Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 18 - The Ring of Onyx

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The stone steps were large, larger it seemed to Harry, than they were when last he entered this plane. Yet, the same thin white clouds dusted the blue sky, and the heated air brought Harry's mind back to his summer travels in Lebanon with Gabriella. His mind's eye flashed to a vision of her smooth, dark brown skin and twinkling black eyes, and he wondered how she was fairing with Cho and his son, Jamie. His stomach churned at the thought and he drew in a breath to steady his nerves. He stepped upward through the large stone pillars, upward toward the remains of the great Asian castle. Up ahead, seated on a crystal bench intricately carved in an elaborate pattern was a large black man in green and brown robes - Singehorn.

On the eve of the counterattack, the dragon had asked that the young wizard meet him in this plane of consciousness that they might speak with one another. Here, in this other world, Harry could not only speak to the dragon, he could see. He had no bandaged head, no wand, only a white robe and bare feet that withstood the scorching heat beneath them. In the cave where Harry's corporeal body sat in meditation, the others were preparing for war. Soon, the moon would rise, the werewolves, including Remus and Fred, would turn and the battle would begin. It had taken Harry quite some time to close out all the distractions that were happening about him, but finally he had arrived.

As he drew closer to the dragon, the descendent of Asha whose line Harry had sworn to protect, he noticed that the man looked more aged than before and that his breathing was heavy, laboured. With effort, Harry heaved himself upward onto another stone step, and then another. On the step before reaching the landing where Singehorn sat in one of the two crystal benches, Harry saw a large ring made of black onyx. He stopped for a moment to look at it. The dragon coughed a bottomless throaty cough.

"Go on," he said with a deep scratchy voice. "Pick it up."

Harry reached down and took the ring into his right hand. It was heavier than he expected, as if it contained some small, invisible burden. It was too large for his own hand, looking more like it belonged to the large, clawed fingers of the man before him. Holding it in the fingers of both hands he examined it from all sides.

"I... I know this ring," Harry said, trying to remember how or from where. "I've seen it before." Singehorn shifted his tremendous weight and grimaced somewhat.

"The ring," he said, "is known to many, but few alive today have seen it with their own eyes. For those few who saw it born on the finger by its last master, it was most likely the last thing they saw. He was known for using the ring to kill." Suddenly, Harry remembered.

"Pravus," he whispered, remembering the portrait of the dark wizard's hand Greg Goyle had shown him last year. Singehorn growled, long and low. Clearly, he did not enjoy the sound of the name.

"Curious that you should know that name, let alone that you can associate the ring to it."

Harry did not answer, but considered the events that had precipitated from that night of elucidation, elicited by none other than Greg Goyle. Singehorn growled again.

"But then," he continued, "you have already been entrusted to one of his other prize possessions - the Heart of Asha. He used neither well." Singehorn's eyes were distant and the crystal bench creaked under his shifting weight. He sighed, considered Harry for a moment and then said, "Very well. Come... sit."

Harry climbed the last large step and tried to brush away the dust from the front of his white robes which had grown brown from the desert sand. Singehorn laughed and, as Harry looked up, the man's mouth erupted in flames, enveloping Harry in a great white flash. In the next instant, the robes were purest white again and Harry was unscathed. Harry examined his hands, expecting to see scorch marks, but nothing was there.

"Sit," said Singehorn again. Unlike his last visit with the man before him, the young wizard sat obediently across from his superior.

"My child... not for fifty years has that ring been held by human hands, not since I tore off the arm of the wizard that betrayed us all. When Pravus was destroyed and Grindelwald defeated, I thought for certain the darkness had been, at last, beaten back for good. I was young then and naïve, but not so naïve as to trust in men again, least of all wizards."

"But Dakhil," said Harry. "You trust him."

"Do I, Harry? Do I?" There was another low grumble as Singehorn leaned forward. Harry noticed a thin, light scar that ran along the man's face, a scar that wasn't there before the Joining. Over the last few months, the dragon had seen battle, but where? The east?

