Book One - Key: Prologue

PUBLISHER

Kylie Margaret Leane

COVER ARTIST

Jorge Jacinto

COVER DESIGN

Kylie Leane

ILLUSTRATIONS

Kylie Leane

© 2022 Kylie Margaret Leane

All rights reserved.

No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, without express written permission

of Kylie Leane.

Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this novel

are either the product of the author’s

imagination or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead),

events, institutions, or locales, is purely coincidental.

KEY

The Dynasty of Earth and Stars: Book One

Paperback Edition

ISBN: 978-0-6451032-6-7

Originally published as KEY: Age of the Dragon's Conquest / Chronicles of the Children: Book One 2013

For information:

authorkylieleane@gmail.com

Kylie Leane can be found online at

kylieleane.com

Other Works By Kylie Leane

The Northland Rebellion

Orphans & Outcasts: Book One

The Mirrors of Tikal: Book Two

THE BLESSING

We all start out on a road thinking we know the path sure and true –

But I tell you, now, we cannot possibly fathom the twists and turns in which our story shall go.

Instead, The Great Inker of the skies beyond writes our ever-flowing saga with celestial dust to spin us always onward through life.

Though we may lose, and we may gain,

There is never a thread left unwoven or a reason left unknown in any tale that is told.

I say unto you, fellow wayfarers of well-worn paths, take up your pack, your blade, your cloak, and your lantern, for there is darkness ahead.

You will need your light to guide you, your pack to feed you, your blade to protect you, and your cloak to warm you along this tale.

It is customary in Pennadot when a traveller leaves a way-side inn to speak blessings to the Sun by the resident altar and wash hands in the liquid gold by the door.

So here I give you a blessing to send you on your way, dear friend:

May the blazing sun always shine behind you,

May the wind blow westward for you,

And may the stars dance your road to light the way homeward,

So shall the fair and bliss favour you,

O traveller of myths, legends, and tales.

Fear not the blood, the tears of sorrow,

For a narrow road that is lonely and fraught with despair,

Will bring you to a City laden with Gold.

Sun-Saint Abl’ayn – Sundate 0298DC

PROLOGUE

Uprising of the Provinces

There is nothing that is greater in valour than to die in the place of another.

Pennadotian Human Proverb

Land: Pennadot

Black Day – Sundate 8600DC

David drove his small dagger beneath the cuirass of the Palace guard, watching as the man slowly stopped struggling against the hold of Citla’s birth elemental. His frantic, chaotic breaths seemed to sink along with his chest. David reached up, closing the man’s glassy eyes that stared beyond the ceiling to the Almighty Sun that beckoned all in death. Carefully, he removed his blade. Blood pooled onto the marble floor. He climbed off the man who had been Sun-cursed to spot them in the inky shadows.

“You should have just kept walking…” David whispered.

The blood that coated his hands was tacky, difficult to rub off on his royal clothes. He had already killed several guards. Guards who had no quarrel with them, who were simply performing their duty to the Emerald Crown. His stomach clenched. Radiant light emanated from his burning skin. He clamped down on the growing frustration boiling his starblood. He could not risk an episode, not now, not on this day that had become night.

Citla emerged from the russet gloom cast by distant flames from the smouldering metropolis below the Palace. Her painted white face did little to hide the overuse of her birth elemental gift. Metal toxins were building up in her blood, showing through her paper-thin skin in wiry, twisting lines travelling up from beneath her black dress.

“Thanks for holding him down,” David murmured.

Citla inclined her head.

“David? David is it safe now?” His brother’s soft voice broke through the distant sound of war that every so often rattled the glass of colossal windows. Luminescent green eyes peered out from beneath a hood, brighter than the starlight shine of Daniel’s luminous skin and hair which they had struggled to hide.

