by Paul Cude
'Coughing up blood... that can't be good,' he thought, before the next regular shove in the back from the guard behind him forced his unwilling body ever forward. With his head bowed down, he took a tentative step, his knees nearly buckling from the pain. As it washed over him, he tried to put it away, compartmentalise it, as Flash had once described it to him. Plodding forward, aware of Tim struggling beside him more than he himself was, it would seem, his thoughts turned to his friends. Where was Flash and was he safe? He was supposed to have gone to the charity sports day... the one to raise funds for the rebuilding of the clubhouse, with Tank. He hoped they were both safe, but at the same time couldn't help wishing that the former Crimson Guard would suddenly make an appearance from out of the shadows, off to one side of the square they were in, with a view to putting a stop to all this... MADNESS! Right here, right now, he felt almost envious of Richie, not knowing about all this, not being involved. And although the consequences of what happened here would almost certainly reverberate around the world above at some point, just as they already had with the laminium bombs from that shocking attack, he hoped that currently she was enjoying being human and making the most of what little time the world as they knew it, had left.
Another sharp jolt in the back sent a spasm of pain straight up his back and into his neck. Fighting off the overwhelming urge to turn around and throw himself at the guard, he knew that if he reacted, he would only get hurt more, something the guard no doubt was trying to encourage, so he plodded on, biding his time, hoping against hope that either one of his friends or the king would be able to get himself and Tim out of this dire and seemingly deadly situation.
Nearly five hours had passed since they as a force had leapt into the air on the outskirts of Perth. For the most part it had all been freezing cold ocean beneath them, with rolling waves the size of houses crashing and bumping, the occasional piece of flotsam or jetsam breaking up the monotonous surroundings. The survival suits they'd been kitted up in had surprised Flash no end. Promises about just how good they were back on the deserted, dark runway had all seemed too good to be true... but they weren't. Knowing the temperature here would instantly incapacitate any dragon in their natural form, forcing them to spiral to a very unpleasant death in seas so cold that little smatterings of ice had recently started to break up the dark and foreboding waters, he appreciated even more the breakthrough work the eclectic group of young dragons had undertaken. To some degree it felt good to be back in the air, but of course it wasn't quite the same, catching a ride on the back of another dragon, when in fact he should have been flying himself. Memories of high speed chases on top secret missions in some of the remotest parts of the world dominated his thoughts, especially the ones in sunny climes, when pretty much as any other dragon would have done, he'd sailed high into the sky, allowing glorious rays of sunshine to wash over him. That all seemed light years away from where he was now. Although he had access to the vast majority of his magic, he missed the flying... as any dragon naturally would. A sudden change of direction by his ride exerted a considerable G force on his comparatively tiny, human shaped form. A stomach full of excitement threatened to spill over, as a tight turn combined with a speedy drop had his hair whipping out from underneath his suit, ever so slightly. Too afraid to use one of his hands to tuck the tiny strands back in place for fear of falling, he cast an experienced look into the distance and was rewarded with a view both breathtaking and frightening in equal measure. Far in the distance, his enhanced vision could just make out the contrasting bright colours of Casey Station, his former billet, albeit rather briefly. Smack bang in front of them, the rising peak of Law Dome jutted up out of the ice and snow, so high that it almost touched the very clouds themselves.
Due to the outstanding properties of the camouflage mantra entwined within the very fabric of the suits, Flash could only just make out the other members of the group. Approaching the mountain of ice, they all closed in on each other. Flash quelled the apprehension deep inside him that threatened to take him over. He didn't want to go back to that place... EVER! But he was here now and the fate of others, not just of this fighting force, but of all his friends on the opposite side of the world, his monarch, the naga king and Fredric Bluewillow, founder of the Crimson Guards and Peter's grandfather, all depended on his actions. Now it was time for everything he'd learned, everything he'd trained for, to come to the fore. Single-mindedness about his mission overtook him. Doubts turned to confidence in one swift stroke. The survival suits would give them an advantage, one that he planned to use to devastating effect. He would rescue the prisoners and change the whole complexion of the current situation in London and around the world.
From out of nowhere, Yoyo sidled up to the young dragon Flash was straddled across. Despite having grouped together and having slowed down, the wind howled like a banshee mistaking muscle rub for its pile cream.
"How do you want to do this?" the healer shouted.
Flash had given this particular question much thought on their journey here. His considered opinion was that if the prisoners were still in the same place, then provision for anyone coming in from the stream would no doubt have been changed after his escape. He was sure that wasn't a viable option. Also, the survival suits protected them from the cold and even, as far as he was aware, the icy chill of the water, but there was no provision for an air supply, and unlike the nagas' magical option for this, nobody here had a mantra that would replicate it or find a way around. So, like most problems in his life, he'd decided to deal with this one... head on! Slowly and loudly, he explained his plan to Yoyo, who for the most part nodded in agreement. They would fly to the summit and once there would use the heat seeking mantra to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the two captured dragons and the naga king. Once located, they would try and drill down into the rock and snow, creating a passage that should in theory allow the force to pass through, one at a time. Several one off mantras had already been procured, as well as some specific to laminium extraction and others required for the drilling stage of the plan. There were dozens of things that could go wrong, not least the fact that all the captives could already be dead, have been moved, or there could be a force of a thousand waiting there. It was impossible to know one hundred percent. So, for the most part, they'd be winging it... something Flash was born to do, in more ways than one.
