Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  From her prone position, Earth rushed a spoonful of her magic into what she assumed were broken ribs given the vicious 'CRACK' they'd made on contact with the floor, understanding that it was more important here and now for them to heal than her nose. Mended ribs would allow her to move more freely, something she really couldn't do without right at this very moment. If an appropriate opportunity showed itself to heal her nose, then she'd take advantage of it, but not before.

  Wary of her aching arms, she pushed herself up and got to her feet, shaking dust and rubble from her tattered brown cloak as once again she faced her father. This time it was his turn to grin, and as the blood ran from what was left of her nose across her mouth, some of which dribbled down her chin, a vicious snarl burned itself into her already nightmarish face. Fully consumed by the bubbling lunacy, almost as if a switch had been flicked within her, thoughts of everything but killing her dad faded into nothingness as she channelled her hot-to-the-touch magic, once again devising an attack strategy, determined this time to make him pay for everything.

  Arriving back just in time, Peter could see the heat radiating off the laminium dagger and the necklace. Washing both items with a handful of cooling magic, the young hockey playing dragon outlined Yoyo's plan for his friend. Considering it carefully, still the group's de facto leader despite everything that had happened, Richie was bereft of any alternatives. Not the ideal situation she knew, but they had to do something, or risk just sitting here, watching their friends die, and being killed once the magic powering the shield ran out. It was that simple. Do nothing and die, or do something and just maybe... you never know.

  "Okay Pete... let's do it! Tell Janice to be ready, and make sure you keep her safe."

  "I will."

  "I've just telepathically confirmed everything with Yoyo. With everything going on, I can't promise to keep an eye on you both. Sorry."

  "Don't worry about that. Keep doing what you're doing. I'm one hundred percent certain that will be enough to give us a fighting chance."

  "You sound very confident, against all odds, how come?"

  Decision time he knew. Should he tell her what he'd seen and shared with Gee Tee? Would it alter her mindset and fate itself if he told her? It didn't seem likely it would, and perhaps knowing would spur her on to greater deeds. As well, this might be his very last chance to do just that... decisions, decisions. Ignoring her studious stare, he searched inside himself for the right thing to do. It didn't take long for the answer to reveal itself.

  "I have something to tell you Rich, something you may not like, or even agree with. But it's important and I believe it to be one hundred percent the truth."

  "Go on," she urged intrigued.

  Not knowing the best way to wrap up what he needed to say, and wary of time ticking down, he did what he was best at and just blurted it out.

  "It wasn't Tim that was the White Dragon, it's you."

  In all the time he'd known her, he'd never seen her so surprised.

  "That's impossible," she stuttered, shocked to her core.

  "I'm sorry... but it's not. You're the one who's going to save us all. It's you, and I'm not the only one that thinks so."

  "Why is it me? You saw Tim turn into a totally and utterly white dragon, like no other in the history of our race. You helped teach him to fly... why would you think it wasn't him?" she croaked, her hands holding the dagger shaking ever so slightly.

  Regretting spilling his guts like this, concerned because in places, the shield was fluctuating and sparking more now than at any other point in the proceedings that had led them here, he knew he was going to have to explain everything to her. Determined to keep things brief, aware of just how upset she'd become, he pushed on.

  "The scars and wounds carved into your back from the explosion at the clubhouse are shaped like a dragon. And because of the pigment of your skin, the dragon itself is... WHITE! You are THE WHITE DRAGON!"

  Struggling to focus, maintain her composure and ultimately hold the shield in place with her mind, the lacrosse playing dragon's intellect refused to believe what she'd just been told.

  "IMPOSSIBLE! You're making it all up!"

  "I swear to you Rich that I'm not. It's all one hundred percent true."

  "Then you're just mistaken Pete. I'm not the White Dragon, Tim was, he's gone, and it's all my fault."

