

I doubt I’d be able to last the week at this rate. La’Kera weighed in.

Can I say something now?

Chapter 2

My shower was my reprieve. Easing the muscles, the wounds and the ache of my hard mêlée—beating is what it was. Standing in front of the mirror I frowned. The reflection wasn’t me. I stared at my red face, watching as the tears fell across my swollen cheek in shame. I flicked them away with a heavy breath, Pathetic. Unfair? I was wounded, my lip was cut, my head held several lumps. My eye was bruised, my chin, my neck and the rest of me—the list was endless, I hissed at the pain.

Heal it, please. You are not pathetic, La’Kera hummed. I will speak to Damien.

No, La’Kera. Please don’t. Its not worth it. This is my fight—mine. You don’t need to protect me from this.

I would and will. She was outside, roosting in the north garden, spying Lyr’Rax on another roost. The bull snorted at anyone who came towards him, even roared at them if they didn’t keep a fifty foot distance. La’Kera hadn’t changed her routine in the two weeks that I wasn’t here… a few days slumbering and she was back doing dragony things. Posing, watching, wait for the other dragons to start a race, or start one her self. Though morning songs were her favourite.

I will do it for you. This is unjust of your dangorian ways.

No, it’s fine, La’Kera. I flicked at the tears. Drawing on healing power to ease the pain, sort of. To heal my body was nothing short of easy. This is my fight. Please don’t say anything to him. I will not give him reason to punish us for your interference with his training methods.

Perhaps you should speak with Darcia.

I will be, just not right now. Damien will make it out to be my fault. And he was right—

He is not right. She was shocked I would even consider the word with him.

He is right, I repeated. I’m not a delgori slayer until I slay the delgori. Our spirit light power was my saviour. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in ship shape. I smiled smugly and left the bruising as it was, easing the worst area’s that bothered me the most, and the fact I was low on energy and didn’t want to drain La’Kera this early. The white streak was back and I feathered it through my braid, giving it an added flare to my reddish curls.

At the Dinner Hall, Tobias and Xavier were shocked.

Whoa. Rehema. I’m surprised you’re awake, said Xavier.

Yeah. Or standing… Tobias was ready to catch me if I fell.

Oh, I wanted to lie down and sleep—pass out and never wake until the end of the week if I could.

Well, when Master Damien says jump. I raised a brow.

They all nodded, how high. Alyssa was close to tears, Thor grimaced at my state. Dawn avoided me, though a glimmer of fear and concern showed. She kept her head down, whispering to Gemma. I wasn’t expecting anything from either of them, but I had thought we’d come along way as friends. Fare enough it was a long bumpy road. Creston was Dawn’s mentor. He had left her and she saw me as the enemy. Like the camping trip we had all those weeks ago, I had sent Creston away and it was my fault. This time, he was punished for leaving her. My cheek was swollen, my split lip stung when I tried to sip juice. My right arm was deeply bruised, as to my knee. It wasn’t that bad. They should have seen me fifteen minutes ago.

The conversation was soon diverted from my state of appearance and health, to the normal chatter of training, though with constant glances at me. Breakfast was slow moving.

I headed out to the South Gardens, annoyed instantly at the realisation that Damien didn’t say the east or west of the South Gardens—he’s testing me.

Standing in the courtyard, trying to make up my mind proved frustrating. South-east was my best option. Karson always had me start connection class in the mornings after combat.

Turns out I failed with that guess.

He stormed towards me five minutes later. Where were you?

Here, South Gardens.

You were supposed to be on the other side.

Well, if you had told me it was a magic lesson then I would have known.

You, Miss Thorndale, don’t follow rules well.

I follow them just fine, Master Damien. It is you who did not tell me the rules. If you wanted me in the south-west garden then you should have said so. I’m not a mind reader, I snapped.

His face hardened. Twisted with anger, as he stood closer, he paused as several students stared at us a distance from them, but in view and not to his liking. He eased a heated breath, fighting to control himself. I didn’t doubt for a moment he wanted to hit me with that comment—he settled for a shock wave of lightning.

Sahh!

His sneer was for his benefit. "The south-west gardens, Miss Thorndale."

I wanted to spit in his face, but lifted my chin defiantly. "Yes, Master Damien." I headed to the west side, hidden by several large trees.

Now bring forth the four elements into one lore.

I bit my lip with his order. One lore? He wasn’t joking. Damien didn’t know how to joke.

One lore? I repeated inwardly.