David reached for Daniel’s wrist, dragging him deeper into the thick shadows cast by the towering pillars. “No! It is not safe.” He pointed his blade at his twin. “I told you to stay hidden. If someone sees you, everything Father and Mother have worked for will be ruined! Everything I have planned is ruined—”

A flare of pain caught him in the chest; the potency of it caused him to stagger forward and he rasped out a startled, gurgling cough. David clamped a hand to his lips as the familiar taste of blood dampened his mouth and, against his will, it leaked through his fingers. He could not, he would not, have an episode.

With a cry, Daniel was at his side. “You are pushing your body too hard, David.”

His body. His tiny little body, sickly, crumbling, falling to pieces from the inside. He had not ever known strength, and, yet, he needed strength for his twin. Daniel’s trembling hand reached for his face, trying to brush away the shimmering blood. David pushed it aside. He could not falter, not this day that had become night, when the sky-sea had turned grey with ash, and flames burned the skirts of Palace-Town in a violent, terrifying dance of betrayal.

He wiped at the tainted starblood and hauled himself upright. “We must hurry.”

“Can we not just find Mother?” Daniel whimpered.

“That is what we are doing!” David snapped. “Come on!”

They ran deeper into the Palace’s twisting corridors. Each breath he took was fire to his rotting lungs. Was it sweat that was cooling his cheeks, or tears? No matter the steps he took, the idyllic childhood his brother had lived was burning away in a turning wheel of war. He needed to reach his father, the Sovereign King, before the province lords and his once-trusted uncle, Steward Zilon, found him. David glanced back at Daniel, his starborn glow hidden under layers of clothing so thick that it hampered his running. Not even Zilon knew the greatest secret of the King and Queen: that there was not one prince, but twins. It was a façade they had managed to maintain, even with David’s failing health.

They dashed down a set of stairs, deeper into the maze of passages. It was growing ever darker as the daylight outside was choked by the increasing haze of smoke and ash. Palace-Town was burning. The people were suffering, all for the fancy of fools who had listened to the silver tongue of deceit.

“Your highness!” Citla’s warning stalled him. David shoved his twin roughly into her arms as the three of them almost barrelled straight into a lone guard. 

The crest on the guard’s cuirass caught his eye. It was not the Sun Crest, the emblem of the Palace Guards; it was the spiked tower of Shalamic, one of the usurping provinces. David drew his dagger and thrust. His first blow was knocked back by the halberd the guard swung with alarming skill and speed. He dodged, twisting around the man’s legs, and lashed him hard in the crook of his knees, trying to pierce the hide of his armour. The guard staggered and artfully winged his weapon across the curve of his shoulders. David ducked, rolling, and sprang upright to fend off another blow, only for the guard’s halberd to suddenly drop with a clatter. The man’s face twisted in agony and his hands grappled for his neck.

“Citla?” David twisted around. “You cannot use your birth elemental anymore!”

Citla held out her hands. “It is not me.”

From behind dancing, scorched lengths of a half-fallen tapestry a figure emerged on elongated legs. Large foot-claws, with an equine curvature, tapped softly on the marble floor. David’s tense trembling eased as the filtering, eerie light of the non-day played off dirtied black fur and ash-covered feathers. Chans was always graceful, though he seemed to walk with the burden of his blood-clan’s weight draped over his shoulders. Some would have said it was an air of superiority, of aloof detachment, but, to a true seer of the heart, it was a crumbling wall of protection against terrible pain. Black, leathery wings unfurled from the Batitic’s hips; they had yet to lose their childhood feathers, but the great wingspan was already enough for the young Batitic to cocoon himself within.

Thin, slanted eyes shone cinder red and focused away from the choking province guard. “Are you harmed, Milord?”

“No. Thank you, Chans.”

The hands of the guard dropped away from his throat, and his body slumped against the floor. Chans raised an eyebrow. “I expected him to live a little longer, given his physique. How disappointing.”

“You slowly removed the air from around his head, did you not?”