  Terrified that the shield was going to come down, leaving them all at the mercy of the surrounding dread force of nagas and dark dragons, the only way forward Peter could see was to convince his friend that everything he believed was true, so with that in mind, he continued, ignoring the looks Yoyo, Janice, Hook and the other dragons were giving him.

  "The day I picked you up from your flat to take you to lacrosse was the day I saw your back. In that moment I knew it was you, Rich. The revelation rocked me to the core, stopped me from sleeping and when I did eventually sleep, it haunted my dreams. In the end I could think of only one thing to do, one thing that might just give me peace of mind, and the confirmation that I needed."

  "And what was that?"

  "I shared my thoughts on the subject with another being."

  "But not me?"

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "Because I needed somebody objective, somebody whose experience far outweighed my own. If I'd have told you, the conversation would have been exactly like the one we're having now. You'd have told me it wasn't so, and I'd have told you that I believed it to be with every atom in my body, and we'd have gotten nowhere."

  "So who did you tell?"

  Pausing, running his hands through his hair, more than a little dismayed at the turn of events, he wished to God that he'd never even opened his mouth. Not wanting to, he told her anyway.

  "Gee Tee!"

  "And what did the all seeing, omnipotent shopkeeper have to say?"

  "Honestly? He laughed in my face."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "You obviously convinced him though."

  "I did, and you wouldn't believe how."

  "Try me."

  "I shared the memory of seeing your back with him."

  "What?"

  "The actual memory... I shared it with him."

  "Is that even possible?"

  "That's a stupid thing to ask when it comes to the Emporium and its owner."

  "Agreed, but I'd still like to know how."

  "Using a mantra designed by Leonardo da Vinci allowed him to relive everything from that moment, the sounds, smells, my emotions as well as my deepest, darkest secrets."

  "REALLY?" exclaimed Richie, hopefully. "Mild mannered Peter Bentwhistle, love machine to the stars, and all round super spy. That's it... you're James Bond aren't you? That's your real identity." She mocked, mercilessly.

  "Funny! But it did backfire a little. He found out about Janice."

  "Owwww... that couldn't have been good."

  "No... it wasn't. Moving on though. As you've already gathered, we shared the memory and once we'd finished, and it took some time, the shopkeeper was a changed dragon."

  About to interject, Peter held up his hand in an effort to let him carry on.

  "Sceptical before, he immediately revised his decision, agreeing that almost certainly you were the White Dragon the prophecy refers to. After that, it was difficult to know what to do. He convinced me that going to either the king or Council was a bad idea. At the time, I seemed to have totally run out of options."

  Richie's face fell at hearing him recall this part of the story, so sad was his voice.

  "What did you do?"she asked over the sound of the continued magical bombardment.

  "It was then that he showed me the Nissix ring."

  "The one on the chain that you begged me to look after?"

  "That's right."

  "The one containing my dragon memories, the one I'm currently wearing?"

  "Yes," he nodded sadly.

  "He just gave it to you?"

  "NO! I stole it."
>
  "You're kidding?"

  "No. I really did steal it."

  "Why?"

  "Because he showed it to me, wowed me with what it could do, knowing full well that I would relate it to your predicament, and then refused to give it to me when I asked. I think at the time, it might have all been too much for him."

  "So you just took it?"

  "I did, and I'm reasonably sure he knew I did."

  "I think you're right. When we met up below ground on the outskirts of Salisbridge, he wasn't surprised to see me wearing the ring."

  "You've seen him?"

  "Yes... we travelled up to London as a group together."

  "Then they're on their way here to back us up, right?"

  "I'm sorry to say they're not. Right at this very moment, they should be mounting an assault on the crystal node at Fleet Street, in an effort to retake it and restore communications across the planet. Any hope of them coming to our rescue should be forgotten because it just isn't going to happen," she stated, totally dashing his hopes.

