One of them reached hesitantly inside its tattered trousers, removing a sheathed knife and shyly extending it. The dagger was small, not much more than a jackknife, but that was all he needed, and he snatched it from the faery’s hand.
Carelessly he ripped the sheath off. That was all it took. He’d been afraid to cut himself purposely but had been so reckless he’d sliced his hand. It stung, and he dropped both knife and sheath. For a moment, he stared at his wound as blood beaded, but realized the cut was shallow. Racing back to the pearl, he slammed his hand, smearing his blood.
Instantly, the Dragon Pearl glowed, a white spotlight shining. Everything near him faded as he raced with his magic back to the heart of the pearl one more time. The red walls of the pearl’s heart beat in time with his own heart and no sign of disease remained. However, doors had formed. Each beckoned him, offering a different path. With his magic, he brushed every handle, but none felt right. He needed something else, some way to direct his magic in concert with the Dragon Pearl’s.
At the thought, something rose like a small podium in the center of the heart. If this had been the arcade, the podium would have been a stand to show off the hottest new game, complete with console, keyboard, and joystick. None were visible, but he could sense them, as if the magic knew what he needed. His magic reached out, gripping controls he could not see but somehow felt. There was a rightness to the controls, like a PlayStation made especially for him.
The Dragon Pearl’s magic leaped at his touch, allowing his own magic to wrap around it, absorbing its power. Then his magic flew, and he was as free as when riding his mother’s back, when he knew he wanted to learn hang gliding. His body seemed to elongate like his mother’s dragon form, wings burgeoning, tail extending, scales forming. Not merely crimson like his mother, but blue, black, yellow, and white as well. Other colors were there—orange, emerald, aquamarine, and more—but they were faint. Talons sprouted and he roared. Inside his magic, he’d become the dragon his blood had promised.
Something akin to a computer monitor formed above the podium and he could see exactly where he needed to form gates. His magic flew like fingers over a keyboard typing as fast as thought. He watched the monitor as one gate formed by the small group of huddled faeries. He touched a button and the gate opened, revealing a different world beyond with blue sky and a windswept clifftop. He knew the place; it was where Balor had taken him, where his mother had said she’d grown up.
The faeries wasted no time, staggering to their feet and limping through. The instant the last one had crossed the threshold, he pressed a different button and the gate snapped shut, fading away. The screen changed, revealing a large cavern. Somehow, he knew it was Balor’s former home at the top of the valley within the faery prison. Hundreds of faeries milled about. He moved the screen until he spotted a faery guard and zoomed in.
The lean, blond faery looked stared at him, its eyes wide. Miguel wondered if he was visible. He tried to speak, but speech was too inefficient. Instead, he thought of the gate and the need for the faeries to escape through it, that it was their way back to their homeland. The other faery nodded, its face full of wonder, then began to shout commands in the cavern.
Although confusion filled their eyes, the faeries obeyed. Miguel pushed the appropriate button and another gate opened. He held the button down as the gate grew wider and wider. This time he was certain the land beyond was exactly the place Balor had shown him. The faeries from the first gate still milled about, staring amazed as their brethren in the cavern poured through.
Suddenly, the other magic returned, thrusting against him, dark and full of hate. It pressed, its edges sharp and painful, but desperate as well. He grimaced as he forced his magic to hold. The image on the screen wavered. He thought of his mom with her singed wings and mimicked her. Somehow his magic responded, the wings in his mind spreading wide. The other magic battered him, hurling attack after attack, but he continued to think of his mom and his wings repelled every salvo.
Finally, the tall blond guard raced through, the last to flee the cavern, and Miguel released the gate. It crashed shut, shuddering, and he stumbled. The other magic trembled as well. He opened his eyes and returned to the reality of the faery prison.
The ground was much farther beneath him than it should be and he swiveled his neck. Swiveled. He paused and glanced at his hand. It was no longer the soft flesh of a human but scaled like a black lizard with long sharp talons instead of fingernails. He wriggled his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt so strange. A weight stretched the length of each shoulder blade, but like an extra appendage that belonged, not anything like a backpack. He swiveled his neck again.
