by James Maxey
“Whatever,” she said. “When don’t you think it’s a good time for a snack?”
Poocher hopped down and trotted toward a trash mound.
Zeeky normally trusted his instincts as to what should and should not be considered food. She’d eaten many a strange root or berry he’d brought to her. She hoped he wouldn’t be bringing her any gifts from the trash mound.
As he thrust his snout into the garbage, a small dark shadow peeled off and dashed away, charging right toward Skitter at first, then turning at a sharp angle. Everything happened so fast that Zeeky barely had time to recognize the shadow as a mangy gray cat. A half-second later, the cat vanished, as Skitter’s toothy jaws closed around it with a wet snap. The long-wyrm swallowed before Zeeky could react.
She waited in the cold dark night, alone with her thoughts. She was always alone with her thoughts. Even though she could understand any animal or person and communicate with them in their own fashion, she knew that no one could truly understand her. She’d been born different from other people; Gabriel had said the goddess had changed her in the womb. When Jazz had captured her, she’d told Zeeky things that made her understand how different she truly was. Gabriel had been correct in calling her a harbinger. She’d been created for a purpose. Jazz had told Zeeky that she wasn’t alone—there were other children who the goddess had also changed. She wondered if she would ever meet them.
From her saddle bag, the faint murmur of voices caught her attention. It was time.
A brown horse rose over the edge of the hill. Astride it was a woman in a long white cloak. She looked ghostly in the darkness. Her horse froze as it saw Skitter. The woman stroked its mane.
Zeeky called out, “Skitter won’t hurt you. My name is Zeeky. I need to talk to you.”
The woman nodded. She shook the reins of the horse and it nervously inched forward.
“I’m Filia,” the woman said. “I’ve come with a message of hope.”
Now that she was closer, Zeeky saw that Filia was only a few years older. She was thin, and her hair hung around her face in soft blonde curls.
“You’ve come to tell everyone about the healer,” said Zeeky.
“You’ve heard?”
“Bits and pieces. I know you’re telling people to go to the Free City. I know you want to help people. What I don’t know is if your healer is as nice as he pretends to be.”
The woman smiled. “He’s given us no reason to doubt him. He’s done nothing but good since he returned to us. He has broken the shackles of death and now brings the promise of life.”
Zeeky shrugged. “I’ll know the truth once I see him, which won’t be much longer. For now, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to have to trust him, and you. I need your help.”
“How?” asked Filia.
“Follow me back to the bone-field surrounding Rorg’s cavern. In a few minutes, slaves will be climbing up from the chimneys. They’re going to be frightened and hungry, and they’ll have no place to go. Take them to the Free City.”
Filia nodded. “How many?”
“A hundred or so,” said Zeeky.
Filia opened her saddle bag. She pulled out a white cloth and unwrapped it, revealing a crusty loaf of bread. The end was torn off.
“I can feed them,” she said.
“I know,” said Zeeky.
Poocher apparently knew as well. He materialized from the darkness to sit in front of Filia’s horse. He looked up expectantly.
“Don’t beg,” said Zeeky.
“It’s okay,” said Filia. “The healer has touched this loaf.” She tore off a palm-sized chunk and tossed it to the pig. “It will never go stale. No matter how many pieces I tear from it, I’ve yet to exhaust it.”
“You’ll have a chance to test its limits, I think,” said Zeeky. “Follow me.”
Zeeky shifted in her saddle and Skitter understood her intention. The long-wyrm turned and moved back toward the bone field, pacing itself so that the horse and Poocher could keep up. Zeeky could have had Skitter stop to let Poocher back onto his saddle, but she thought her friend could use a little exercise. Burning off a bit of his restless energy could only do the pig some good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
UH-OH
BURKE SLID OPEN the warehouse door and lifted his lantern overhead, revealing the Angry Beetle. Lamplight glinted on its spiky shell; dust swirled in the winter draft. He ushered Thorny and Vance inside and pulled the door shut. The air inside was cool despite the cast iron stove near the entrance.
Thorny let out a whistle of appreciation as he looked over the new war machine. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said.
“What?” Vance asked. His hand was on Burke’s shoulder for guidance. “What is it?”
“Remember Big Chief?” Burke asked.
“Of course,” said Vance. “All them earth-dragons turned tail and ran the second Big Chief rolled into the square.”
“Not all of them,” said Burke, limping forward on his crutch. “I’ve got proof of that every morning when I pull on my boot. The Angry Beetle is Big Chief’s successor. One day it’s going to be the most powerful war machine I’ve ever built.”
“One day?” asked Thorny, walking around the massive machine. “It looks ready for action now.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Burke. He leaned down before the pot-bellied stove and opened the door. He shoveled in more coal. He touched the pot of chili he’d left cooking on the stove. He’d forgotten all about it during the commotion at the well. The pot still felt warm. The meal could probably be salvaged. “The Angry Beetle has some glitches that need to be worked out.”
