Mindwar

by Andrew Klavan

  “She travels by water. She should be here any minute.”

  “Okay,” said Rick, trying to stay calm. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to—”

  But before he could finish, the creatures of the air attacked.

  21. DRAGON SWORD

  THEY WERE INCREDIBLY fast. Their shrill hawklike screams—which had been inaudible when they were so far up in the sky—sounded in the distance one moment, and the next moment were filling the air, threatening, it seemed, to pierce Rick’s eardrums.

  He looked up toward the suddenly deafening noise and could not believe how close the nearest creature was—and what it was: a beast the size of a dinosaur with the horned leathery face of a desert reptile and webbed wings that nearly blotted out the sky. Its gray eyes were the size of cannonballs. Its mouth opened on a double row of bent and bloody teeth. The noise of its cry was like a weapon: the sound waves billowing from its mouth hit Rick like a hammer, stunning him, blasting every thought from his brain.

  There was a horde of them. They were all around, swarming and circling in the yellow air above him. But even as Rick turned to see them, the nearest one plunged out of the tendrils of orange mist and dive-bombed straight toward him at full speed.

  In that moment of confusion, dazed with noise and terror, Rick heard Favian cry out, “Run, Rick!”

  But Rick was frozen to the spot.

  Favian, exhausted as he was, flashed away like lightning—but Rick just stood there. Even with his legs in good shape, he could never run fast enough to escape that diving thing. Unable to think what to do, he stood rooted to the spot, gaping in helpless terror as the screaming sound enveloped him, as the diving dragon’s mouth grew larger, nearer—opened wider and wider as the thing prepared to rip him in half with those shark-like teeth. In the instant before it struck, the only clear thought pounding at Rick’s mind was: I’m about to die!

  Then, just then, a wall of silver slashed like a shield across the narrowing gap between Rick and the diving dragon. The creature’s enormous horned and lizardly head was turned aside by the force of the watery metal. It stopped the creature midflight. It threw him off course. The dragon swept past Rick like the great shadow of death—so close he felt its hot breath on him and the wind of its collapsing wings blew his hair back on his head.

  The dragon fell. It hit the earth and skidded toward the moat, throwing up a spray of red dirt on either side of its huge body. Its impact shook the ground so violently Rick stumbled a step and went down on one knee.

  As the creature of the air slithered around trying to right itself, Rick looked about him in a daze. What just happened? What had saved him?

  He saw her. Mariel. She had risen from the moat as she had risen from the lake, her body forming itself out of the mercury-like substance as it rose like a wave, turbulent and shimmering, above the turbulent, shimmering surface.

  Amazed by her sudden presence there, Rick remembered Favian’s words: She travels by water!

  Her lush, liquid form was turned to one side, and Rick saw that she had flung a curtain of her own substance between him and the onrushing dragon. That was the sheet of metal water that had turned aside the beast’s attack. The liquid shield now dropped from the air and splashed down onto the red banks of the moat, splattering into droplets, which then slid and skittered like living creatures back into the main body of the moat.

  At the same time, Mariel straightened, rising up stately—and beautiful, Rick noticed, even in her war-like mode.

  “Rick,” she said. She pronounced the single word so calmly that it seemed to snap Rick out of his bewilderment and draw him toward her.

  He rose to his feet. At the same time, the fallen dragon thrashed itself upright. It bent its four pillar-like legs beneath its enormous body. Its tail lashed back and forth one time, the end of it coming within a yard of knocking Rick over. Then it flapped its leathery wings and leapt—and launched itself back into the air.

  As it rose and banked, the tip of one wing scraped Rick’s shoulder. It wasn’t much of a blow, but it sent him spinning away from Mariel. He had to fight to stay upright, to regain his balance. At the same moment, there was another shriek. Another of the dragons plunged from the circling horde and dove toward him. Its scream instantly became a deafening weapon as its massive shape blotted out the world.

  “Go to her, Rick!” Rick heard Favian shout. “Go to Mariel!”