"Do you see the ring on Dakhil's fingers?" he continued. "No, Harry... Soseh trusts Dakhil and I would trust one of the House of Hayk with my life. Dakhil's fate lies on a different path than what we are about to discuss, perhaps a nobler path."

"You need to know, sir," said Harry with some urgency in his voice, worrying that Singehorn might actually believe that Dakhil could be noble. "I've seen... I've seen two spirits inside him. He may be under the control of another, or worse he may be a carrier of evil." Singehorn smiled and began to laugh. It was loud and thunderous, not the reaction Harry had expected.

"He's a vampire, my child," the dragon said finally. "He fights the spirit inside him every waking moment. Few have learned to control the thirst for fresh blood, the desire for death. None have fought more heroically than Dakhil Barghouti to stave off his own personal demon. But his path will soon lead elsewhere and I will need someone to take up his staff as Primate of the Votary. He preferred the choice be made now, before his fate befalls him."

It took a moment to realize that Singehorn might actually be considering him to take over the leadership of the Votary. The idea was ludicrous; Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. Rolling the ring in his fingers he looked up at Singehorn then back down at the ring. What did it do? How much power did it truly wield? Finally, he set it in his palm and held it out to the dragon.

"I can't, sir," he said, shaking his head. "Whatever powers this ring holds, I'm not ready."

"What? No questions about what the ring does? What strength it might bring you?"

"No, sir," Harry replied, reaching yet further toward Singehorn. The dragon did not remove the ring from Harry's palm, but instead leaned back on the bench.

"Would you not take this trinket if it might help you defeat the one who killed Molly Weasley and so many more?" Harry shook his head. "What if it would help you win the war against these Dementors, saving the lives of countless Centaurs; these creatures you seem to care so much about?" Singehorn leaned in again. His yellow eyes did not blink. "Are you so sure that you would not wish to finally destroy the creature that killed your parents?"

For a moment, Harry's outstretched arm receded. Once more he held the ring between thumb and forefinger, wondering what strength it might bring him. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Finally, he shook his head once more.

"No, sir," he said softly still rolling the ring in his fingers. "When I was last here, you reminded me our calling: Bravery... Wisdom... Love." Harry shuddered, swallowing hard. "You also told me that I needed to work on my wisdom." Harry took in a deep breath as his eyes grew misty. "But I've been precious short in that regard all year, eh? I brought Voldemort into the Ministry. I brought him face-to-face with Mrs. Weasley. I should have known.... I should have been... wiser. Now, he's at your doorstep, threatening to destroy all we stand for." Holding back his tears, Harry held the ring out once again. "I have the stone and I can now bend its powers to heal the injured and the sick. That's enough. Whatever powers this ring bears, there are others more worthy than me."

With lightening speed, frighteningly fast for such a large frame, Singehorn grabbed Harry's hand in his own, his massive paw wrapping around Harry's entire fist and arm, squeezing the ring into the flesh of Harry's palm and scorching the back of Harry's hand. His yellow eyes glared with steeled determination into Harry's and his claws drew blood from Harry's flesh.

"Tell me, my son, when the darkness spreads across this mountain and threatens my children and my children's children what will you do? There are only so many rocks to climb and the clouds will not protect us." Harry said nothing. "When your friends charge down the mountainside to join my kin in the attack against the sludge that surrounds us, will you hide... a blind rat in a dark cave?" The dragon's claws dug deeper, but Harry refused to cry out.

"I'd... sooner... die."

"Harry, the monster seeks you out, but he does not want you dead, not yet. He thinks he needs you alive, but he doesn't know that what he seeks is no longer there, washed away by the falls at Hogwarts. Without the energy he once shared with you, he is but half a man, half a wizard. In his ignorance, in his weakened state, he can be defeated."

"Then I don't need the ring," Harry said calmly, withstanding the pain.

"If only it was so simple," sighed Singehorn, still holding Harry's hand firm. "Before the Cleansing at the falls, you joined."

"Joined?"

"The darkness that was once in your veins... now flows through another's."

Harry's heart began to race. Another's?

"Your inherited, now blessed by the House of--"

"Jamie?" Harry asked. "Is it Jamie?"