  "Well, that's about the long and the short of it. With everything going on, I haven't had a chance to discuss the prophecy with the master mantra maker, and so we've done nothing about it. But he, like me, is totally convinced that you're the White Dragon. What is it?" he asked noticing the strange, faraway look that had descended over her face.

  "I'm just remembering the last conversations I had with him. What you've just told me brings a whole new light to some of the things he said. I hope they're all okay."

  "I'm sure they'll all be fine."

  "I do hope so."

  It was then that a tiny little nudge, like a gentle rap on the door deep within their minds, made them aware that Yoyo and his street band of dragons were almost ready to start. It was time to recover their friends and bring a little bit more pain and misery to the enemy. Bring it on!

  Slipping away, that's how it felt, almost as though he were being pulled into a never ending, bottomless abyss. Of course he fought, after all, that's what he did best, but despite his heroic efforts, nothing he did made any sort of difference. Hope seeped out of him at an alarming rate, leaving his rational mind to come to terms with the fact he was about to die. Not for the first time. Clawing at the myriad of thoughts scrabbling around his head, as his life force ebbed away, he searched for answers to questions he hadn't even thought of yet. Confused, dumbfounded, frustrated and more than a little frightened, the courageous dragon rallied against the inevitable, his mind fighting on every front. Talons pierced hardened rock in an effort not to be dragged further towards the end, but it still wasn't enough. A force more powerful than anything in the universe had its grip on him, and one way or another, death would get its man, or in this case... DRAGON!

  Hope having all but disappeared, fear surrounded him, commanding him to surrender, mocking him for trying to escape the inescapable. Unable to organise his thoughts in any meaningful manner, exhausted by the assault of constant pain, slowly his will started to relinquish its refusal to give in, accepting the fate ahead of it, long in the calling. It was then that what little remained of him shuddered ferociously, almost crying out in fear and terror as it recognised something slippery, scary and serpent-like. In a desperate attempt to get away his mind scratched and fumbled, dug and groped at everything around it, panic overwhelming the fear and genuine alarm he felt.

  Gaining a little more purchase in his escape from an untimely demise, images of a huge, golden-coloured snake-like creature, thick, bright yellow fluid dripping down the scales at the side of its head, somewhere in a cold, snowy environment, flooded his synapses, causing what remained of his physical body to jerk and writhe in absolute terror, like a possessed demon. Any ground that he'd made up in his attempt to outrun death was instantly lost as he slid back towards the metaphorical cliff edge, beyond which lay the abyss, and of course... HIS CERTAIN DOOM!

  To say it was not going well was something of an understatement, thought Vasuki as he trawled through Flash's unruly mind, searching for the trigger he needed to save the brave dragon. Amongst the magical background of the king's private residence, the naga king arced over the wrecked body of the ex-Crimson Guard, his scaled forehead directly atop Flash's, the contact of their skins breaching any inbuilt supernatural defences, providing the best opportunity to save the dragon defender. It was then that their exploits caught some very unwanted attention.

  Pride swelled his chest. It wasn't something he often experienced, least of all because of another, but as he watched the woman he loved battle for all she was worth against the unkempt prisoner from Antarctica, who, it had to be said, was considerably more powerful and able than he could ever had imagined, it somehow vilified his decision to crown her queen and give over all of himself to her. She was magnificent, he thought, a rightful mate and the perfect mother to all the offspring she would provide him with.

  Watching with glee as she launched yet another foul and depraved magical attack, something behind their personal duel caught Manson's twisted attention. Through the rubble, dust, smoke and haze of supernatural power that saturated the huge chamber they all found themselves in, he looked on with incredulity at what the naga king was doing to Flash.

  'That's odd,' he thought, his mind speculating about what on earth was going on. Strangely though, he couldn't come up with anything that would explain what the hell they were doing. He couldn't abide anomalies or anything out of the ordinary, because as a general rule they interfered with the best laid plans, and given that his plans and machinations had been long in the making, the only decision available to him was to go and investigate. And so without further ado, he did.