“I did. Time delayed deconstruction conduction, otherwise the body would be useless to me. The head would blow off. Learnt that from experience.” Chans walked past him, and David glanced down at his protector’s shredded robe, tainted with the filth of battle. Chans had been outside, fighting; the sickly-sweet scent of conduction energy circled around him like a thick haze. David licked his lips. It was difficult not to think of the odour of blood conduction as a poisonous sweat.

Chans flicked his conductor several times at the lifeless guard. The heavy smell David had long equated with the catacombs where the ancients were buried filled the air with hints of burial herbs and spices, and the aromatic oils the Sun Monks dipped linen in. The guard stood, turning to face Chans. David shivered. He had never seen Chans perform Soul-Weaving upon a human before. It bore no semblance to the animals his protector had often revived for his tender-hearted twin. He was facing a puppet, and nothing more.

“Scout the area ahead for me,” Chans ordered.

The guard left. Daniel whimpered against his neck and David squeezed his hand.

“He…didn’t do anything to us, why…did we…why did he have to die?”

“He saw us.” David looked up at his protector. “No one can see us. No one can know.”

“I understand, Milord Prince.” Chans bowed his head.

Citla inched forward. “Please tell me you found Skyeola?” She clutched both her hands together.

Chans smiled, showing his fangs. He extended one wing to reveal a basket tied to his waist. Within, a tiny kitten was curled up, his sleep more than likely magically-induced. David resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the soft, feathery little cheeks of the babe. He was safe. Zilon had not hurt their little fosterling. Each one of them, in their own, strange way, had committed to raising the kitten away from his cruel, psychotic parents.

“I am pleased to tell you one good thing has come from this affair. My mother is dead.” Chans carefully closed his wings, hiding away the precious bundle.

David looked up in alarm. “You killed her?”

Chans sighed. “If only I had.” He tossed a bag to David. “I did as you requested.”

David caught the bag, peering into it, nodding at the contents. It was all there, just as he had asked. Chans had never let him down. Now the second phase of his plan could begin.

“Thank you, Chans. I need you to take Daniel and Citla—” He dropped to one knee as a coughing fit erupted, and he vomited blood across the floor. He glared at it, how it shimmered like starlight on a pond, mocking him. He was the firstborn son of King Delwyn and the Fairy Queen, and he would not live past his tenth sol-cycle. Daniel anxiously wiped at his mouth for him. David looked wearily at his brother and reached up a hand, clasping his twin’s neck, resting their foreheads together.

“Oh, Deiniol, I am so sorry…”

“Dafydd,” Daniel whispered.

David kissed his forehead. “Be strong.”

He turned to Chans, ignoring the fear in his protector’s gaze. Chans would have followed him, but his orders came first. He was being cruel, forcing his protector to guard his brother but it was finally his turn to protect, his turn to burn brightly for a moment before fading with the dawn.

“A group of Papa’s faithful paladins will meet you in the catacomb passages. Get Daniel out of the Palace.”

“And after that?”

David raised an eyebrow. “Do what you wish.”

“Even if it means coming to find you?”

David stared into the stark red eyes. Chans had always called him a Blood Rose Prince, but, truly, the name should have been reversed. Chans was the one with Blood Rose eyes.

“Do as you wish.”

Chans nodded. “As you command, Milord.”

He could not order Chans away; it was too cruel, unjust. Even if it meant Chans would—

David shook his head, trying to rid himself of the encroaching doubt and tumbling fear building up as he stripped out of his bloodied, ruined clothing, changing into a fresh outfit from the sack. It was a simple trick, really, one he and Daniel had pulled countless times over the sol-cycles. Less and less as his illness had begun to alter his appearance too much, but in this shadowy, murky light, and in the fray of war, no one would fathom that there were two Princes.

He ignored his twin. It seemed now, with the change of clothes, that Daniel was finally realising the intent behind his actions and his breathing had grown erratic again.

“You had best hurry.” Chans shifted on his foot-claws. “My father is in the Ljoruaithne. The province lords will likely break through the Palace doors soon. If they find you, they will kill you.”

