He wished he knew her name. He’d known the names of all the Great Council and the old ascended dragons, but there were too many young guardians to even track. If he could but speak with her and Ao Shun, he was certain that he could forge a pact that would save his family and the changelings. Those green eyes, however, held a fire far more dangerous than any smoldering in her gullet. She would be more likely to burn him than to listen to reason, to realize he was no longer her enemy.
As Dyfed fired several orange flares from his staff, the bough Tigano stood on bounced lightly and he turned to see who had joined him. His eyes widened slightly, and he bowed his head.
“Your majesty,” he said courteously. A dozen warriors settled on nearby branches as they escorted the king. Of Månefè, there was no sign, for which he was grateful.
“Lord Changeling!” roared Finaarva. “What have you done? Why are the changelings retreating inside the dome?”
He held back his sigh, but he could not hold back all his scorn. Even this close to the battle, the king could not resist baring his broad, muscular chest as if his pride could deflect arrows or bolts that armor could not. Even facing defeat, the faery’s arrogance held no sense of fear.
Couching his words as best he could, he said, “Bruagh-na-Boyne is all of Faery remaining to us. The vanity of Månefè is now our doom.”
The king nodded. “A siege. Pointless, but the dragons will eventually tire of watching the dome and leave. Then we shall have our revenge on Oberon.”
Tigano cringed at the hatred in Finaarva’s words. He still thinks his magic to be impregnable. What a damned fool!
Suddenly, the sky flared whitely and several large booms in rapid succession caused him to grab hold of the trunk to steady himself. The dragons had fired a score of fireballs at the dome right above the inlet, one of the few vulnerable points in Finaarva’s magic.
The king howled, a deranged edge in his laughter.
“They are simpletons! What dragon fire can defeat my magic? Now they awake the guardian!”
As if on cue, the river stirred near the wide mouth of the inlet, and Tigano glanced downward expectantly. At first, his eyes did not catch the disaster awaiting them, focusing instead on the swirling water as the beast rose from its prison deep below the river bottom. Then he spotted the blue light sparking and crackling at the base of the dome by inlet, the weakest part where the Sluagh Sidhe could pass through easily. Before he could alert Finaarva, however, the great beast exploded upward.
It was a monstrous thing, an algae-green serpent larger than even Ao Shun. Its scream was deafening, shaking the trees as its long, thick tentacles flailed. Golden eyes swiveled as the tentacles searched for prey to rip. Quickly, it caught a blue-scaled dragon, pinning its wings, and pulled it to its wide, hungry maw. A half-dozen fireballs struck the monster, but to no avail.
Then, just as the mouth snapped shut on the doomed dragon, the red-scaled female he’d noticed before swooped between other tentacles, her talons piercing the creature’s face and tearing out an eye. A black-scaled dragon followed, shredding the other golden eye. More dragons attacked, and the river guardian’s screeches quickly changed from defiance to fear. Blinded and possibly mortally wounded, it slipped back into the water, no doubt racing for the safety of its prison.
“Attack them!” Finaarva screeched, and Tigano glanced down, realizing that Dyfed and the rest of the changelings stood at the base of the trees just inside the dome, watching the spectacle play out. They hesitated only briefly, then fired magic from their staves. The purple, green, and red bolts roared, ripping through dragon wings and scorching bodies as they exploded. A few dead dragons spiraled, crashing into the river, while several others were clearly too badly wounded to fight anymore, struggling to reach the far shore.
Then the red dragon shrieked, roaring the king’s name as she wheeled and dove recklessly towards the dome, her green eyes fuller of fury then he’d ever seen. Despite the protection of the magic, the changelings scattered in every direction.
Her gullet glowed like a hot red ruby and a massive fireball burst towards them.
“Aghhh!” exclaimed several of the faery guards around him.
He had one moment to be astounded by not only its breadth and length, but from its white glow. It struck the dome with such an impact that several guards toppled from their branches, tumbling until their wings could open enough to slow their descents.