"You would sooner die than see my children harmed. What would you do to protect your children?" asked Singehorn.

"My... son."

Harry's fingers, almost instinctively, tightened around the ring burning the flesh of his palm and in that instant his vision filled with a tremendous flash of white. Singehorn's voice became dark and ominous.

"I will not say your decision is wise, but it is our only course. Forgive me, my child, for the power will consume you. Soseh has foreseen your greed turn to grief. On the day the dragons mark the sky, you will begin to know your true strength. How you emerge from your failing will determine the fate of us all."

Suddenly, Harry's sight was gone, all before him dark. He tried to call out, but the air rushed from his lungs. When he breathed in, the damp musty odour of the bandages that wrapped his face filled his nostrils.

"We've got to go, sir," said a wizard somewhere to Harry's left.

"If I have to tell you one more time to be quiet, I'll rip your throat out," snapped Dakhil in a low, hissing voice. "We will go when Singehorn says we can go. Do NOT disturb the boy."

Still seated on the floor, his legs folded beneath him, Harry reached out his mind and sensed the two men arguing to his left. The one, a bright blue aura was clearly frightened; the other flashed red and then purple. The red appeared to be winning and Harry wasn't sure that was a good thing for the man in blue whose colour was fading so fast it appeared he might just wet himself. He wasn't the only one nearby that was frightened. In the large cavern just beyond the rock wall where Harry sat, scores of men mulled about nervously waiting for the final order to attack. Harry was about to move, to indicate to the others that he had returned, when the orange colour of Marek moved into the room where he sat.

He slipped over and placed his hand on Dakhil's back and the two walked to the far side of the tent. They whispered and then the whispers grew louder.

"Marek," Dakhil hissed, "I need to know. What is your opinion?"

"As a Healer or a Warrior?" the man that had worked on Harry's face replied. He was upset, irritated perhaps of the battle that would soon be bringing the dying to his doorstep. "If we were home, I'd leave the bandages on for at least another week."

"The boy can't fight like that."

"Then leave the boy behind."

Two voices harmonized: "No!" Simultaneously, Harry and Dakhil rejected Marek's suggestion.

"You've returned," said Dakhil quietly. "Good. The time is near. The full moon will soon rise over the side of the mountain. We must take advantage of every minute it brings us the werewolves' strength. Dawn will come far too quickly I'm afraid."

Harry held his hand to his face. "And these? You can remove these?"

"Really, Harry," answered Marek, "if only you could spare two more days... two more."

"The battle will be over by morning," said Harry, "and I can't fight with this rag weighing me down. It's sweaty enough as it is, and I can barely breathe."

"Then don't fight," Marek said to Harry. Then he turned to Dakhil. "What possible advantage does a boy bring this battle beyond more bloodshed?" Steadying his feet on the dusty rock, Harry stood.

"I am no boy!" he said defiantly. Marek ignored him.

"Dakhil," the Healer continued, "there is no reason to put this child's life... What? What is it?"

There was silence. Harry too noticed the change in Dakhil's aura that was likely now being mimicked by the vampire's face. The red had darkened into a rich scarlet - the emotion was a strong one, whatever it was.

"Dakhil, what are you looking at?" Marek continued.

As Harry stood, his hands, which had been covered by the sleeves of his robes while he sat, became exposed. There, on the centre finger of Harry's right hand was a ring. Angry at being called a boy, Harry had not noticed the added weight on his finger.

"Well... that can't be good," said Dakhil with a rather cool voice. "I had asked for a choice, but... tonight? I do not feel in my bones that tonight--"

"I'll take the damn bandages off myself if I have to," cried Harry, reaching for his wand. It was then, when finger met wood, that he realized there was a ring on his right hand. He let go his wand and held the ring with his left hand. He moved to take it off, but the ring would not move. He pulled again, and again the ring held its grip about the bone of his right middle finger.

"I once had hoped he might see fit to give it to me," said Dakhil with more disappointment than anger. "No matter. Soseh has seen what is to come and as certain as blood will flow this very night, she has told him."

