Omega Dragon

by Bryan Davis

  “Do you know where the center of the vortex is?”

  “I never asked.” Listener lifted the spyglass to her eye and pivoted slowly. When she stopped, she pointed it upward. “The haze movements indicate that the center could be right where we’re standing or at least nearby.”

  “More evidence we’re in the right spot. Maybe Semiramis and Mardon want to use the wind pattern somehow. Spread something in the atmos—”

  “I hear something.” Listener lowered the spyglass. “Something high pitched. Like a squeal.”

  Matt’s danger sense soared. “Trouble’s about to pop.”

  Listener’s eyes widened. “Now it’s beeping.”

  “A countdown! Let’s move!” Matt grabbed Listener’s elbow, and the two dashed toward the village. Something shattered to their rear, like a thousand windows breaking. Sparkling shards, dark and spinning, flew past. Some pelted their heads and shoulders, stinging before bouncing off.

  Listener stopped and crouched, her hands pressed against her ears. “Something’s squealing!”

  “Squealing?” Matt crouched with her, his head low. The shards continued raining down. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “It’s high pitched.” Listener groaned. “It’s drilling into my brain!”

  “Let’s find cover.” Matt spied a short, bushy tree to the left, probably newly grown since the eruption. “This way!” He helped her up, and they ran to the tree, Listener with her hands still over her ears. As they bent low under its boughs, he pressed her head close to his chest and covered her hand over the other ear. “Is that better?”

  She grimaced. “A little. It still feels like my skull is cracking.”

  “Maybe it’ll be over soon. If not, we’ll make a run for it to your village.” The shards fell in torrential gray sheets. Like puzzle pieces coming together, they created a blanket of dark crystals that spread out and deepened as the ashy precipitation continued. “It looks like dirty ice. It must be collecting smoke from the air.”

  Listener moaned softly. “But why all the noise?”

  “I have no idea.” Some crystals fell through the leaves and drizzled onto their shoulders. Matt plucked a cold, wet crystal from Listener’s hair and rubbed it with a thumb. “The ice is kind of oily. Like frozen soot. Volcanic debris, maybe. Add cold and moisture, and you get sooty ice.”

  Listener closed her eyes tightly. “Not enough moisture in the air for that much ice.”

  “What other source could there be?” Matt tossed the crystal to the ground and looked at the center of the vortex. A tornadic funnel protruded from above and extended at an angle toward the horizon. “Listener. What do you make of that?”

  Keeping her ear pressed against his chest, she opened her eyes and looked that way. “A water spout. It’s drawing from Twin Falls River.”

  “That explains the water and soot, but what about the cold?”

  “Some kind of massive chemical reaction that absorbs heat.” Listener shivered. “Mardon’s smart enough to know how to do that. My concern is what his mother might have contributed to this scheme.”

  “Semiramis?”

  “Right. Her potions.”

  Matt inhaled through his nose. “Garlic?”

  Listener nodded, her facial lines still tight. “And camphor. The combination is her trademark. I also smell ammonia. One of her potions is definitely fouling the air.”

  “Any idea what it might do?”

  She firmed her jaw. “Only that it will be something malevolent.”

  The crystalline blanket expanded along the ground and surrounded them, thickening every second. As the ice spread over Listener’s bare feet, Matt reached for his laces. “I’ll let you wear my boots.”

  “No.” She grasped his wrist. “I have boots at home. Candle and I moved to a little hut at the edge of Founder’s Village.”

  “How’s the noise level?”

  “Awful. Worse than ever.”

  “Then we should go.” He slowly lifted his hand from her ear. “Can you stand it?”

  She grimaced. “I’ll have to.”

  “We’ll hurry.” Matt pried himself free from the ice and helped Listener break away. “We have to stay on top of this stuff.”

  While ice formed a gray crust on her head, she covered her ears again and marched in place. Her toes were already blue.

  “Let’s do it this way.” Matt crouched low. “Up you go.”

  “Gladly.” She mounted his shoulders and settled in place. “I’m ready.”