For a few moments, the dome simply glowed from the intense heat that they could feel even in their perches. Then blue lightning sizzled like cracks. Smoke rose from the dome as the lightning spread.
He turned and shouted at the remaining guards.
“Get the king to safety! Get him out of here!”
Before they could respond, however, the dome exploded, the force blowing him off his branch. His wings snapped out automatically, breaking his fall, and he was able to quickly regain stability. He hovered, gaping at the huge hole the fireball had left, and at the dome itself. The edges were no longer translucent but had hardened into a solid pink. As the magic died, the dome rapidly congealed in every direction.
More fireballs tore through the opening and trees burst into flame. One whizzed past him, bursting as it struck a trunk not far beyond.
“Damn Finaarva!” he muttered, not caring if the king was alive or dead. All that mattered now was Àibell. He turned and fled southward with all the speed he could muster. By the time he reached his home, the dome would have likely solidified above his family and hopefully they’d all be deep underground.
He had not gone far before he heard a squeal below him. His scrawny servant stood there, frantically waving its arms. He did not want to save Hagr Twyllo. A few weeks ago he would have abandoned the little goblin to its fate.
He glanced back. There was no way Hagr could outrun the dragons. He was his servant’s only chance. Now to see if his wife would appreciate his sacrifice to save the thing.
Chapter 14
The Boy
“Y
ou’re awfully quiet,” said Miguel’s mom as he chewed slowly on the last of his pot stickers at Hao Dumpling House. “How was Game Rage?”
Startled from his reverie, he glanced at her concerned face, then turned back to his plate.
“Fine,” was all he said. He was still debating whether to tell her about his encounter with Balor and didn’t need her interfering.
She sighed.
“Miguel Ciaran, are you really going to just sit there and ignore me?”
He took a deep breath, and his shoulders heaved. “Fine,” he said again, then picked up his near-empty glass and poured the last ice cubes into his mouth. “Can I have more Coke?”
“That’s not a conversation, sweetheart. And you’ve already had two glasses. That’s plenty of sugar.”
He slouched, setting the glass down harder than he’d meant to. All he could think about was if he’d just met the man who’d murdered his mom’s family. Why doesn’t she see how creeped out I am? he wondered. How can I tell her anything when she didn’t tell me about her family before? At the same time, he wanted to pull out the piece of leather and show it to her. He wanted to tell her about his strange experience inside of Fitzwilliams. But it was all so surreal! How can I tell anyone and not sound like even more of a freak?
She placed a hand on his back, gently rubbing his shoulders. Normally, he would’ve shaken it off, but there was only one other older couple in the restaurant; no one would see his mom consoling him, and her touch did feel nice.
Finally, he sat up and asked, “What were they like, mom?”
“Who, dear?”
“My grandparents. My uncles. Were any of them like me?”
He’d clearly taken her off guard, and she did not respond for a couple of minutes.
Just as he thought she would ignore his question, she spoke, her voice distant. He looked up. Her eyes were far away, not focused on him or anything else in the restaurant.
“I suppose you
are a lot like my older brother, but my mother as well. You’re not as rigid about rules like him, but he was quiet like you, and just as smart. My mother was the one no one ever noticed, except for my father, and us kids. He adored her. My younger brother was just like Carlos: rather wild and usually the center of attention, without ever trying to be.”
“What about my grandfather? Was he like dad, then?”
She shook her head. “No, he was a follower. Not that that’s bad, because he always tried to do the right thing. Your dad thinks for himself, he doesn’t do what he does just because someone tells him to. Your grandfather never wanted to cause trouble, so sometimes he’d just follow blindly.”
“Why would anyone want to murder them? How’d you get away?”
“I…” Her voice faltered, and he realized her eyes were moist. Reaching out a hand, he awkwardly held her elbow. He’d never comforted her before.