  Rick saw him. The sparkling spirit had fallen to his knees at the edge of the moat, to the right of Mariel. He was reaching out with both hands toward the floating purple diamond on the far side of the water, near the fortress walls. He was drawing energy out of the portal point and into himself. Rick could see the radiance pulsing out of the diamond and entering Favian’s palms. He could see the spirit growing brighter as the diamond shrank away to a small point of purple light.

  Don’t destroy it, Rick thought. I’m going to need that thing to get home, and soon!

  There was no time now to check the clock in his palm, but he could feel the seconds ticking away.

  “Go to her!” Favian shouted again. “Now!”

  Rick turned to run, glancing over his shoulder at the second dive-bombing dragon. He did not think he could reach Mariel before the creature struck him. And if he did reach her, he couldn’t imagine what the water spirit could do to save him before the beast snapped him in half with a single bite.

  But he tried it. He ran. He stretched his legs across the red ground toward where Mariel hovered above the silver water, her beauty and majesty part of the water, her form shimmering and reflecting the chaos around her as the water did. He ran—and the scream of the dragon enveloped him from behind. He felt its presence hurtling toward his back. He felt the wind of its wings. He felt the sound waves of its shriek pounding at him. He knew it was seconds away from catching him in its jaws.

  And then Favian flashed to his side, his energy recharged. Rick saw him unleash a purple blast from his hand, just as he had in the woods against the spider-snake. That forest blast had knocked the spider-snake unconscious, but the creatures of the air were too massive, too powerful. All the same, when Favian’s purple burst struck the charging dragon in the chest, it hit him hard. The dragon was stopped midflight, its long neck twisting in pain. Its four feet clawed at the air as it was hurled backward. Its wings folded, and it fell to the earth at a small distance, the impact shaking the ground again so that Rick was nearly toppled over as he ran.

  But now Rick reached the moat. He stood beneath Mariel, gazing up at her. In the seconds before the next dragon’s assault, a dozen impressions of the water woman crisscrossed his mind. He saw the quick-witted intelligence in her eyes. And the courage in the set of her mouth. And that look on her face again that reminded him of his father’s look of faith, determined faith. He felt she was practically willing him to be the rescuer she and Favian needed, the hero they were waiting for.

  The idea made Rick feel weak inside. He had been a hero once. He had walked around the school grounds with a swagger. He had been Rick Dial, the quarterback, Number 12. But those days were over. They seemed to have happened a million years ago, and he did not know how to bring that swagger back.

  All this flashed through his mind in an instant, less a thought than a half-formed confusion of feelings—yearning, doubt, weakness, the fear that he would disappoint her.

  Then the screams of the dragons above him filled the yellow air, erasing everything else—everything but the sight of Mariel rising majestically out of the silver moat before him, hovering in front of the black shape of the massive fortress at her back.

  “Lift your sword, Rick,” she told him.

  Rick heard the strain in her voice. He saw the weariness etched into her majestic features. He knew that each effort that she—and that Favian—made on his behalf was costing them energy, causing them to fade. He remembered the poor dead-and-yet-not-dead creature suffering in the tunnel . . . How long before Favian and Mariel used themselves up for his sak
e and became things like that?

  There was another ear-piercing shriek from the sky.

  “Lift up your sword!” Mariel thundered at him again. It was not a request.

  Rick forced himself not to look up at the dragons, to keep his eyes on her. He grasped the copper hilt of his sword, drew it from his belt, and lifted it into the air before the silver woman rising from the moat. Fear and discouragement filled him at the sight of that pitted, rusted blade. Mariel had told him that his spirit would make the sword stronger, but he didn’t have enough spirit for this. Killing the already wounded spider-snake was one thing. But if he tried to hit one of these flying monsters with this poor excuse for a blade, it would shatter into pieces.

  The attacking dragons cried out again. It took all Rick’s courage to stand there holding up his sword, not to turn and look, not to bolt and run.