I’ve got wings! He flexed the wings, and flexed his hands…or paws, or whatever they were, at the same time. Then a grin crept over his face.
Wicked! I’m a dragon! I can breathe fire!
Any thought of flying fled as he tested his gullet. He knew the difference between it and his stomach as instinctively as he knew which eye was his left and which was his right. It was warm, but like coals from a barbeque that has been ignored for hours.
How do I ignite a fireball?
“MIGUEL!”
His mother screamed his name, immediately grabbing his attention. Pain wracked her face, the only emotion visible. For a moment, he was upset. He’d at least hoped for shock or amazement or something from her that proudly recognized his transformation. A moment was all his selfishness lasted, however.
She could no longer hold up one of her wings, and the membranes of both wings were so burned he doubted she could fly. Balor was bent over, hands on both knees, gasping for breath. Sweat poured off his face in rivulets. Miguel realized with a start that his mentor’s hair was no longer grey but white.
The two faeries—he still wasn’t certain which one was Finaarva and which was Månefè—had diminished almost to Balor’s height. They remained sickly green, but their bodies were now wraith-like: skeletons with a sheet of skin pulled tight. Hatred emanated like heat waves from the two, appearing to be all that held their bones together.
The taller of the pair—the one with the crown—raised a hand, flicking a short spike of green lightning at Balor, as if that was all the magic it could muster. His mentor tried to dodge but was clearly too weary to move fast enough. The short blast spun him, and he face planted.
The tall faery cackled, but its voice was hollow and old. It started to move towards Balor, but his mother raised her limp wing to block its path.
“Miguel!” she shouted again, her voice little more than a harsh whisper. “The barrier. Reform it!”
He wanted to unleash a fireball and destroy the green faeries, then was sickened by his desire to kill. Bugs he could squash. Aliens on his computer he slaughtered without remorse. This was the real thing. He needed to save his mother and Balor, and he could kill these enemies, but his mother had always taught him to seek peaceful solutions. His father had drilled into him to pursue friendship over power. His church had emblazoned Love Your Enemies on his heart.
The Dragon Pearl lay glowing on the ground beneath him. It seemed so small now. He bent down and picked it up, hesitating only briefly before plunging himself once more into the heart of the stone.
The alien alternate reality sprang up immediately, only this time there was no maze, simply the ribbed walls of the heart. The podium at the center was the only other feature. His magic reached out, flicked the top of the podium, and a joystick quivered at his touch as eager as a horse about to race.
Just as suddenly, platforms and ladders appeared, while the heart expanded, the ceiling rising until the heart tripled in height. Each ladder led to a platform above it, level upon level. The alien reality had formed itself into a battlefield he recognized. A video game. And not just any game. My favorite. Donkey Kong.
His eyes widened when he glanced at the top platform where Donkey Kong always waited to hurl barrels and fire bombs while Mario tried to reach Princess Pauline, just out of reach beyond Donkey Kong. T
he gorilla was there, but green like the faeries, and he instantly knew it was the twisted other magic taking form. That, however, was not what drew his eyes. His mom—now in human form—crouched next to Balor where the Princess normally awaited rescue.
In video games, there are boss fights and there are boss fights. The former just require more time hacking and slashing, and maybe some extra jumping. Modified armor usually helps but isn’t always necessary. The latter adds strategy to stay alive, which is only possible if you have the best armor and weapons, and a willingness to die a few times until you figure out the boss’s weakness and pattern of attack.
Miguel knew this was what he faced, but there would be no second chance to start over and try again, even with dragon scales for armor. With a quick deep breath and simple prayer, his magic grabbed the joystick.