“It’s okay, mom, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No,” she said, wiping the corners of both eyes. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
She inhaled deeply, then said, “We were out, my brothers and I, when they killed my parents. Killed them in their beds and burned our home.” She paused, then added hastily, “That’s what the police said, anyways. Your uncles were killed fighting the murderers. If they hadn’t fought them, I wouldn’t have escaped.”
“But why? Why did they get killed? What did they do?”
“Do?” She frowned and was silent for several seconds before answering. “I suppose it’s because they didn’t do anything when they could have. If they and the other adults in our town had not conceded to the killers’ demands, the killers would never have been bold enough to commit murder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our leaders told us we didn’t need to be concerned about the injustices the killers were committing in their town, that it didn’t affect us, and my parents followed blindly. They weren’t the only ones murdered that night; many of my neighbors were killed the same way.”
His eyes widened as bitterness crept into his mother’s voice, something he’d never heard before. The sound of it scared him. He’d been almost ready to tell her about Balor, and ask if he was one of the killers, but instead he returned to his thoughts, even as she grew distant. For several minutes, they sat silent, staring blindly in different directions, until Isabel began to fuss.
“I guess we should head home,” his mom said. “Are you ready?”
He nodded, and for the remainder of the day, they both spoke as little as possible.
*****
When he returned to school the following day, he discovered his celebrity status had returned among the other geeks, which made no sense to him until Javier reminded him that he was the only person in band or choir to have ever been suspended. Burton and his cronies glared darkly at him but did nothing more.
Javier snickered at the bullies as they walked past after P.E. “You only missed one day of school,” he told Miguel as they walked to Algebra. “You’re not behind or anything, and now others are standing up to Burton. That’s your doing!”
That’s my mom’s doing, he thought, but said nothing. At least the last two days before the Thanksgiving holiday passed quietly. Other than a math test on Wednesday, he didn’t have much studying to do. He spent most of his time examining the piece of leather and thinking about his conversations with his mom and Balor. He tried to avoid thinking about his power, because that reminded him of those brief, surreal minutes alone with the strange man in Fitzwilliams when the world had changed. Instead, he tried to convince himself he’d imagined most of what had happened at the mall, that he’d been so scared that his imagination had run wild.
However, as soon as he finished glancing over his notes for Algebra one last time on Tuesday night, he couldn’t help but pull out the piece of leather yet again, turning it over and over. The thing was so unique. There was no stitching he could see, yet the edges were so smooth. It was hard, and the color faded like old leather could be when left in the sun for too long, but the bumpy texture seemed to be as rigid as the day it was made, not burnished at all.
It was also warmer than it should be. Not much, but try as he might, he could not forget how warm it had become in the mall. He was dying to show it to his mom, or even his dad, but something held him back. Then he thought of his Grandpa Gad, whose name was Navajo. His grandfather told the most amazing Native American stories handed down from his ancestors, although his aunts and uncles usually rolled their eyes, probably because they’d all heard the tales many times. Grandpa had collected a lot of Navajo things, and stuff from other tribes as well. Maybe he would know what the leather piece was when everyone came over for Thanksgiving.
Grandma Sabina burst through the front door at exactly 10:00 on Thursday morning, her thick arms squeezing he and Carlos while she planted loud kisses on their cheeks. Everything about Grandma was round, from her cheeks to her hips to her glasses. Even her voice was round, filling the living room like a big beach ball. After kissing Isabel and squeezing her cheek, she grabbed his mom’s arm, dragging her to the kitchen. Grandma always liked to arrive by mid-morning to make sure his mom “properly” cooked the Thanksgiving meal, although she had long ago conceded having turkey stuffed with sage and onion paired with sides of colcannon and soda bread next to the poblano chile soup, tostones, and Calabaza en Tacha. It was a weird mix the first time anyone visited their home for Thanksgiving, but he loved having a pile of dark meat drenched in roast gravy next to a mound of white meat slathered in mole sauce.