  Matt straightened and lifted her. His legs aching again, he grasped her toes—frigid and stiff—and high stepped over the slick ice toward the village. As the shards rained down, Listener brushed crystals from his hair and shoulders, in spite of the pain she had to be feeling in her ears. The sheet of ice rose an inch every minute, but constantly marching allowed him to stay above the rising mass.

  Ahead, the swirling ash created a blinding curtain of gray. Even with Listener’s guidance, finding their way back would be harrowing, especially without the locator device, which they must have dropped somewhere in their rush to escape the chaos.

  Matt heaved a frosty breath and slogged on. After too many torturous minutes, a row of five huts came into view—hazy in the soot-strewn air. “I see the village!” Matt called, hoping his shout could overcome the squealing in Listener’s ears.

  She lowered a hand into his viewing field and pointed. “That way! The one in the middle!”

  “I see it!” Matt tromped up a gentle rise—slick and treacherous. He halted next to the hut. Gray ice surrounded it and rose halfway up the only visible window, closed by wooden shutters. The angled roof, also covered by a dark, crystalline sheet, acted as an umbrella, keeping the pile of ice immediately around the hut down to a few inches and creating a gap between the hut and the surrounding wall of ice. The lower collection of ice blocked the base of the entry door.

  Listener slid down from Matt’s shoulders and looked at the window. She covered her ears, again grimacing. Her pigtails had frozen together, and an ashy sheen of ice coated her face and shoulders. “The shutters aren’t too iced over, but we might get trapped if we go inside.”

  “And you’ll be an icicle if we don’t go in. Or your skull will crack from the noise.” He hopped down into the gap and inserted his fingers into the crevice between the shutters. After pulling for a few seconds, he broke the seal and pried them open.

  When Listener joined him in the gap, she climbed through the window. Matt followed and closed the shutters. “Does that help? With the noise, I mean.”

  She brushed ice from her shoulders. “It’s better. At least my head isn’t ready to explode.”

  Inside the square room, maybe four paces wide, an upholstered chair sat next to the closer of a pair of single beds positioned side by side, one against the wall with a narrow gap between them. A curtain cordoned off another room, and an overstuffed bookshelf stood against the wall next to it.

  A potbellied woodstove sat in a corner with a small pile of kindling stacked nearby. From the stove’s top, a black pipe led through the ceiling, but the exhaust vent outside was likely blocked by ice.

  Matt gathered a handful of kindling and set it in the woodstove. “Can you build a fire while I clear the vent up top?”

  “Let’s see if the heat will melt it.” Listener picked up a box of matches from a shelf attached to a wall. “Will you do the honors while I get us some water and a bite to eat?”

  “Sure.” Matt took the matches, struck one, and set the flame to the edge of the kindling. The dry wood caught, and fire slowly crawled along the fibers, spreading out as it moved. Smoke built up and swirled within the stove’s belly, some leaking through the door’s grating. Water dripped down inside the stovepipe and sizzled in the flames, though not enough to douse the fire. Soon, something popped, and the smoke shot upward through the pipe.

  “That worked.” Matt closed the woodstove’s door. “
We should have a good blaze going in a few minutes.”

  “Thank the Father of Lights.” Listener handed him a hunk of dried meat and a glass jar filled with water. “If you need washroom facilities, there is a chamber pot and water basin behind the curtain.”

  “Thanks.” Matt bit into the meat—beef with a peppery tang. Although dry and tough, with his inner furnace working so hard, it tasted like freshly grilled steak.

  While he ate, Listener withdrew a pair of wool socks from a top drawer in a dresser within an alcove and disappeared behind the curtain to the adjoining room. She returned a few moments later, her face clean and her hair and clothes free of ice. He finished eating, took his turn in the washroom, and returned to find her sitting in the chair with her eyes closed and the socks on the floor.

  An old book lay on a small table next to the chair. Matt picked it up and read the title—Subterfuge in Warfare. He flipped through the pages and scanned a few chapter headers: Silent Communications, The Art of Spying, Codes—Ancient and Modern, and The Ethics of Deception.