“That is the plan.” David buckled the royal jewels around his neck, their weight eerily familiar.

“Wait…” Daniel grabbed his hands, stalling him from placing the golden, leafy circlet of the crown prince atop his head. “Stop this, David.”

“Tsk vala, Daniel.” David wrenched his hands away. “They want our line dead! You are the heir to the Emerald Throne. You are our hope, our star, our sun, our future. The province lords cannot kill you this day that is night.”

Daniel’s chest swelled and he thrust a finger towards David’s face. “You are just as much those things as I am!”

“Someone must die today, and since I am already dying it matters not if it is me.” His voice broke for a moment as his twin’s green eyes flooded with tears.

“It matters to me!” The pitch of Daniel’s voice cracked a nearby window, causing Chans to snap around in panic. Citla grabbed the young prince, trying to smother his words.

“Your highness, please calm down…”

“David. I am ordering you to stop this! Stop it and come with us!”

David reached out, clasping Daniel’s trembling hands. “This is why we were born identical, in every little detail.” He smiled. “Even those little moles on our backs.” He stroked their shimmering hands together, watching as their radiant skin flared like two mirrors. “This is why Papa and Mama made sure I was never revealed. So, I could protect you.” He reached up, gripping his brother’s tear-stained cheeks. He wanted so dearly to remain here, with the twin who had been his warm sun when the cold medicine had filled his veins.

“I was born,” he choked back blood, “so that you could live…and I…was given this illness…so that I…could die for you. Pennadot must have an heir. Zilon and the province lords will lose if I do this. Let me go.”

Daniel pulled away. “I forbid it.”

“It is too late.” David smiled weakly, adjusting the crown. “This is so much bigger than us. It always has been.” He pushed Daniel into Chans’ strong claws. Chans clamped down on his twin’s shoulders. Daniel’s piercing eyes glared at him from beneath the hood he wore. He was not going to receive a blessing from his twin, he was unsure why he had ever thought he would.

David glanced at Citla. In her frilly black dress, she was the perfect little toy of the court. Always they had been paraded like miniature adults, and, today, they had to be those adults. Reaching out he pressed a finger to her lips, brushing aside a tear that trickled down her white, powdered cheek.

“Look after him always, Citla,” he whispered. “I entrust him to your care. Be with him. Never let him out of your sight, promise me this.”

Citla nibbled her lip. “I promise, Your Highness.” She followed Chans and Daniel into the yellow-stained darkness.

Chans glanced back momentarily. “Goodbye, Blood Rose.”

David breathed in deeply through lungs riddled with holes and filling with cursed starblood. He tilted his head towards the sky-sea encased in pillows of smoke. This day of blackness and never-ending night was the day he had been born for, and this was the night he would finally die.

Zilon, a man he had once looked up to as a beloved uncle, had become a warped, foul monster. Like roots twisting up from the soil, something had wrapped itself around his uncle and begun to rot the once-great Steward.

It was not his place to know why, nor to find out what—it was his place to die in his brother’s stead.

And he was not afraid.

No.

He was not afraid.

“Let’s go,” he motioned to the nearby shadow.

Chans gritted his fangs, causing his jaw to ache. He had to deal with this order quickly, so he could hurry and return to Prince David’s side, but the catacombs were a maze of long-forgotten roads that had been buried under eons of dirt and decay. Like a network of spider-webs, the tunnels contorted their way beneath the colossal, ancient city, built upon layers of cities that had come before it. Each tier told a story, each held the history and the foundational building blocks of the nation, along with countless entombed mysteries. Very few maps had ever been drawn of the seemingly endless system. He needed no map, not when he had been given access to the original blueprints. A Batitic’s natural skill of memory recall was a true gift when the catacombs would become his new home.

The stifling humidity, the rocks beneath his foot-claws, and the murky scents that clogged his tender tongue, would smother him like they had smothered the forgotten past. If he managed to survive this day that had become night, there would be no returning to face the wrath of his father, for by choosing to save the royal heir of the Emerald Throne, he had betrayed the Dragon to whom his blood-clan had pledged all allegiance.