That was tricky; bringing one element to a lore was hard, all four. Tugh. Seeking the mânã inside to bring on the elements brought a crease to my brow. It had been weeks since I used elemental magic, I rarely used it on the journey to the Terrill’s to bring it forth and control it as a standard wasn’t easy and after the constant draining of healing this morning, I wasn’t ready for lore or mână lessons at all.

It took all my focus just to manage two, and his smug look told me all I needed to know—I was failing.

For the better part of twenty minutes he snipped and commented on my lack of magic control, my mânã level and of course, my focus. My anger was starting to double in ways I didn’t want it to, and my spirit light festered. I shot it forth in frustration—at a tree and not him.

I am stronger in my spirit power, if you don’t mind. I was pleased that my power did startle him, considering it shot past him, which made him snarl ten folds more.

You will not aim your magic at me, Miss Thorndale, that is cause for a lashing.

I wasn’t aiming it at you, I was getting rid of it. My emotions are linked to it, the more you piss me off, the more it will fester.

He didn’t care, nor did he believe me.

That is not how mânã works, Miss Thorndale. You are being foolish to believe such ways.

He ordered me from the garden and into the south-east, where I was to practice my connection with La’Kera. It was known as here and there, which I had managed to get better at in the past four months. Being attuned to La’Kera, talking with her and being completely aware of what was happening around me was how it worked. With Karson he would hit me on the shoulder. Nothing but a slight tap to say, I wasn’t paying attention. But with Damien. It was a double combo. Striking me with his right hand, and summoning a ball of lightning with his left. Dodging both became the aim and impossible.

He would wait until he was sure I couldn’t do anything; lost with La’Kera and what she was doing, then he would strike.

He was faster than Karson, lethal and smug when his palm collided with my cheek, which followed quickly by the shock. With Karson I had mastered blocking his light taps, but not Damien. I couldn’t even shift my finger and he was hitting me. My cheek was red and swollen in less than five minutes.

You have no focus, Miss Thorndale.

Yeah, and you have a stiff hand. And seriously? Shocking me on top of hitting me. I rubbed my face, flushed from his hit and trying to shake off the electric shock. I think you’re killing my ability to focus, I mumbled. I pushed a light dose of healing into my cheek for the forth time in this lesson.

You disagree with my methods? His crooked brow rose.

Hell, yeah I do. I hissed through my teeth with truth. My shoulder is actually closer.

You have no discipline, Miss Thorndale, he repeated, ignoring my outburst.

And you have no ability to teach, I snapped.

I have taught many Ryders, Miss Thorndale, it takes a few hits to learn these lessons.

A few hits? Please. You’re enjoying yourself way too much to call this a lesson. It’s nothing but a beating.

Apples and oranges, Miss Thorndale.

"More like lemons and apples, Master Damien."

You would do better if you didn’t fight it so much. You need to learn respect, Miss Thorndale.

Respect? You don’t get respect from me. You don’t deserve it. And why in the brown dragons did you take this job?

The Committee asked me to. You are the Dy’Monian Ryder. They only want the best training for you, and since Master Karson failed in that area, I am the best hope to aid in your training.

Oh right. Because all the Royals are too afraid to break a nail. So, I’m the only hope to save their sorry asses— The sting of his palm on my cheek had nothing to do with this lesson. Sahh! Blood on the inside of my mouth had me spitting it to the side.

You will do better if you didn’t talk of them in that tone. They are Royals because they are the best of the Ryders blood line.

Well, then. You shouldn’t hit me. I’m the only Dy’Monian blood line left.

"You’re a reject that was found in a town by a farmer too poor to think better of himself." He did not just insult Walter. Oh, he has no consideration at all.

No. Walter saved my life. And My mother was a Dy’Monian. And her mother before her. And now my brother. He was found in the Terrill’s, raised by a healed delgori, I don’t see you kicking him around the grounds. I made him think twice for the moment at least.

His lip curled. Apples and oranges, Miss Thorndale. But you are the uncontrolled one. And after reading your mother’s journal, I know why you’re as wild as a se’roh.

I’m not wild, I protested.

The bloodline of the first Dark Ryder is wild enough.