  He set the book down and stooped close. Her deep, even respiration gave evidence of restful sleep. It was probably for the best. They were both exhausted, and the storm’s fury seemed to go on and on. Traveling out there now would be treacherous, and the noise might injure Listener’s ears permanently.

  He slid one arm under her legs and another behind her back and lifted her in a cradle. She slept on, though she wrapped her arms around his neck, probably by instinct.

  Moving slowly, he laid her on the outer bed, unbuckled her belt, and, lifting her hips, pulled it out from under her. He let the belt drop to the floor, weighed down by the spyglass and sheathed dagger. He then slid the covers back from underneath her body past her bare feet. Her toes, reddened by cold, would need more warmth than the thin sheet and spread could provide.

  He retrieved the socks from the floor and slid them over her feet and halfway up her calves, then pulled the covers up to her shoulders, fluffed the pillow, and pushed it under her head.

  Her eyes remaining closed, she nestled into the pillow and let out a contented sigh.

  Matt stared at her. She was so strong. Fair of face and firm of body, she carried herself like a beauty queen for one moment and a powerful warrior the next.

  He pushed a wet pigtail away from her cheek and whispered, “You really are amazing.”

  A barely perceptible smile bent the corners of her lips. Her deep breathing continued. She was still fast asleep.

  Matt pulled off his boots and looked at the empty bed, inches away from Listener’s. His aching body begged to lie there, to rest his tired limbs and sore muscles, but what would she think about such a close sleeping arrangement? Since it abutted the wall, he couldn’t move it farther away without dragging it across the room.

  He picked up the bed’s pillow and blanket and carried them to the shuttered window. Since the door was blocked by ice, the window was the only possible access. He curled up on the floor, laid his head on the pillow, and draped the blanket over himself. Now no one could get in without him knowing it. Listener would be safe.

  The pull of sleep washed over his mind. That was all right. He could let it come. The storm had to end eventually, and when it did, he and Listener would be ready.

  CHAPTER 5

  ENFORCERS

  Marilyn paced in front of Larry. Blinking lights from his control panel illuminated her short path—three steps from the desk chair to the window and back again.

  Hugging a bowling-ball-sized pot filled with soil, she looked at the tiny plant rooted at the center, merely a stem, maybe an inch tall with a green leaflet on each side. Had it grown in the past hour? Maybe an eighth of an inch? Or was it wishful thinking? In any case, Jared’s new form wasn’t growing fast enough. At this rate, it might take months for him to regenerate into Clefspeare the dragon.

  She looked at the room’s worktable where Mardon had spilled the catalyst fluid that was supposed to make Jared grow faster. Near the fluid’s remnant stain, Excalibur lay with its hilt near the edge of the table. Ever since Jared transluminated himself to start the transformation to his dragon state, the blade had remained dark. Without an heir to King Arthur grasping the hilt to energize its power, it would be nothing more than a cutting tool.

  Using a finger, she petted one of the leaflets and whispered, “Jared, I’ll do whatever it takes to turn you into Clefspeare. You will battle Arramos, you will defeat him, and you will rescue the children.” She let out a sigh. “But what then? Larry knows how to transform you back to Jared, my husband, but what about the years that follow? Will you stay young while I grow old? Will your skin stay smooth when mine wrinkles? Will your hair be untouched by age while mine thins and turns white?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know we’ve talked about this many times. You’ll still love me, of course, but that doesn’t ease my turmoil. I want to be strong and vibrant for you. I want us to age together, side by side, facing the end of life in the same way, whether that takes thirty years or three hundred. I don’t want you burdened with a crippled, senile old lady.”

  She laughed under her breath. “I’m worried about going senile, and here I am talking to a plant. I must be losing it already.” After pacing through her circuit a few more times, she closed her eyes. “God in Heaven, I need a miracle. Either make Jared and me age in the same way or help me be content if it doesn’t happen. But whatever you do, please keep Jared safe and whole, and make him ready to battle the Prince of Darkness. That’s more important than anything.”