  Mariel lifted her arms, crossed them before her so that the V of her forearms framed her queenly face. Then, in a quick, slashing motion, she brought both arms down together, flinging them out to her sides. The movement hurled a gout of silver water from her body. The water splashed over Rick as he stood before her with his sword upraised. He expected the impact of the mercury-like stuff to knock him back, but instead it draped itself over him gently. It covered his body, covered his sword—and clung to them, and coated them with silver.

  Now, Rick saw with wonder, the sword was no longer rusted iron but shining steel, the last droplets falling from the blade as it hardened in his hand. The weapon flashed in the sourceless light from the yellow sky. And he flashed, too: his body. Like the sword, his chest and legs and arms were now sheathed in metal. He was suddenly clothed in shining armor like one of those knights in the old King Arthur stories his father had read to him when he was a child.

  He gaped at his sword, at himself . . . at his new self . . . so like one of those heroic knights of old, he somehow couldn’t help but feel a little bit braver than he’d felt a second ago. A lot braver, actually. It was as if Mariel had clothed him not only in armor but in courage. Suddenly he felt as strong as . . . well, as his old self—stronger!

  “It’s all on you now,” said Mariel in a weak, hollow, fading echo of a voice. “I can’t do any more.” Even as she spoke, she was gone, tumbling wearily from the air and splashing back into the flat surface of the moat from whence she’d come.

  Rick saw her go, and ached at his core. He understood that it was her strength, her courage, her very substance she had given him.

  It’s all on you now.

  He looked at his now-gleaming sword, his gleaming armor.

  He thought, Well, then, I have to try . . .

  But the words were blasted from his mind as the air was shredded by another head-splitting shriek.

  Once again, the creatures of the air were upon him.

  22. DRAGON SKIES

  THERE WERE TWO of them this time. Rick swiveled to face them just as the pair swooped out of the dragon swarm and dove. The lead beast came for Favian. The sparkling spirit was on his knees, drained again by the energy blast he’d used to save Rick. In another instant, the dragon was on top of him, shrieking out of the sky with its huge gray eyes glaring and its leathery jaws jacked wide. Its double rows of crooked, blood-drenched teeth were about to encircle Favian’s head, about to snap shut on top of him.

  Favian lifted his eyes. He looked so weary, it seemed he didn’t have enough strength to move, that he was just waiting there, waiting to be devoured.

  But just as the giant creature beat its wings one more time to propel itself into the final attack, Favian flashed away in a twinkling. The dragon’s jaws clamped together on empty air. It had only just enough time to recover before it smashed face-first into the earth. Straightening its neck, it leveled out, gliding inches over the red ground toward the moat. Another flap of its giant bat-like wings and it lifted up again, reflected in the silver water. Incredible grace for such an enormous being! Another flap of the wings and another, and it lifted its face skyward and rose.

  All that took a moment and in that same moment, the second dragon came shrieking down at Rick.

  It came at him at high speed. The sound waves of its scream pounded against the armor sheathing Rick’s body. Its jaws spread to engulf him, dripping drool.

  And Rick, his heart pounding wildly, suddenly knew what he had to do.

  It was a mad idea, but it came to him so clearly that he knew somehow it was right—his only chance. It was as if his armor spoke the words into his mind, as if his sword sent the wild courage into his heart. He realized: it was Mariel, her spirit, urging him to this wild gamble for survival.

  Every instinct in his body was telling him to run. Watching that horned head come at him—that open mouth—those double teeth shrieking his way—the urge to bolt was almost overwhelming.

  But he drew courage from his armor, from his sword, from Mariel—and he stood his ground. This was right, he knew it. These beasts were fast—fast and big—with long necks that gave them a lot of reach and flexibility. They were built to hunt from the air and to snap their prey off the surface of the earth no matter how it tried to escape them. Maybe Favian could flash out of their way before they grabbed him, but it was already too late for Rick to escape.