"Told him what?" asked Harry, still trying to work the ring from his finger.

"Damn the day I met you, boy," said Dakhil, again in a quiet, matter of fact tone. "She's seen my death, which is not such a great concern for a vampire when such events can be centuries hence." He paused.

"And?" Harry asked.

"And you were there, boy. You were there." Dakhil moved closer. "So, either you're going to wander down the mountainside, get bit and live to a very ripe old age as an immortal, or I'm going to die before the summer solstice. Curse you," Dakhil said dryly. "I always wanted to make it to the millennium."

"You're both talking gibberish," said Marek. "Would you STOP that," he said to Harry. "You're starting to bleed." Harry turned his senses downward and watched as the glowing drips of blood fell to the floor from his finger. Marek pulled his wand and healed the finger. "Now leave the damn ring alone. Here, let me remove it."

He cast a spell and nothing happened, nothing but the scratchy laughter from Dakhil. He tried a different spell and still the ring stayed clamped about Harry's finger.

"We don't have time for this," said Harry finally. "Look, just take the bandages off. Place a shield charm about the skin if you must, but I can't--"

"Very well," cut in Marek with a sigh. "But it's not your skin that I was worried about. "Sit over here." He led Harry to a stone bench.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, Harry, while I was working on your face, I thought I might see if I couldn't do something about your eyes. The heat beaded the glass, but did not damage your eyes. I was able to remove the rounded beads, without causing more damage... I think."

"But I've seen nothing," said Harry. "Certainly through this gauze, I could discern--"

"I've sealed your lids shut so the eyes beneath could heal as the spell worked and weaved." He stepped closer to Harry. "Son, two more days... two more days and I'm sure that the knitting will be complete."

"And I'll see again?" asked Harry with a glint of hope in his voice.

"You might."

"Well... look... it's dark anyway," Harry said, his emotions swirling with exhilaration and fear. "Take off the bandages and leave my eyes sealed. I'll be better off not trying to discern objects in the darkness. I've gotten used to not seeing and trying to squint in the murky night may just make things worse."

"There's the problem," said Dakhil. "The objects you wish to discern are Dementors. They suck the life from all about them. To your vision they would be darkness and on the scorched mountainside where very little life remains, it would be near impossible to detect them."

At this it was Harry's turn to laugh.

"Dakhil, I don't need my sight to know when a Dementor is breathing down my neck. I'll know where they are, believe me, I'll know."

"Then it's decided," said Marek. "I'll remove your bandages, but keep your eyes sealed. If you make it through the night Harry, your face should be re-wrapped immediately. A shield charm might be acceptable for walking around school or sitting about the house. It will be worthless against a well placed hex."

"Get on with it," said Harry. "I can hear the howling already."

And indeed he could, they all could. Some of the wizard werewolves were growing anxious. Outside, the moon was nearing the crest of the eastern horizon and some were having difficulty controlling their metamorphosis even inside the cavern, away from the moonshine. Typically, such difficulties were had by newly converted werewolves, those who had recently become. Harry wondered how Fred was fairing.

When Dakhil removed the gauze bandages, Harry immediately reached up to his face to touch, but the shield charm stopped his fingers.

"It feels like an eggshell," Harry whispered.

"And it won't protect your face much more than one," added Marek. "Remember that, when you're out there playing the hero." Harry was about to protest but, preceded by a hiss, unexpected words left Dakhil's mouth first.

"An Acolyte of the Votary does not play at anything!" Dakhil's stature was suddenly somewhat larger, and his aura somewhat redder. "You would be wise to remember your position, Marek. With one thought the boy could destroy you."

"Yes... yes, of course," Marek apologized. "I'm sorry... I... I truly am sorry."

There was fear in his words, far more fear than Harry thought the situation warranted. Part of him understood - something he remembered from the Joining. He touched the Ring of Onyx and thought for a moment, trying to refine the swirling memories that had been given him, but there wasn't time to well for its source; it was time for action. Harry stood and began to walk toward the large chamber.

"One moment, boy," said Dakhil with a matter of fact tone. Harry stopped, turned and, before he had an instant to react, Dakhil had cast a spell on him. Nothing happened.

