Mystic Dragon

by Jason Denzel

  Setting her staff aside, Shevia disrobed. She glimpsed her ghostlike reflection in the washroom’s vanity mirror through the steam. The figure in the mirror with a twisting snake tattoo on her shoulder peered back at her, sad and skinny.

  Shevia didn’t bother to toe the water but submerged herself completely into the huge tub, reveling in the heat. It was as though she lived in a sea of fire, and it felt … rejuvenating. She submerged herself until only her mouth, nose, and eyes broke the surface. She inhaled deeply, letting the searing heat consume her. Her black hair floated around her face.

  As she lay inside the steamy tub, she remembered the trances the Thornwood Vent had pulled her into. Shevia thought of Sitting Mother, her friend, whom she missed. Dwelling on her seemed like a violation of her relationship with her new master. She belonged to him now, and Sitting Mother was far away.

  Shevia floated on her back and examined for the carved box she’s taken from Bhairatonix’s wardrobe. The carvings depicted a repeating series of serpents, each biting the tail of the one beside it. She shivered at their similarity to the twisted snake imprinted on her shoulder. Every three or four months, Bhairatonix brought the box to her and opened it, releasing scented vapors from the Thornwood Shrine which pulled her into the familiar and inescapable trance. Shevia would then obediently tell her master of her visions, none of which she could remember the next day. She didn’t know why those visions left her memory afterwards, but she suspected Bhairatonix perhaps had a hand in wiping them away.

  Steadying her trembling hands, Shevia ran her fingers over the carved box. She dreaded the visions as much as she craved them. Each time she breathed the fumes, she did it for the benefit of another person. Today, just once, she would do it for herself.

  She eased the hinged lid of the box open. Familiar greenish smoke wafted out, and Shevia breathed it in. The mixed scent of sandalwood and holly washed over her. The anxiety she’d been feeling washed away. Her eyes rolled back in her head. The water grew warmer, then hot, bordering on uncomfortable. She shifted, trying to rise, but found she couldn’t move. A tinge of fear rose within her, but now the heat was increasing, faster. The water danced with energy, and pulsed with silvery light. Her panic rising, Shevia wondered if Bhairatonix had come home and caught her.

  The water churned. Streams of bubbles rose from somewhere in the depths.

  She lurched her body upward, but it wouldn’t break the surface. It was as if an invisible rope, or tentacle, grasped her from below, not letting her rise or fall. Her breathing accelerated. Her whole body burned.

  Then suddenly, like a hot iron brand stabbing her flesh, her right shoulder erupted in fiery agony. All the heat in the bath raced to that spot, igniting it with pain. She screamed and arched her back.

  Her chest and shoulders broke the surface. The serpent-shaped tattoo twisted with energy and life as if it were alive and trying to consume her arm.

  As the water boiled she instantly became aware of another presence. A familiar and comforting one. Within the pain, Shevia felt Sitting Mother embrace her, with hands that simultaneously held her within the fire and above it.

  Nothing was said, as always, but Shevia’s mind was filled with understanding. Sitting Mother had never abandoned her, she suddenly knew, just as she had said she would not. Shevia need not fear, for power and understanding were within her grasp. True power was inside her, not waiting beyond her reach where she needed it to be given to her by another person, whether that person was a High Mystic or anyone else.

  Sitting Mother’s presence swam around Shevia, circling her. Empowering her. Her friend would teach her to find that power. She would teach her to find the Myst. All Shevia had to do was allow it.

  The tattoo writhed, and Shevia reveled in the burn. She hungered for it. Power would help her not fear. It would bring her answers. And maybe, freedom to make her own choices.

  As the beautiful, searing fire-water torched across her, Shevia screamed. The noise exploded out, rattling the entire washroom and cracking the mirror above the sink basin.

  The heat vanished, burned away in an instant along with the entire tub of water.