  So he forced himself to stand another second—and another. The beast screamed toward him. Rick drew a deep breath. He gripped his sword in both hands. His teeth clamped together with determination as he watched the drooling jaws of the dragon fill his field of vision. His whole head ached as the dragon’s shriek hammered at his breastplate, making his body thrum. Defying the wild urge of his growing panic, he waited . . . waited . . .

  Now the hot, rancid breath of the flying creature enveloped him. Now its jaws began to close over him. Now the beast’s eyes flashed with eagerness and hunger.

  And Rick thought, Do it!

  At the last moment before the dragon devoured him, he spun out of its way.

  It was a move he’d pulled at least a dozen times as a quarterback. Some tackler would worm his way through the blockers and storm forward to sack him in the backfield for a loss of yards. Just at the last moment, Rick would spin out of the tackler’s grasp, turn in a full circle to get free, and run for daylight or hurl a pass to the open man. He spun like that now: pushed off his right foot, pivoted on his left, dodging out of the creature’s jaws just before they snapped shut. His body turned in a complete circle. The sword, gripped in his two hands, dragged for a second behind the turn. Then he used all the power of his momentum to bring the blade swinging round after him. And he struck.

  The sharp, gleaming edge of the sword hit the dive-bombing beast smack behind the ear. Rick felt the impact go ringing up his arms into his shoulders. The dragon let out an unholy cry of agony. It thrashed and twisted, rolling over in midair as it sailed past him.

  Some part of it—its wing probably—Rick wasn’t sure—struck him on the side and sent him staggering backward. He fell, losing his grip on the sword. And the dragon fell, smashing headfirst into the earth.

  Rick’s body bounced up and down as the ground rumbled beneath the dragon’s fall. Rick sat up, stunned by the blow he’d received.

  And something else happened just then—something that was somehow even more frightening than the battle at hand. There was a sort of static fritz all around him. The whole scene—the dragons, the moat, the fortress, the red earth under the yellow sky—seemed to waver and digitalize, reality dissolving with a sickening shiver.

  Instinctively, Rick looked at his palm. He had only four minutes and five seconds left before he had to get out, back to the real world. Miss Ferris had warned him: whatever else he did, don’t stay too long or his brain would disintegrate. It was starting to happen, just as she’d said. He had to get to that portal point—now.

  Still stunned by the blow he’d received, he moved by sheer willpower. He forced himself to his feet, looking at the fallen dragon.

  The dragon was also dazed. It lay on its side,
not quite unconscious, not quite able to stand. The blow from Rick’s sword had opened a gash in its neck, and blood the color of mucus was gurgling down over its scaly hide.

  Rick looked around him. He saw his sword lying on the red earth. He scooped it up by the hilt and slipped the blade quickly into a leather scabbard built into the side of his breastplate. With his head still ringing, his mind still foggy, he raced across the ground toward the fallen creature of the air.

  He reached it. He seized it round its bleeding neck. And, without stopping to think, he jumped on top of it.

  He knew this was what he was supposed to do. His only chance to stay alive. He could not fight off all these monsters. And without Mariel’s help, he couldn’t swim across the guarded moat. But if he could commandeer one of the dragons . . . if he could mount it, ride it into the sky . . . if he could guide it low over the water, then jump down . . . well, he might be able to land near the portal point on the other side of the moat before his time ran out.

  He might. It seemed an insane plan even to him. But it was the only plan he had. He had to try it.

  Again, he experienced that sickening static, that horrifying digitalization of the scenery around him. It was over in a second, but he knew it would return again and again as his time ran down and his mind went to pieces.

  He thought of the living-dead creature trapped in the spider-snake’s tunnel.

  This had to work. It had to.

  The dragon’s neck was the size of a small tree trunk, yet it was twisting and alive like a gigantic snake. Its leathery skin was so rough it scraped the flesh off his hands as he desperately tried to wrap his arms around it. Its strength was such that when it whipped its head and writhed and roared, Rick felt himself flung back and forth on the creature’s back like a limp rag doll. He thought the thing could easily toss him off and send him tumbling head over heels through the air.