  Reliving his Antarctic experience was enough to destroy what remained of his defences, letting him slide ever closer to the chasm of no return. Curled up in the foetal position, his petrified mind no longer cared whether he lived or died. Luckily for him, someone else did.

  Committing to the process, Vasuki gave himself over to saving the dragon that had rescued them from that icy hellhole in Antarctica. Delving deep into what was left of the ex-Crimson Guard, the naga king dropped his defences, ignoring everything going on around them in the physical world, and pushed on in the hunt for the trigger he needed. Urgency threatened to overwhelm him, but he had no idea why. Shrugging it off, he set free the magic that had been his since birth, and allowed it to soak into every last fibre of the being he was trying to rescue.

  Batting away a stray wave of electrical energy, the malevolent being that had caused all this in the first place, casually strolled through the carnage, weaving in and out of huge piles of debris, nonchalantly deflecting massive chunks of ceiling, that continued to fall down in his path, harmlessly out of the way. Senses taking in everything around him, he momentarily spied the love of his life in the tiniest bit of trouble. Watching from a short distance away as the former dragon prisoner grabbed her by the throat, ready to throttle the life out of her, Manson decided, against his better judgement, to intervene. Thrusting out his hand in the battling pair's direction, a tiny dark dart, full of potent magic, sped away from him, heading directly towards his love's adversary. Through the dust and the smoke, he looked on, eager to see the results of his handiwork. He wasn't disappointed. As the deadly dart neared its target, the prisoner clearly sensed the danger and with no other choice available to him, relinquished his grip on Earth, before bounding off to one side in a dramatic display of gymnastic ability. With his love free for the moment, the despicable dark dragon decided she'd had enough of his help and turned his attention back towards his intended target, determined to put a stop to whatever abnormal supernatural behaviour was going on.

  Still curled up in a ball, what was left of the valiant ex-Crimson Guard now rolled towards the precipice, gaining speed with every rotation, Death looking on, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

  Lost in the pull of the magic, Vasuki allowed himself to be consumed by it all, once again experiencing the euphoria that it entailed, even deep
inside something as alien as this. The rush was fantastic: think rollercoaster, waterslide, fairground ride and helicopter trip all rolled into one. Briefly he was not only lost for words, but lost in the moment. If his will hadn't been stronger, he could very well have been lost forever. But he was king for several reasons, one of which was his strength of purpose, something those who had met him and served under his command, never doubted for a second. Singlemindedly bursting the bubble of ecstasy he'd found himself in, as the rush of adrenaline washed away he reached out along the tendrils of magic that embedded themselves deep within the young dragon, searching for what he needed. Almost instantly, he found it.

  It hadn't been subtle. He hadn't had to sneak or cloak himself using any of his inherent power. All he'd done was stride resolutely across that part of the battlefield, mindful of all the wayward magic, falling debris and slippery rubble. Approaching the naga king, who was leaning almost over on himself, his whole reptilian body forming what looked like a giant S, his pale blue, scaled forehead pressed firmly against the smoking remains of the human he'd briefly battled earlier, Manson once again wondered what the hell was going on, and what on earth could be important enough to totally disregard your own personal safety in the middle of a pitched battle like this. Contemplating the answer for a split second before discounting the question totally, he drew to a halt five metres away, his smug smile once again making an appearance at the thought of finishing off both of these beings once and for all. Running through a list of the most formidable spells he had at his disposal deep within his mind, he carefully chose something that was appropriate to the situation.

  Joy at discovering just what he was looking for was immediately tempered by his inbuilt sense of danger screaming furiously at him. Knowing to trust that particular sense wholeheartedly, he grasped the magic he needed, commanded it to follow a very specific set of instructions, before gathering himself up in an effort to return to his own body and the chaos of the battle, hoping that he wasn't too late to face whatever danger lay out there. In the blink of an eye, it was done.