Grandpa Gad, on the other hand, was slender and quiet, the wrinkles in his face etched as deeply as the Grand Canyon. His hair was silver and his thin moustache white. His eyes, dark as rich coffee, sparkled at the sight of the boys. He rubbed their heads as always, then reached into his coat to pull out his small tin of cherry-flavored throat lozenges, giving one to each boy like a piece of candy, then made a beeline for Isabel. Grandpa would hold her all afternoon if he could, or sit on the floor to play with her. Miguel knew he had to corner his grandfather fast before his cousins started arriving.
He waited just long enough to make sure his mom and Grandma Sabina were ensconced in the kitchen. Isabel was squirming to get out of Grandpa’s arms so she could try walking. She’d just started letting go this week, tottering for a step or two, then falling down and giggling. He was sure that between Grandpa and his aunts, she’d be walking on her own by dinner time.
As his dad knelt to help his sister stand, he grabbed his grandfather’s elbow.
“Grandpa Gad. Hey, Grandpa!” he said with a little urgency until the older man turned his head.
“Miguel!” his grandfather said with a huge grin, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “My goodness, you’re getting tall!”
He started as he suddenly realized he was finally the same height as his grandfather, and proudly stood a little taller. However, the desire to show the piece of leather pricked him.
“Grandpa, will you come with me? I need to show you something I’ve got in my desk. I think I found something Navajo or Mojave.”
Isabel was forgotten in an instant, and Grandpa Gad was practically dragging him to his room. If there was one thing Grandpa loved more than playing with Isabel, it was sharing his ancestry with his grandkids. His magical stories might annoy the adults, but they’d always stirred Miguel’s imagination.
“Well?” he asked Miguel impatiently the moment they opened the door. The boy went immediately to his desk and pulled out the diamond-shaped piece, handing it to his grandfather.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “I figured some old Indian must’ve made it and thought you would know what it is.”
His grandfather fingered the reddish-brown piece for a couple of minutes, turning it over and running his fingertips lightly over its smooth edges and its strange ridges on both top and bottom. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his glasses, s
tudying it closely, even holding it up to the light.
Finally, he turned back to Miguel, peering over the rim of his spectacles.
“Where did you find this, son?”
“At the bottom of the pool,” he answered slowly.
“And you thought this was leather?”
“Um…well, what do you think it is, Grandpa?”
“This isn’t leather, and it’s not any ancient Native artifact. I’d say it was an animal scale if it wasn’t so big. There hasn’t been a reptile this big since the dinosaurs died out. It just looks old because it was sitting in the sun long enough to fade. I don’t know who made this, but they’ve got damn fine skills. Never seen such craftsmanship put into a fake scale. Almost looks like the real thing. Someone must have made it for the dinosaur exhibit at the Science Center. I can’t think of anything else. Maybe you should take it there.”
They chatted for a couple of minutes more, and then Grandpa Gad returned to the living room, no doubt to try to have Isabel walking on her own before his aunts arrived.
He gazed at the scale for a few more minutes. It seemed obvious now that it wasn’t leather. He could hardly believe it was man-made. Then he heard his dad calling him, and he shoved it back in his desk before taking a deep breath and looking around his room longingly. It would be his last minute alone until bedtime. Finally, he returned to the living room to see what his dad needed him to do.
♦ ♦ ♦
Once his cousins started arriving, he forgot all about the scale until he tumbled into his bed hours later. He’d enjoyed the Calabaza en Tacha—candied pumpkin—far too much, and that was before his mom and aunts had brought out their various cakes and pies. He lay on his back, his stomach stuffed, and turned out the light, too exhausted to even try opening a book.
He did not know what time he woke, or if he was still in a dream, but his house was dark and quiet. His bladder full, he slid out of bed, groggily stumbling to the bathroom he shared with Carlos. As he returned to his room, a dark shadow passed outside his window. Puzzled, he crept to the curtain, pulling it aside. He could see nothing unusual in the yard and turned his attention to the stars.
Blood of the Dragon Page 15