“Glitches?”
“Outright failures,” Burke sighed. “The extra weight of the armor has made a joke of my gears. Currently, it can only roll backwards. I’ve also got space problems. I can’t carry enough coal on board to keep the boiler powered up for more than a couple of hours.”
“That’s not so bad,” said Thorny. “You could roll out a wall of these things a mile or so at a time. Wipe out anything in your way. Wagons could roll along afterward to refuel.”
“Maybe,” said Burke. “It’s not an elegant solution, but we need some way of pushing our force outward. Long term, the dragons can beat us with this blockade if we can’t develop a way to take the battle to them. They can treat our rebellion like a brush fire—clear the area around it, deny it fuel, and eventually it will burn itself out. That’s our fate, unless I can think of something clever and think of it fast.”
“I saw the shotgun in action,” said Thorny. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“It’s only a toy compared to the cannons. I’ve got small cannons on the Beetle that can hurl a lead ball a mile or two. I’ve got big cannons rolling off the lines that shoot even further. I’ve spent decades imagining what I could do to dragons if I could learn how to make gunpowder.” Burke reached out and placed a hand on the barrel of the rear facing cannon of the Angry Beetle. He shook his head. “Now I’m wondering if my dream isn’t going to become a nightmare.”
“How so?”
“You saw what Ragnar did to Shanna. When he built this army, he marched from town to town shouting, ‘join or die!’ I’ve heard what happened to some of the men who refused to cooperate. Right now, I’m able to temper his brute force approach by constantly dangling the promise of more powerful weapons in front of him. But there’s going to be a point where he thinks he’s got enough. I’m not so much worried about what he’ll do to the dragons as to what he’ll do to the men who don’t blindly obey him.”
Vance was moving around the perimeter of the Angry Beetle, feeling his way from spike to spike. Burke started to warn the boy to be careful but held his tongue. It was important to let Vance feel independent despite his blindness. For someone who said he couldn’t see anything, Vance certainly was moving around the edge of the machine quickly enough.
“What’s that weird smell?” said Vance from the other side of the Angry Beetle.
“It was supposed to be my dinner.” Burke lifted the lid of the iron pot on the stove and stirred the contents. The air filled with a pungent, spicy aroma, along with the scent of charred meat. The contents were sticking to the bottom of the pot.
“Oh lord,” said Thorny. “Not your chili!”
“Chili sounds good,” said Vance.
“Burke’s cooking isn’t for the faint of heart. His chili has killed more people than his guns ever will.”
Burke chuckled as he used a ladle to scoop out a large glop of stringy meat into a wooden bowl. He handed it to Vance, who reached out and took it in a confident manner that made Burke wonder again if perhaps the boy could see more than he let on. “Don’t listen to Thorny. I still say most of those deaths were just coincidence. Besides, this is a new recipe. I’m currently limited by the items in the earth-dragons larders. They had some hot sausages I’ve chopped up and added to this.”
The wooden spoon stopped inches from Vance’s lips. He said, “I’ve, um, heard there were human bodies in the larder. You didn’t… um…”
“Any human remains were turned over to Ragnar for proper burial. The man has his faults, but he’s not a cannibal. I hope.”
Vance started to put the spoon in his mouth, then pulled it away again. “I also heard there were jars of pickled earth-dragon babies.”
“Yeah. Some folks have been sampling them. I’ve not been that hungry yet.”
Vance looked relieved and popped the spoon in his mouth.
“Especially not with so much fresh meat from the adults lying around,” Burke continued. “We had to cremate most of the bodies as a hedge against disease. But, we cut off the tails and have been curing them in the smoke house. Earth-dragon tails taste like gator. We used to eat those all the time down south.”
Vance chewed slowly, looking as if he might spit the chili out. Suddenly, his eyes bulged. He swallowed quickly.
“Oh my gosh!” he said, waving his fingers in front of his mouth. “My mouth is on fire!”
Burke reached down beside the stove and picked up a clay jug. “Take a swig of this.”
Vance lifted the jug, swallowed, and then quickly pulled it away from his lips. His face was all puckered for about half a minute before he could speak again.
“Have I done something to make you angry?” Vance asked weakly.
“Nope. That’s goom,” said Burke. “We’ve got about 900 gallons of it. The earth-dragons distill it from cabbage and chilies. Fortunately, it’s so alcoholic that a few swigs numbs your mouth. Can you still feel your tongue?”
Vance’s tongue flickered across his lips. “Nothing. Guess it works.”
“Don’t burp around any open flames,” Burke said. “Goom ignites easily. It’s the fuel for the Angry Beetle’s flamethrower.”