A textbook landing brought about the end to their near three thousand mile journey. The entire group settled atop a snow covered ridge enclosed on two sides, offering a degree of protection, very close to the summit. Without fuss, the youngsters prepared to unleash the heat detecting mantra they'd spent so long working on. It was strange just to see the odd sliver of movement, Flash thought, his mind not being able to conceive how on earth the suits they all wore functioned. If he hadn't been looking for it, almost certainly it would have been impossible to detect. For sure, not a human being alive would have been capable of seeing through the almost faultless suits. But he knew the enemies they now faced would prove more inventive and more powerful than any his race had faced in centuries, if not ever. Determined not to be lax, complacent or let his guard down in any way, shape or form, he knew in that lay defeat, something he was too acutely aware of thanks to his rather unsuccessful last visit to this freezing hell. So, for now, he was content to stand and watch, coiled, full of energy and focus, ready to spring into action when the need arose, constantly aware of the seconds ticking away.
52 Haunted
Cold gnawed at the very heart of him. The decades he, Fredric Bluewillow, had been confined here were starting to take their toll. Brief moments of sleep against the freezing, icy walls of the cavern had deserted him recently, replaced by waking dreams... hallucinations if you like. Memories from his past barged in on his conscious mind, assaulting him, forcing him to live those moments over and over again. Of course, only the painful memories returned and there were plenty of those, particularly given the things he'd done. Back then it had all seemed so cl
ear cut, so refined. But as it all came flooding back with crystal clarity, thanks to his eidetic dragon memory, his views became conflicted, his mind lost in turmoil.
'Oh no,' he managed to think in a daze. 'Not anything to do with World War 2 please, and especially not this one... anything but this one!'
He'd had his suspicions for some time now. All the late nights... early mornings even. But it was more to do with her change of character. And that had changed dramatically. Once kind, loving, full of empathy, just about the perfect... he'd almost said 'human being', but of course he meant dragon... she'd won awards for her caring and considerate nature during her time in the nursery ring. Out of everything, those had made him the most proud, the proudest father on the planet. But that all seemed like a long time ago. Longing for that time to return, the professional in him combined with his life experience told him it was gone forever. He hoped not, hoping against the odds that he could get it back. Tonight would be the first step to doing just that.
His spy craft was awesome, as you'd expect from the king's right hand man (or dragon, so to speak) and the founder of the Crimson Guards. So far he'd followed her across to Spain on the monorail, and was currently climbing up a rather well hidden ladder that led into the sewer system beneath Barcelona. Ahead of him by only a few minutes, it didn't matter because he'd used a mantra that was his stock in trade. Once cast, the mantra created a fine layer of magical dust, invisible to all but the caster, and once in contact with another being it formed a shimmering trail for the caster to follow, while remaining invisible to everyone else. Just as she'd been going out of the door, he'd made a point of standing in her way. Although she appeared sulky, defiant and determined, he hadn't made a big thing about it, quite the opposite in fact, but just as she'd stormed past him, he'd ruffled her hair, something he'd done all the time when she was younger, something she hated now, and she'd told him so in no uncertain terms. But with the magical dust, it had done the trick and enabled him to follow her at a distance, with a view to finding out exactly what was going on.
A tiny shaft of natural light filtered down through the rusty looking manhole above him. Searching far and wide with his dragon abilities, it soon became apparent that no one was about. Hastily he pushed open the cover, crawled out and was up on his feet instantly, all without a sound. Sticking to the shadows, he followed the glistening trail of dust from his daughter's hair, illuminating the way just for him, like Christmas lights on a housing estate. Following the trail, he avoided contact when he could, but the further he went, the more people appeared around him. When the shadows were of no use, he pretended to be drunk, weaving and staggering just enough for most to want to leave him alone. Still he carried on, that is until he turned a corner and stood across from a small piazza, around which a number of restaurants, bars and bistros were dotted. From the look of things, the enigmatic trail led into the most crowded bar on the other side of the street.