"What... what was that?" Harry demanded, still reaching for his wand.

"He's changed the colour of your robes, Harry," said Marek. "They're no longer white; they're crimson."

"Primate Potter," said Dakhil in an exceptionally scratchy voice followed by a short blasting cough. "Your new title. Hopefully, I'll die tonight and not have to say it again." He sighed. "Asha protect us." Harry looked down, but could sense no discernable difference. "Don't worry, boy; those who have travelled the path through proper training will know at once the significance of your robes. We'd best hurry. There won't be time for much of a speech."

Harry and Dakhil left the tent and entered the cavern; the warriors within had emptied out onto the mountainside, staging for the battle to come. Soon, the gate would open and the soldiers would spill down upon their foes. Harry and Dakhil walked down the cave and, as it narrowed toward its exit, a young man came up and touched Harry by the sleeve.

"Asha be with you," he said tilting his head in a slight bow.

"And with you," replied Harry without forethought. Why did I say that?

The cavern door opened and, for a moment, Harry was blinded by the many auras gathered outside. He could see that some of the werewolves had already turned, and a group of wizards was having difficulty restraining them. No one seemed distracted by the howling, a howling that mixed with words in Harry's mind - kill, bite, blood! He turned to see if someone was talking to him, but no one was there. Another werewolf howled.

"Patience, my friends," called Harry to the snapping creatures and the wolves quieted at his words. That was not my voice, thought Harry. Or was it?

Everyone was listening to Antreas who stood upon a large outcrop of rock above the growing din. His words were amplified, but Harry wasn't sure the increased intensity was necessary. He was calling out in a strong and commanding voice and Harry wondered why this role wasn't Dakhil's.

"....is all we need. Together we will be victorious! Together we will banish the darkness into the abyss!" The earth began to rumble with applause. Harry noticed four giants pounding their feet with approval.

"Giants?" he asked Dakhil. "I didn't notice any giants when I arrived."

"They climbed over from the sheer cliffs on the back side of the mountain. That way is not guarded save by Dementors, and they have no effect on such simple creatures. So it is with the werewolves."

"It'll m-make for a b-bloody Death Eater busting surprise."

"Fred?"

The redhead was clearly agitated, seemingly in the midst of the change.

"Fred, please... don't--"

"The Primate has ARRIVED!" cried Antreas with a leaping voice. He was referring to Dakhil, but Harry could feel hundreds of eyes turn toward him simultaneously. Save for the howling and the occasional spell being cast a short ways down the hill, all became silent.

"Let's give them what they want, boy," said Dakhil. "Up you go." He levitated Harry some twenty feet in the air. Harry's heart began to race as he rose, wondering what he might say.

It was like rising over the embers of a dying fire, each glowing aura a tiny coal burning against the darkness. There were hundreds gathered here. Some fell to their knees as Harry rose; most stood silently. Giants, Centaurs, wizards and werewolves, a ragtag collection of misfits all collected to fight together against the malevolence Lucius Malfoy had co-opted for his own evil purposes.

Lucius probably hoped he would retrieve the cloak and arrive at this place of battle to celebrate a great victory, the first of many. Little did he know that his former master would take up residence in his body - if only long enough to take over Harry's. But that would never, could never happen. How the worm had turned on the blonde-haired patriarch. Soon, it would turn on the darkness worming within him. Harry raised his arms to the heavens above, a giant comet was clearly visible in the night sky.

"Ebyrth marks its return and now we find ourselves at its mercy. While some have come to answer the new sun's call, others are here to protect our dragon brothers against the darkness that wishes to destroy all in its path. Tonight we fight as one. Tonight we fight with the strength of giants, the magic of wizards, the ferocity of werewolves, the wisdom of Centaurs, and the hearts of dragons!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the thunderous SWOOP-SWOOP filled the air and four enormous dragons flew over the crowd, blotting out the stars and then coming to rest at the top of the great stone wall. Singehorn wasn't among them, but Harry, though having never met them, knew their names. The three males were Rakesh, Talisan, and Igneus, and the blue female was Tanwen. As if being called, Harry looked toward Talisan, the largest of the four, with green-black scales and fierce red eyes. He looked more like a Ukrainian Ironbelly than a Hungarian Horntail.

