The Secrets of Serised

Please be sure to note that although I love sharing these excerpts with you, reading them without knowing the entire story will undoubtedly lead to spoiled plots and not-so-surprising surprises when you get around to reading the whole book! Keep it in mind!



When night fell, the scattered villagers began appearing around the edges of the village, mourning the loss of life and home. Those with enough strength worked through the night, digging shallow graves for the victims of the dragon who had not been devoured by the flames. Xander watched as Lily worked through her tears, pouring her energy into the ground with each motion, digging as if she might find an answer to her grief somewhere beneath the scorched earth. But there were no answers to be found, and when the final shovelful was placed upon the final resting place of the lost villagers, last respects were paid, and the survivors turned to go, casting fleeting glances behind them at their ruined homes. It was as if they were desperately trying to recall them as they had once been, to burn a memory of happier times, to console them until at last the rubble faded from view, and the glances stopped.
Next to nothing had survived the holocaust that had destroyed the village of Sraet, and so that morning, with the last five horses carrying the worst of the wounded and the rest walking slowly and painfully behind them, Xander and Lily took a last look at the ruin before leading the way towards Mraw Ekul.

In the past, the dragon had never desecrated their village completely. It had always seemed that it had come more with the purpose of instilling fear rather than utterly destroying it. This time, however, had been different. There was no chance of rebuilding; there was nothing left to rebuild with. The crops had all been burned, and even a handful of people would not survive long with nothing to eat. Deep down, the fear of the dragon’s return had always haunted the two children, but in their eighteen years, it had slowly slipped deeper into the recesses of their minds, clinging as a nightmare clings to the memory. They’d thought that perhaps their parents’ generation had seen the last of the dragon.

They’d thought wrong.

The road was badly maintained, as trade between the villages was scarce—they had long ago become largely self sufficient—but by following the meandering curves of the Ssendam River, they were able to make their way slowly towards the nearest village.

Xander’s hands constantly forced their way to the forefront of his mind as he tried desperately to make himself useful. There were people barely clinging to life, strapped to the back of the horses, and lost somewhere in their own pain-induced stupor. Yet here he was, completely healthy and fit, save his hands, and he found himself unable to do anything. Something as simple as feeding himself was embarrassing and slow—leading a horse or clearing underbrush nearly impossible.

Lily hardly spoke. She led the way beside Nola, forcing branches out of the way and always on guard for danger, a quiet determination etched in every step she took. She barely slept during the journey, and Xander knew that the energy she was feeding off was fueled by anger and grief. When it wore off, she would have to find some other way to keep herself going. Xander had no doubt that she would. The two women seemed to have become the unelected leaders of their small band, leading the way and helping the others along. Lily used Duncan’s sword to forge a path through the overgrown trail, and it hung always by her side when not in use. A constant reminder of her reason to be. Those who were able-bodied would hunt, Lily among them, and when it was time to eat each night, she and Nola would walk among the last of their people and help where they were needed. When they did, Xander would sit back a little from the fire, awkwardly shoveling his food into his mouth, his fear that Lily would see him and pity him, despite what the others had been through. In a few days, all of them had grown a little older, a little wiser, but her most of all. She had shouldered a great deal of responsibility, and Xander was determined not to add to it if he could help it.

On the third day, the silent spirits of death claimed another life. The body was untied from where he had lain precariously across one of the horses, and because they had no tools to dig a grave, they built a hasty funeral pyre in a clearing by the river.

Xander watched the flames slowly devour the man and shuddered, images of Sraet, burning, flashing angrily before him. It brought the reality of what had happened into stark relief, and Xander felt as if at last he had been slapped in the face by the truth of his mortality. Was this truly all that awaited them? In the end, were they nothing more than ash and dust, subject to the whim of the winds that would carry them until the end of time? He tore his gaze from the fire and saw by the looks on their faces that the others were experiencing the same feelings that he was. He nearly jumped as a smooth, warm hand grasped his wrist above the bandaging. He looked down and saw that Lily was rigid with terror, clearly remembering in gruesome detail their encounter with the dragon. In all their combined wisdom, no one had thought through the consequences of paying their last respects to the man in this way. One by one, they turned their backs to the pyre and made their way back to the horses.