  Shevia bolted upright in the tub, panting. Heavy fog filled the entire room. She remained there, naked and shivering. When the steam cleared enough for her to see, she looked down at her tattooed shoulder. Rather than covering just the rounded slope of her shoulder, the tattoo now spread wider, reaching from the midpoint on her collarbone down to the middle of her biceps. The twisting serpent’s spine now sprouted small, triangle-shaped spikes, and two claw-sized wings—similar to a bat’s—rose out of its back. The head was larger, and now teeth jutted out. The serpent’s body twisted in an even more elaborate way, snaking in loops around itself and her upper arm.

  Shevia smiled. She ran her fingers across the enlarged creature. A new wave of power surged within her, like a tide of water rushing against a cliff.

  Thirteen days.

  She had thirteen days to explore her new skills, and explore the manor.

  * * *

  The clouds coursed through the sky above Shenheyna for a full week while Shevia combed the manor. Carefully and methodically she examined every room, every shelf, and every drawer in order to learn their secrets.

  The days passed as if in a dream. She ate sparingly, not caring to prepare meals each day. Not wanting to leave tasks undone, Shevia made sure to complete her daily chores, using the Myst at every opportunity. It obeyed her commands more easily now. Sweeping a room required only a wave of her staff while just a tap was needed to repair simple objects, such as the cracked bathroom mirror.

  With mindless ease Shevia purged the house of dust and insects. Challop eventually returned from wherever the vile creature had skulked off to. Shevia kept a watchful eye on the cat, making sure not to explore a forbidden place with the beast present.

  By the evening of the eighth day, only one room remained unexplored. She made herself a full meal and went to bed early. On the morning of the ninth day, she approached Bhairatonix’s bedroom once more with staff in hand. Although she had been inside many times, her intuition told her there was something hidden inside his chambers. The mystery whispered to her, luring her in.

  She strode into the room, and closed the double doors behind her. Her eyes took in the whole room: the painted ceiling, the rug, the chandelier, the bed, the tall wardrobe, and the archway to the washroom. The secret was in here. She did not know what it would be, but it was important.

  She began with the rug, looking under it, and within the fibers. She studied the pattern for messages. She examined every glass shard in the chandelier, using the Myst to break any illusions around it. She searched every hidden corner of the bed, and found herself wondering if Bhairatonix ever shared it with anybody. He was old, perhaps in his sixties or seventies, but that did not mean he was celibate. Did he enjoy the company of women or men? A shiver rippled her spine as she remembered the way he had sometimes looked at her, and the intimate way he sometimes touched her back, or thumbed her lips.

  The bed, and wardrobe, and even the night pot yielded nothing. But still, the mystery called to her.

  Standing again by the door, Shevia trailed her eyes across everything in the room, catching every detail. She had searched everything, including the exotic mural on the ceiling. What was she missing? There was nothing else to search, no furniture, no other paintings on the wall.

  Shevia’s heart skipped a beat. Paintings. There were no other paintings. Here, or anywhere else in the manor.

  Every Mystic, by tradition, kept an image of their master—or many masters from their lineage—in their home or dwelling if they had one. It defied possibility that the High Mystic of Qin would not have a painting or drawing of his masters somewhere in the house.

  Shevia closed her eyes and took a calming breath. She relaxed into herself, and went to the inner place in her mind where she most often felt Sitting Mother. She floated there, in conscious rest, and summoned the Myst. It
rose around her, and she stirred it. She moved it with her staff and arms. She stepped with it, circling it around the room, like a whirlpool of energy until it spun and raced on its own.

  “Sitting Mother!” she shouted, realizing it was the first she’d spoken aloud in nine days. “Come forth and share the secrets of Shenheyna with me!”

  She summoned more of the Myst, willing it harder to swirl and reveal the secrets of Bhairatonix’s manor. If her master would not reveal them, then Sitting Mother would.

  Her tattoo warmed, giving her more power. A snarl curled her lips. “I am the Oracle of Thornwood! Hear me!”

  A rushing wind filled the room, disturbing only her hair and robes. The wind followed the path of her whirlpool, then funneled upward, toward the ceiling. The Mystics and fay in the tapestry seemed to come alive, continuing the violent dance they were locked in.