Little Prince Daniel’s cries were muffled by the mouldy, dank walls. Every so often, the hood that cloaked his starlit shine bounced aside in their frantic pace, emitting a shimmer throughout the darkness. Citla would so swiftly cover his dazzling glow as though snuffing out a fire. Even down here, in these labyrinthine depths, it was not yet safe. Would it ever be safe? Citla would stay by his side. She would never let him go, not now, not with an order from David as his last will to her.

“How much further?” Citla’s soft voice carried through the darkness.

The murk seemed to drag at his limbs, wrapping tightly around his neck, trying to pull him back to Prince David and he had to force himself forward. Chans glanced up at the ceiling. The old, worn limestone rocks were beginning to thin out into a sheen of purple-tinted metal fused together in hexagon patterns.

He forced a smile. “Not long now.”

He slowed his pace, foot-claws scraping the wet stones. Anxiously he checked under his wing. Skyeola was still safely cocooned in his little basket. What was he going to do with the tiny kitten? Return the babe to the surface and back into the arms of their father, a man willing to sacrifice everything for a monster? Was that even an option? What was he supposed to do—

He halted, holding out a claw and Citla jerked Daniel to a stop. The prince bundled himself up against her back as if expecting something terrible. Chans flicked out his conductor from its wrist-holster; the elegantly crafted piece of wood and melded iron hummed. He peered around a corner, his long ears twitching as he listened for the muted sound of distant voices and the padding of boots. His forked tongue tasted the whiff of fresher air, and on that breath was a scent of roses. Relief spiked his neck feathers. He knew the scent, and he knew the voices approaching them.

A boy suddenly burst around the corner, almost colliding with him and he stepped back as the child flung up his arms in alarm.

“Master Jarid, watch yourself.” Chans caught the boy before he toppled over. Jarid’s freckled face lit up with a smile.

“Chans! Father, Father! It is Chans!” Jarid dashed back to Lord Davis Telvon of the Icali-pi Province. Chans’ knees almost went out from under him. He grappled for the wall, holding himself upright. There were still province lords loyal to the Emerald Throne. They were not alone. A small part of him had feared they would have no allies to meet.

“Little Lord Chans, you made it.” Lord Davis approached. “And you as well, Maiden Citla.”

Citla gave a quick curtsy.

Chans surveyed the gathering of exhausted paladins and several city guards. They watched him warily. Undoubtedly his appearance and relation to Zilon was putting them at ill-ease. He turned to the tall, red-haired Lord Davis. “Is she here? The Fairy Queen?”

“I’m here, Chance. Don’t…don’t let Daniel…don’t let him see me yet…”

Lord Davis’ eyes closed, bowing his head as Chans pushed past in a panic at the broken, slurred, high-pitched speech. He pulled to a halt, staring at the ancient wielder of time, slumped against the wall. Hazanin was the only Zaprex he had ever laid eyes on, and the depictions of the fairy-race did them no justice, for the reality of seeing one was so much more incredible than a worn scroll could ever suggest. They had once ruled the air beyond the sky-seas, and masterfully healed the lands below with arts that a Batitic such as he craved and hungered for.

Softly-shining blue blood leaked from an open wound that had split metal plates beneath glossy green skin. Lady Linda Telvon, Lord Davis’ wife, was trying to reseal the gash with iron from a guard’s armour. The mechanical interior of the graceful creature buzzed and crackled in protest.

“What happened?” Chans burst out. It was not like Hazanin to be so careless, to allow such harm to come to itself.

“Got a little caught off guard.”

“But you cannot be hurt—”

“I was wearing my golem.” Hazanin’s weary red eyes focused on him, shining beneath round spectacles. There was an unexplainable age reflecting in the black scleras that Chans drowned in every time the Zaprex looked at him.  

“I believe that’s all I can do.” Lady Linda sat back, setting aside her blacksmithing tools. “I apologise for the rough job.”