  Opening her eyes again, she turned toward Larry’s main monitor. It displayed current atmospheric radiation levels for the region. As before, levels to the north and west were toxic, and in the immediate area they remained high enough to keep everyone inside their homes. To drive to the Second Eden portal, they could take a southern route, but with gas stations closed, they wouldn’t get very far.

  She pulled an elastic band from her pocket, tied her hair back, and grabbed a navy-blue baseball-style cap from Larry’s control desk. As she put it on and adjusted her ponytail in the back, she called out, “Status report.”

  Larry’s lights brightened. “Unchanged since my five a.m. report ten minutes ago.”

  She pinched the front bill and aligned the cap. “Have you been able to monitor any new communications channels?”

  “Adding new channels would alter my status report. As I stated, it is unchanged.” The display showed a scrolling list. “Ever since you shifted me to full power this morning, I have been listening to all emergency broadcast frequencies—Ham and shortwave, police bands, radio modulations, television stations, satellite transmissions, NORAD, and weather channels. The emergency broadcasts are providing safety alerts. Travel is banned in our region except for official government vehicles, which include police, fire, and … you will find this interesting … child-education agencies.”

  “So the Enforcers are still at work collecting children. Arramos isn’t going to let a little event like a nuclear disaster stop him.”

  “That is a logical deduction.”

  Marilyn set a hand on her forehead. “Have you heard anything good on the airwaves?”

  “There is a neighborhood radio hobbyist who is broadcasting himself playing violin—a soulful rendition of ‘Jesus Loves Me.’”

  “Perfect. Can you pipe that in? Maybe it’ll calm my nerves.”

  “Of course.” The gentle hum of violin strings emanated from Larry’s speakers—soulful indeed, and quite good.

  Marilyn sat in the chair and, with the pot in her lap, caressed Jared’s leaflet again as she murmured along with the tune. “Little ones to him belong. They are weak, but he is strong.”

  “Children,” she whispered as she looked toward the ceiling once more. “Jesus, we need you to be strong for them. And give them some of your strength. Arramos will not hesitate to torture and kill them.”

  Images of suffering children
brought the words of Joan of Arc to mind, quoted by Jared as he lay near death in the Second Eden hospital. While in a coma-like state, he mumbled her message again and again until it branded itself in permanent memory. Clefspeare, son of Goliath and Roxil, the children of your world cry for help. Arramos, the devil in a dragon’s skin, is plotting to spill the blood of countless innocents, and you are the only dragon powerful enough to engage him in battle. I do not know if you will defeat him, but fight you must. Win or lose, you will be able to thwart his schemes and save the lives of children. And knowing your heart, the heart of the true Arramos, you will gladly sacrifice your life to save even one of those precious souls.

  Marilyn stroked Jared’s stem. Somehow they had to get to Second Eden’s birthing garden where Jared could blossom from this alpha stage to full-blown omega quickly, perhaps in mere seconds.

  She glanced at the blinds-covered window. Dawn would arrive soon, along with the appearance of the eerie red sun that had presided over so many strange days of late. Would good news come with the morning for a change? They needed transportation, and Larry had managed to communicate the need to Ashley. Since there seemed to be no way to get to the portal by her own resources, all she could do was wait. Maybe a dragon would arrive—Makaidos, Thigocia, or Roxil. There seemed to be no other options.

  Adam walked in from the hallway door, his dark T-shirt covered with white and yellow stains and his hair dusted with gray powder. “I filled the generator. Larry should be good to go for a while.”

  Marilyn lifted her brow. “I thought you used all the gas from your car. Where did you find more?”

  “I didn’t find more.” He brushed his hands on his grimy jeans. “It’s a home brew, but it should work.”

  “How are the solar batteries?”

  “Fried. The pulse must’ve killed them. But the generator will be enough.”

  Marilyn swiveled the chair toward Larry. “How is your power level?”