'This,' he thought, 'is where things might just get a little interesting.' Closing his eyes, he reached deep within his human guise, tucking all his dragon-ness into a small black box, sealed it up and slid it into the equivalent of a cupboard under the stairs within his mind. Appearing fully human and much, much older than he'd normally look, thanks to another stock in trade mantra, he strolled confidently across the piazza and walked straight into the crowded bar. Immediately he became alert (more so than he was already, and that was saying something) because through the haze of the smoke, the smell of sweaty humans and spilt alcohol, and above the noise of the very out of tune singer, nearly all the voices were speaking in... German! This he hadn't expected. For all intents and purposes, this was a very Spanish area, populated entirely by locals. The Germans/Nazis, call them what you will, shouldn't have been anywhere near here. But it looked as though they were, and rather too many of them for his liking. Squeezing sideways past the suited and booted clientele, most of the men wearing ties, nearly all having their hair slicked back with grease, he reached the sticky wooden surface of the bar and tried hard not to touch it. Offering him an enticing smile, the busty brunette behind the bar headed his way. Returning the gesture, he was just about to open his mouth and order a drink in German, when a slender but powerful arm appeared almost out of nowhere, its fist connecting fully with his jaw. Stumbling back, he was surprised at how such a thing could happen and catch him off guard. Abruptly, the singer stopped. The music too, with the patrons having turned totally silent. Forming a circle around him, the group closest had all taken three steps back. Shaking off the stinging pain in his face, he spread his feet, bent his knees into the perfect fighting stance, ready to defend himself against whatever attack might come. He considered himself ready for anything, to take on the whole bar if need be. But he wasn't ready for... THIS! As the German customers slinked back, all the while smiling and nodding their approval as if knowing what was to come, a petite figure, dressed in her usual brown outfit, revealed itself, a savage, wolf-like grin burrowed into her face.
'Oh no. What have I done?!' he thought, desperately reassessing the situation. But it was too late for that.
Stepping forward, much to the delight of the crowd, she hit him once again, hard across the face.
"YOU BASTARD!" she screamed.
"I... I... I... I..." he managed to stutter.
"You spied on me, followed me here. Well... THAT'S IT! No more. We're done!" she spat.
"B... B... But y... your mother. W... w... what about your mother?"
"Leave her out of this, you stupid old man. We're done... for good. Now... get the hell out of here!" she ordered, before the throng of patrons folded in all around her, and then him.
Righteous fury ignited inside him. She was his flesh and blood... his daughter! He wasn't about to leave her here... with these despicable beings.
'This is it!' he thought. 'No more.' Reaching into that mental cupboard under the stairs in his mind, he opened the box. His power exploded out of it deep inside him. It was then that he took in his surroundings. Guns were out... everywhere! Lugers, machine guns... the lot!
Swallowing nervously, something of a new experience for him, as he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in his long life that he'd been outgunned... on one finger actually, he ran through all the possible outcomes.
Weighing up the options, he'd already decided he could take them... well, maybe. Figuring it would be a close run thing, to him... it didn't matter. He wanted to do it so badly, just wanted her back in his arms more than anything else in the world right now. However, he knew how to control his emotions, knew that at times you needed to walk away, live to fight another day, when the odds were that much better. So his heart told him to fight for her, but his head told him to retreat. It was a draw, at least up until now. But somewhere in the multitude of beings that surrounded him, he felt a presence, something unusual, something odd, something dangerous... something definitely not human. Suddenly it wasn't just one. There was another, and another, and another. Things had just gone from bad to worse. He didn't know what it meant, his daughter being tied up with all this, all he knew was that he had to get out of there... now! Channelling all his dragon power, he spun as fast as he could, lashing out at those nearest. Immediately, they flew back into the crowd causing a domino effect, the first four or so rows all falling to the floor. Guns started firing in his direction. However, he was already on the move. Each arm whirled with uppercuts, smashing his way towards the front of the bar, the satisfying crunch of broken jaws music to his ears. Determined to stop him from leaving, the crowd flocked to the narrow entrance. But that was never his destination. Leaping up onto a three legged, circular, wooden table, he lashed out with his foot, catching one of them full in the face with his boot, blood splattering the nearest half a dozen or so patrons. And then he launched himself. It wasn't pretty or graceful, but it was effective. Tucking into as much of a ball as he could, he hit the massive plate glass window shoulder first, the impact rippling through his body. B
ut he didn't have time to worry about that, not with the tiny pin pricks from the flying shards of glass stabbing him all over. And then he hit the cobbles outside... HARD, taking the full force of the blow on his lower back. Sure he would pass out, the pain was out of this world. But he didn't, and knew that he had to act now. In a few seconds it would be too late, he'd be dead and his daughter lost forever. This thought alone spurred him on as he staggered to his feet, taking one last look over his shoulder at the baying crowd in the bar, frantically trying to get through the narrow entrance to give chase. But by then, he was on his way and assisted by more than a dab of dragon power. He sought refuge once again in the shadows, using a very different way to get back to the dragon domain, all the time hoping that she'd return to him. She never did! He never saw her again. Not an hour went by that he didn't ask himself where she was, what she was doing, and who she was with. His Crimson Guard had orders to look out for her and to report to him at the very first sign, but to no avail. It broke his heart.
Tears raced from his eyes as despair, sorrow and the familiar underlying feeling of failure ripped through him. Freezing before they'd got halfway down his cheek, building steadily into some kind of stalactite formation, stubbornly he refused to wipe or chip them away. The pain from that particular memory hurt him the most. Through glazed eyes he looked across at the naga king, envious of him curled there, emotionless and stoic. Briefly he wondered if he too suffered from thoughts of all the things he'd done. But that was soon forgotten as the next memories faded in and out, tearing into parts of Fredric the cold just couldn't touch.