Suddenly, he was not merely watching a monitor; he was on the lowest platform and in the game. Donkey Kong roared and Miguel raced down the platform towards the far end where a ladder awaited, easily dodging the first barrel. With each ladder he climbed and every ramp he raced up, he could sense his magic clamping the barrier walls back into place. At the same time, the other magic—Donkey Kong—hurled barrels and fire bombs at him from the top platform. He stumbled often, barely leaping in time, then walloping the attack with his tail as he landed, smashing it into tiny motes of light. Every time he did so, a boom reverberated as the faery reality’s barrier reshaped a bit further into its original form.
Halfway to the top, he was suddenly faced with an enormous gap in the platform. The only ladder was on the far side. Failure to cross meant crashing on the base far below but it was not possible to leap across. Donkey Kong laughed maniacally. He faltered, then remembered who he was.
I am a dragon!
He soared across the gap, wings spread wide. He tried to rise higher, hoping to fly straight to the top, but something in the magic of this alien reality demanded he ascend using the ladders, keeping him from rising above the next platform. He landed on the far side of the gap and the Dragon Pearl shuddered, threatening to throw him off. He somersaulted, rolling to his feet by the far ladder. Regaining his balance, he realized the barrier walls were still. They had snapped into their original form and held. The faery prison was restored.
Donkey Kong’s howl was a whine of frustration, and Miguel smiled. He’d won the first battle. One goal down but there was no time to rest. He still had to save his mother and Balor while trapping the two faeries.
His plan was to open one doorway at the base of the heart while forcing another next to his mother at the top. It was like climbing two ladders at once, all while continuing to dodge attacks. His mind could see her and Balor staring down at him over the edge of the tiny platform high above, watching his progress. He had to wedge the doorway open wide enough for all three of them to escape through, yet maintain the doorway at the base, the other magic resisting his efforts.
With each effort to widen one doorway, the other would slip, nearly slamming shut. He was only two platforms from the top, but no closer to success. Failure to construct the doorway at the base would free Finaarva and Månefè, setting them loose not only in the faery prison, but his world as well. Failure to forge the upper doorway would imprison he, his mother, and Balor with the other faeries inside the Dragon Pearl.
The other magic attacked furiously, as if sensing it was its last chance to maintain control of the prison’s reality, forcing him to jump almost continually. His leaps were a fraction slower, his tail smashing each barrel a shade later. Soon, he would mistime a jump, and there would be no chance to start over.
Then he saw the pattern of Donkey Kong’s attacks. If he could time his final leap perfectly, he could bypass the next-to-last platform entirely. He would have to absorb one attack on the ladder leading to his mother’s platform. One hit only, but the timing would be in sync with the two doorways he was trying to open, and the jump could trigger the magic needed.
He remained in place for three more leaps over barrels hurled by the other magic. His own magic hummed in his blood. The blood of a dragon, he thought. The moment was now.
He tensed, allowing the next attack—a firebomb—to strike his back. His scales burned. He screamed as the pain seared but forced the agony out to his legs. He leaped and beat his wings. They were not strong like his mother’s, not yet at least, but the lift was enough.
I am a dragon! his mind shouted, and the thought reverberated off the ribbed walls of the pearl’s heart. The other magic recoiled and Donkey Kong toppled head first off its platform, plunging to the base where it disintegrated. He raced up the final ladder to his mother and Balor, wrapping his wings around their forms, so small compared to him. They were just as battered and worn here as they were in the reality of the faery prison, but they were alive.
Unlike the incident at the arcade, the game did not explode. With the collapse of the other magic, a warm, welcoming light flooded the Dragon Pearl’s interior. Two wooden doors formed. The one at the bottom had a single small window with bars, like a door to a dungeon cell. The one at the top was wide and broad, almost a castle gate. He breathed in and the pearl breathed with him.
The door at the base opened and two figures tumbled through it as if tossed by a giant hand. They were the two faeries his mother and Balor had been battling, only now they appeared normal. No green skin, no frail bodies. These were robust warriors, handsome and proud, but clearly confused by their sudden appearance inside the pearl. Then they somehow saw the ladders and began racing up. There was no Donkey Kong to hinder their progress.