  Shevia watched as the whirlwind narrowed and focused until it centered on the hand that protruded from the mural’s tower window. The hand erupted with silvery light, and in that moment the wind, and the funnel of focused Myst, vanished.

  Unprepared for the abrupt shift in energy, Shevia lost her balance and stumbled. Silence and stillness enveloped the bedroom. She regained her footing and tucked her stirred hair behind her ear.

  Above her, the ringed constellation of stars surrounding the tower shimmered. Shevia stared at it. A long moment passed before she lifted her staff above her head and touched its end against the hand.

  A rumble filled the room, coming from the wardrobe. When it stopped, Shevia lowered her staff and approached the wooden cabinet. She eased open the doors and pulled aside her master’s robes. Previously when she had looked here, she’d only found a solid wood backing. But now the wood panels were gone and a long stone hallway descended impossibly out the back. By normal logic, the tunnel should run out of the house and down the sheer cliff below the manor. But somehow, the passage before her led to a subterranean chamber that should not exist.

  Shevia allowed herself a rare smile. Stilling her nerves, she descended the path.

  * * *

  The tunnel led to Bhairatonix’s laboratory. It was a cave hollowed out of a mountain. Because of the strange nature of the tunnel, Shevia could not be sure if it was deep beneath the manor, located in another part of Mount Hinya, or someplace else entirely.

  A dozen steadily burning candles encircled the chamber, illuminating a handful of bookshelves loaded with dusty tomes. The smell of melted candle wax mingled with mildew. Shevia wondered why the High Mystic would keep so many books in such a moldy and humid chamber. Perhaps he kept the pages preserved using the Myst.

  Large paintings of men and women hung against the rough stone walls, encased in elaborate golden frames. Here were the past masters. She had been right! She recognized none of the faces but did not expect to. Bhairatonix had never spoken of his previous masters.

  A large, sturdy table rose before her. Upon it sat glass flasks filled with unusual liquids and powders. A bookstand atop the table held a decaying tome containing an annotated illustration of a glass sphere encasing what looked like a butterfly, or perhaps a moth. The labels were written in a language Shevia did not recognize except for a single word.

  “Reunion,” she whispered.

  Her fingers itched to flip the pages and explore the book’s contents. But her eyes widened as she caught sight of an open space on the far side of the table. A wave of fear swept over Shevia. She tried to tuck it away but could not keep her hands from trembling.

  The book and other objects forgotten, Shevia wound around the table carefully, approaching the wide empty area of the cavern as if she were approaching an agitated snake.

  Her heart raced. She had to leave. Now. But the sight before her gripped her in a trance.

  Chalked in a wide circle across the bumpy cavern floor was the image of a serpent, elaborately knotted around itself, with claws and wings and triangular spikes on its back.

  The urge to flee the laboratory fought against her need to wipe the image away. Bhairatonix had seen her tattoo before, but not often or long enough to reproduce it here so accurately. And he certainly had not seen it in its latest, more evolved form.

  Shevia decided to flee, but before she could take a step back toward the passage a cat meowed.

  In that instant, Shevia knew. She didn’t need to see Challop sitting at the base of the tunnel, swishing her black tail. Shevia didn’t need to see the hideously tall, lanky form dominating her only escape route.

  “You go too far, girl,” Bhairatonix said.

  Shevia’s mind raced. It had not been thirteen days yet. It had only been nine!

  Her master strode forward, taking his time.

  “I have spared you these years and given you opportunity to observe and learn. And this is how you repay my generosity?” The calm in his voice underscored the danger Shevia knew she was in.

  Shevia looked desperately for another way to escape but knew she would find none.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, holding her staff up between them. She wished her hands weren’t shaking. She called to the Myst, and its power rose within her.

  “You dare summon the Myst against me?” Bhairatonix snarled, sweeping Shevia’s staff away with a hard wave of his hand.