Long ears tweaked backwards and Hazanin shook its head, smiling in gratitude. “It’s enough for now. Thank you, Linda.” Hazanin weakly motioned Chans forward and he approached. “This is where our journey begins, you and I…” The delicate, small hand seized his claw. “Are you ready?”

“Hazanin-sama, I would follow you anywhere, you know that.”

“I know.” The ancient being sighed, giving his claws a firm squeeze. “And I am cruel for using you so.” With great effort, the little creature slowly stood. The action caused a ripple of attention to shift through the gathering of paladins and guards. It was as though the fairy pulled all light from the nearby lanterns in tiny blocks, layering them over its ethereal appearance until a woman stood in its place. Ebony hair was tightly bound into a thick braid, away from still stark and sharp features, but the humanness seemed to soften them. Her eyes remained just as red and shone with a mechanical glint as she walked forward.

“Domo arigato dozaimasu, Chance. You’ve done well.”

Chans bowed his head. His order was complete. He had brought the prince to those who would keep him safe. He settled a claw against the basket that held Skyeola. If only the kitten had such a future.

“Do not worry, Your Highness.” Jarid peered rudely into Daniel’s hood. Jarid had always been discourteous of personal space. Daniel never understood why David liked Jarid; the boy was obtuse. “My Father is going to take us to our castle, and you’ll be safe there! I promise!”

“I do not want to go to your castle.” Daniel turned away. His stomach was churning. Up and down, up, and down. It was as though he was still running. David. David. Where was David? Why had he left him? How could David do this?

“Daniel…”

Daniel jerked. “Mama.”

She was kneeling beside him where Citla had once stood. She was wearing her golem, making her look human, but he could tell something was wrong, the illusion was not as perfect as it usually was. The natural red glow of her machine eyes showed through, and her sunstone skin had a lacklustre tint.

“Mama…” He flung himself into her arms none-the-less. She still cuddled him, even if it was against a hard metal breastplate.

“You’ve been very brave, my little star prince.”

“Mama, you have to stop David. Please! He said he’s going to die instead of me. You must stop him. Mama. Please!”

She whispered, “You know I’ll do what I can.”

Daniel’s shoulders slumped. Something was very, very wrong. Mother never admitted defeat. Even when David begged and screamed to end his pain, Mother kept trying, seeking every possible technology remaining of her people to fix him.

“Mother…” He backed up.

She held his arm. “Hush now, my little one.” She brushed back his hood, releasing his radiant shine and the murky passage they were within lit up in swirls of painted colours. Daniel cringed at his own starborn glow. His mother gently stroked his forehead, softly whispering his favourite lullaby. He blinked rapidly. Why was she crying?

“Mama…”

He sought Citla. She stood beside Chans, who was firmly gripping her shoulder as if holding her back. Lord Davis was hugging a sobbing Jarid. This was wrong. He reached up a hand, rubbing his own cheeks. Why was he crying? Something inside was being stripped away as though paper was torn from a book in his mind. His mother’s long finger settled upon his forehead; her glinting red eyes were heavily set with lines of sorrow, making the sudden realisation of the betrayal slightly less agonising.

“Do not do it, Mama. Please.”

“Gomen, my sweet one,” his mother whispered, “but tomorrow, when you wake up, all this will be a vague dream. You will not remember David, nor this terrible day that is night. It is best all be forgotten to you. David is dead to us now. Gomen, Daniel…gomen, my little star prince.”

A sharp pain caught his temples and he flinched as he fell backwards into nothingness. It was worse than sleep; it was a deep pit that enveloped him, shrouding his body in darkness, choking out the burning gift of the starblood that flowed in his veins. His limbs grew heavy and he slumped forward, murmuring, painfully aware of the tears cascading down his cheeks, and that they no longer glittered as they once had.

“But…I do not want…to forget…my brother…”

There is always a Key to a Door

You just have to have the resilience to find it