At the same moment, the door at the top banged open like a drawbridge. A familiar meadow in the Olympic Forest lay on the far side, separated from this alien reality by a broad moat filled with thick, swirling mist. Grabbing the other two as tightly as he could, he beat his wings and soared across. His mother and Balor grunted as he landed on the long grasses and mossy turf. He turned, his magic ready. The blue-grey mist swirled at the edges of the drawbridge. The reality of the faery prison was visible on the other side. The other two faeries were climbing the final ladder, lightning on their fingertips.
He roared and his gullet glowed. Warmth ran the length of his body, from his tail to his snout, and he grinned.
I am a dragon!
An Ending
His very first fireball was nothing like he imagined Smaug would release, but it was effective. Narrow and direct, it slammed into the swirling mist. The drawbridge exploded and the mist trembled as if a fierce wind blew. Finaarva and Månefè threw their hands up in front of their faces to protect themselves and Miguel wondered briefly what they could see.
Then the gateway shattered in a flash of white fire. As his eyes adjusted, all that remained was a thin streak of ash on the ground and the Dragon Pearl rocking slightly, once more a white stone no larger than a human head. Of the alien reality and the faeries, nothing could be seen.
He glanced at his surroundings. Somehow, the gateway he’d formed opened in the same meadow by the Hall of Mosses trail in the Olympic Forest where the first gate had appeared hours earlier. He checked himself. The sun was still rising, long slivers of its yellow beams shining between the thick branches and curtains of green and brown moss. Was it still the same morning?
“Miguel…” a raspy voice called. He turned. His mother lay in her human form on the damp, mossy ground next to Balor. Her mouth was tight and her skin paler than normal. Then he noticed her arm was bent at an unusual angle, clearly broken, and her clothes tattered and singed. Her red hair hung limply, now streaked with grey. Balor looked no better, his now-white hair seeming to have aged him twenty years. A weak grin cracked his grim face, but it wasn’t for Miguel. His mentor’s eyes reached past towards something behind him.
He turned. Àibell and Aileen stumbled out from behind a thick tree, Aileen supporting her mother. Àibell clearly had eyes only for her husband, but Aileen stared open-mouthed up at him and she walked her mother as far around him as po
ssible. Suddenly, he understood that being a dragon had its drawbacks.
“It’s me, Aileen,” he tried to say, then realized by the way she covered her ears that it had come out as a roar. He turned to his mom.
“How do I undo this?”
His mother laughed weakly. “Focus on your torso. Think of how it should look. Then your head, arms, legs. You’ll get it right. Eventually.”
Transforming hurt, and the first time he was at least 12 feet tall and his head as round as a beach ball. It became easier the next two tries until, finally, 14-year-old human Miguel had returned.
Àibell was the first to throw her arms around him, sobbing. “I did not think I’d ever see him again. Thank you, Miguel.”
He glanced at Balor, who was painfully rising to his feet with Aileen’s help, reminding Miguel of his own father the day after Eduardo had played soccer for the first time in 15 years. Balor grabbed his daughter tightly, crushing her against him, and whispering in her ear. Miguel could not hear, but when she buried her face against his chest and cried, he could guess.
Finally, he turned to his mother. Àibell already knelt next to her, examining the broken arm.
“We need medical attention,” Àibell said.
He nodded, not knowing how to answer, and bent down beside his mom. She extended her good arm, and he helped her to her feet. She kissed his forehead, then took his chin in her hand.
“I am so proud of you, Miguel. Your father would be, too, if he could understand what happened.”
“Are you going to tell him the truth?”
She shook her head, although he saw some worry creasing her face. “I know everyone says I shouldn’t keep any secrets from my husband, but this is a secret I think I shall share only with my son. For now, anyways. Maybe we’ll all talk about this later.” Then she kissed his forehead again.
“Where’s Hagr?” Balor suddenly asked.
Àibell sighed. “He disappeared almost as soon as we were safely here. I tried to thank him, but I think he wanted to be away from me as quickly as possible.”
Blood of the Dragon Page 35