"Primate!" the creature cried out. "We follow you in battle. What are your orders?"

All around Harry, wizards were clasping their hands against the sides of their heads to cover their ears, some falling to their knees in pain, because of the creature's great roar. And yet, Harry could understand everything he said. How is this possible? This was no meditation.

"Your orders, Primate?" cried the dragon again, and again those around Harry winced in pain.

"Burn them!" yelled Harry. "Burn them till your bellies turn cold. You, Tanwen, fly high above the wall. Let no enemy past the gates. Do not leave your post. We must save the rookery at all costs!" Harry pulled his red robes tight about his shoulders.

"Open the gates!" called Antreas and the army erupted in cheers and howls. A few werewolves snapped at their allies, but most caught the scent of their hated foes, enticing their senses with a bloodlust for Dementor, and quickly they began to charge ahead, down the mountainside. Dakhil brought Harry down to earth as the crowded hillside flowed out through the gate. Harry began to run, following the rushing tide, but someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around; it was Antreas.

"Your time is at hand, Harry," he said with a stout voice. "I'll lead the first wave; I dare not speak it to the others, but don't think for a minute we'll succeed. The scouts have told me the situation... it's dire. When we begin to fall back, and we will fall back... that's when we'll need you." Harry was about to argue, but Antreas was already swept away in the current of bodies rushing through the gate. Undaunted, Harry began to follow, only this time Dakhil stopped him.

"Tell me, boy," he murmured quietly beneath the roaring rush of wizards pushing by. "Why are you here?"

"To fight Voldemort," Harry spat, turning to leave. Dakhil held his arm fast; Harry spun back to face him, clenching his jaw.

"Really?" queried Dakhil, still quiet, still calm, still holding Harry's arm with a vice-like grip. "Are you... sure? Is that why you were summoned?" Harry tried to pull away, but couldn't. He pulled his wand. "You don't need a wand to dismiss me, boy. You're the Primate now, or will be soon. If you think you no longer need my services, then dismiss me! You need only speak the words; tell me to be gone!"

He was goading Harry, trying to make him angry, trying to evoke a response. Harry slipped his wand away.

"You are the Primate," he said softly. "Not me."

"Wizards will never follow a vampire into battle, boy," answered Dakhil. "But for some reason, Asha only knows why, they will follow you." He squeezed Harry's arm tighter. "Hear this, then do what you must. The wisdom of Grigor Darbinyan now flows in his son's veins. Would you ignore Antreas? Shall we charge with the rest? What are your orders?"

"I'm... I'm here to serve my oath, to protect the line of Asha... as are you. We stay to protect the rookery." Harry noted a glimmer in Dakhil's aura... a smile? The last of the first wave had passed through the gate, leaving two giants, one dragon, a half-dozen Centaurs and some thirty wizards to wait for further orders, orders that Harry would have to give. Knowing that the number at his side were too few to fend off the coming attack, his thoughts turned to the darkness, hiding at the bottom of the mountain, searching for some way that they might defeat him.

"He won't reveal himself," said Harry, slowly, "until he believes they've won, that he can step up and take me as his prize. Antreas is right, to capture Lucius and the darkness that consumes him, the first wave must fail."

"The enemy's numbers are too great," said Dakhil, releasing his grip. "Even with those still remaining, we have no hope of winning in direct battle."

"Then the second wave must be a surprise. We must hold until the last possible moment."

"Even then, boy, the numbers are against us."

"Maybe," answered Harry, "But we need only strike down one foe. What will our enemy do when their general dies? When Lucius and his master fall?"

"It is impossible to catch vapour with your bare hands. Who among us, might I ask, will bring down the Dark Lord?"

"I will," Harry answered. He left Dakhil and entered into the centre of those remaining. "Gather 'round!" he called. "Listen to what I say! Tonight... tonight we plan for victory!"