His cold tone had me think on my next words. Nothing came to mined. Bloodline of the Dark Ryder. Was there even such a thing. It was La’Kera’s thoughts that had me realise what he was talking about. Toran. He was supposed to be my mother’s father. I wasn’t sure it was true, there was no conformation in the story, well… according to the Dark Ryder Quinton, Toran, had spent a lot of time with Daltana and as a result, Kendra and Nerah had lived. Was I really his granddaughter? And even if I was, knowing he was the Ryder of Sy’Rah wasn’t the problem. He wasn’t able to be her true bond, least not for the first hundred years, since Quinton had locked him up, deep in the city that Sy’Rah herself dug him free from, in the process, sending dark and twisted nightmares to any who tried to stop her. She wasn’t intending on being dark, she was used for darkness, by Quinton. And then Nerissa, the white Ryder of Tar’Karn. The only known living Dy’Monian. And according to my mother’s journal, she killed Sy’Rah, with her diamond sword, taking the stone of Sy’Rah and unleashing darkness upon the lands. But she has been trapped by the totems of Dangora for the past two hundred and thirty years.

Was he thinking I was most likely to become her? Twisted darkness? Never.

The lesson at hand brought me from my thoughts. In less than ten minutes, he had hit me. Because my here and there was tied up with me and La’Kera commenting and bitching about him so hard, I hadn’t heard the wind move. On the third hit, I did lift my palm, (not just my finger) just before impact. Deep down, maybe he was starting to make me learn—yeah, to move away from him as fast as possible.

The rest of the day proved disappointing and frustrating.

In history he slammed the book in front of me when I couldn’t tell him which Roo’Bineyes Royal died six years ago or which war had lost the eldest O’Pulsan Ryder of the fifth century. It went on with him taking snips out on my ability to focus and learn, saying how undisciplined I was. While I tried to show him the method I had learned from Karson, he didn’t approve.

The books are where you learn them, Miss Thorndale, not on a map with small blocks. You are not a two year old.

He loaded the table with five thick books that I had to read by the end of the week, and hand in three essays on the Ryders of the four hundredth year. I would fail it. There was no way I could read one of these books in that time let alone five of them.

Dragon Lore didn’t go much better.

I was doing well in this class, or so I thought. He gave me several books on the dragon’s word, the herds, and their rules. I was to have a three page essay at the end of the week on the Bronze Era of dragons.

In Potions—my most hated and above all impossible subject—was where Damien considered I was deliberately playing games. I had improved in this class in the months since, but with Damien hovering over my pot, I went straight to my first day with Karson. My potion was too poisonous to smell; making Damien detest me twice as much as I did him.

In Runic class, I wasn’t insulted, least until he made an encrypted message even a dragon wouldn’t leave.

I failed Elvan Language—completely. I barely mastered simple words, a basic sentence on how are you; my name is. Damien could speak Elvan fluently. For the briefest of moments I was surprised something so nice could come from his lips, since the Elvan language was an elegant string of words, much like a tune, or a song. Then I realised he wanted me to answer him—which I couldn’t.

In animal studies, I did better than all my other classes. I was capable of naming animals even he didn’t know about in Plumridge, though he covered it all up with a lip curl. Stating; it wasn’t an important lesson for students and that I was not to study this class until I returned to normal lesson scheduling.

Figured, the one class I was good at, and he didn’t want to say it.

He took me to the fear cave for my hearing and sight lesson. A small amount of shock washed his features when I told him Karson had brought me here before I left to the north. Of course, it was only once a week. The cave was enchanted to play tricks on your mind to enhance your sight and hearing better, if you got past your fear. For me it was a hairy spider that stopped me seeing the true mystery of the cave. And it was here still. Jumping on me, trying to make me scream. Damien was amused at my fear and left me to suffer for twenty minutes with the stupid spider that wasn’t real. I wasn’t able to hold my dragon eye sight in this cave for more than a few seconds.

Only when you can see clearer without fear can you leave the cave, Miss Thorndale.

He wanted me to suffer just as much as that stupid spider did, hissing and running on me with joy of my fear.

By late afternoon, after a flying lesson that required no flying—I was in to the Combat Yards. Running the track for ten laps followed by fifteen minutes of weights. In combat he hit, kicked and punched me several times. Complaining I was sloppy, slow and undisciplined. I wasn’t getting any edge on him, and I was getting angrier as the combat lesson continued.

Karson never worked me this hard, struck me this much or moved faster than what I was capable of. I missed my normal lessons where everything was simple; not fast or hard or painful.

Damien made sure he hit my shoulder this time, seeing that I didn’t have to have these on display for the academy. Getting me bruised where no one saw was definitely his aim, and in some