  The memory of Ahg-Mein’s horrible ending flashed in Shevia’s mind. Bhairatonix leaned his staff against his shoulder and snapped his hand outward. An invisible force yanked Shevia across the room and into his grip. She choked as his fingers squeezed her throat.

  For a panicked heartbeat, Shevia considered unleashing her new power against him. She could save herself!

  Tears fell from her eyes as he bore down on her face.

  “You will learn your place,” he said.

  He threw her over the table, across the room onto the chalked floor. Shevia tried to scramble to her feet, but an invisible force crashed her back to the floor. She begged Sitting Mother to help, and in response power rose within her.

  But the sight of her master striding toward her trampled her newfound hope. The humble, fearful apprentice within her realized she’d been a terrible pupil. She deserved what was coming. How could she, a pathetic wretch, a gentle gust of wind, compare to her master’s hurricane of power?

  He lifted his fist and she broke under his fury.

  FOURTEEN

  A MOTH IN GLASS

  Shevia opened her eyes, leaving the dark memory of the past behind. She brought herself back to the present, within the tower at Kelt Apar.

  The dark-skinned girl from multiple visions left the chamber, leaving Shevia alone with the High Mystics. A moment passed and Yarina, the youngest of the masters, let a sigh escape.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Yarina said in her Keffran-tinted Continental accent.

  Shevia kept her body straight and her face calm, just as Bhairatonix preferred. Here, in front of his peers, she would continue to play along with the farce. Each of the High Mystics glanced at her on occasion, trying to understand what she was. Some of them harbored curiosity in the secret bay shores behind their eyes, others skepticism. But every one of them hosted a deep fear, of the kind that, if proved to be real, would unravel their view of the world. These were the most powerful Mystics in the world, and she could sense their awareness of the firestorm brewing around her. Shevia didn’t like making people uncomfortable, but she was done being a pawn. Sitting Mother had chosen her, and empowered her with the Myst—but for what she could not yet say.

  High Mystic Willwhite, the one with the beautiful shifting face, turned to Shevia. “Was there more to your vision than what we saw, daughter?”

  “No, Master,” Shevia lied. She spoke in the Continental language. “But the feeling of pain from the lagharts was very distinctive. They were unprepared for whatever fay came upon them.”

  There had been more to the vision, but Shevia dared not share it with anyone, especially Bhairatonix. Above the dying lagharts, she’d seen a red banner flutter ag
ainst a backdrop of thick smoke. On the banner was a twisted serpent, twined around the length of its own body. The meaning had been clear to her. It was a summons.

  High Mystic Angelos leaned forward on his cushion. “Your Unveilings are quite remarkable. Before we bring in the next Mystic for assignment, I would like to know how you first came to Unveil the Myst.”

  Shevia tucked her memory of the banner away safely so that nobody could see it. Outwardly, she displayed herself as a perfectly demure apprentice. “By the grace of my master, I have come to know the Myst.”

  “We are seeking more specific answers,” Yarina said with a bite of impatience.

  “Were you not Unveiling the Myst before Master Bhairatonix apprenticed you?” added Mistress Michaela. It was eerie, looking at her, and then her brother beside her. Their faces were like twin moons hanging in the sky.

  “Yes,” Shevia said. “But I did not know what it was. I had some guidance from another Mystic, but he only sought profit from my visions. He did not understand how the Unveilings worked.”

  “And how do they work?” Yarina said.

  Shevia looked at Bhairatonix, who nodded in approval. She did so only as a formality, however, knowing that he could hardly require her to keep secrets when the other High Mystics cornered her with direct questions. She had told Bhairatonix many times all she knew of the visions, yet she’d never mentioned Sitting Mother. Through all the intimidation, abuse, and humiliation of her apprenticeship, Sitting Mother was the one secret Shevia clung to, the one aspect of her life she could control and that belonged just to her. If she lost Sitting Mother, she would have nothing. Her bond with Sitting Mother—her only experience of friendship—had evolved from her childhood solitude to become her source of courage and now, at last, her wellspring of power.