Vance took another bite of chili. Sweat beaded his brow as he chewed the stringy meat.
“If you survive this meal, you’ll have a good story for your grandkids,” said Thorny with a chuckle. Thorny then turned his attention back to the Angry Beetle.
“How many people does it take to run this thing?” he asked.
“A perfect crew would be four,” said Burke, lifting the hatch. “But, it’s a tight fit with two people, and three people need to be real friendly. If there were more women around, I’d recruit them for crew.”
Thorny peeked inside the open hatch. “They’d need to be skinny.”
Burke shrugged. “At least I don’t need to worry about Ragnar’s Mighty Men commandeering this. I don’t think Stonewall could squeeze through the hatch.”
As he said this, a chill winter wind swept across the room. The sliding door to the warehouse shuddered on its tracks. Burke looked up and found Stonewall standing in the doorway, glaring at him. To his left stood Ragnar, with his twin scimitars held loosely in his hands; a half dozen armored Mighty Men lurked behind him. To Stonewall’s right stood Frost, grinning like it was his birthday.
“Burke,” said Ragnar, in a voice that was oddly calm and controlled. “We should discuss what happened at the well.”
Burke crossed his arms as he leaned back against the Angry Beetle.
“I agree,” said Burke. “That was quite a show. I’m still trying to make up my mind as to precisely what it was that happened. How did Shanna get through the blockade? How did she get to the well if your men didn’t let her in? Shanna’s been a spy for years. She’s a good actor. And, the more I think about it, if you faked her death, tossing her into the well was a good way of keeping anyone from seeing her get up and walk away once the performance was done. What I haven’t figured out yet is, what are you up to? What are you trying to prove?”
“You have lived a life of lies so long you cannot see the truth,” said Ragnar. “I would never deceive my followers with base theatrics.”
“If it wasn’t staged, that’s even worse. Shanna helped us win Dragon Forge. You killed her like she was a dog.”
“A mad dog,” said Ragnar, still calm. “It was clear from her words that she’d been corrupted by the worship of a false god.”
“Or hallucinating from those dragonseeds, whatever they are. You should have jailed her and let her sober up. We’ll never know what really happened to her now.”
“You’re quick to criticize my decisions,” said Ragnar. “Your open defiance in front of the crowd was intolerable.”
“You’ll have to tolerate my criticism a bit longer,” said Burke. “You need me if you’re ever going to break the blockade and spread this rebellion further.”
“Do I?” asked Ragnar. “The Lord has given me an army. We now have the sky-wall bows. We have shotguns and cannons. I believe your usefulness draws to an end.”
“Without gunpowder, all you have are a bunch of iron tubes,” said Burke, crossing his arms. “I’m the only one who knows the formula.”
Ragnar smiled, an expression that made Burke’s blood turn cold.
Frost said, “I noticed that Biscuit was capable of mixing up gunpowder while you were recovering from your surgery.”
Burke’s jaw tightened. “Biscuit’s a good man, but he’s no chemist,” he said, carefully controlling his tone.
Frost held up a scrap of paper that Burke instantly recognized. It was the formula for gunpowder. “I spoke to Biscuit earlier today. He found my arguments… persuasive. He has reaffirmed his loyalty to the cause.”
Burke clenched his jaw. He looked away from Ragnar and his Mighty Men, shoved his iron crutch back into his armpit, and hobbled to the stove. “So what now?”
“Now we assemble the men at dawn,” said Frost. “You repent your sins and swear your obedience to the Lord and his prophet. Or we behead you in front of the crowd as a reminder that no single man is greater than the cause.”
Stonewall furrowed his brow at the mention of the beheading.
Frost grinned like this was the happiest moment of his life.
Burke picked up a tin cup sitting at the edge of the stove. He poured himself a cup of goom.
Ragnar and his Mighty Men were ten feet away. The Angry Beetle was close enough to touch. He contemplated his choices. He could avoid violence just by standing in front of the crowd, saying a few words he didn’t believe, and then going back to work.
He shook his head. “If you’re planning to kill me, I’d rather not wait for dawn.”
It was Stonewall, not Frost, who stepped forward. His big beefy hands reached for Burke’s shoulders, as he said, “Sir, if you’ll come with us, I promise to—”
Burke flung the goom into Stonewall’s face.
The tall man staggered backwards, hissing in pain. Goom in the mouth was bad enough; Goom in the eyes was crippling. Frost tried to get out of the way of the stumbling giant, but crashed into the Mighty Man behind him. Stonewall tripped over Frost, and as he fell he toppled the rest of Ragnar’s thugs.
Ragnar, however, had been spared from the flailing of his henchmen. Burke was getting tired of the seemingly divine hand that spared the
prophet from misfortune. Ragnar brandished his scimitars and leapt toward Burke with a growl, apparently agreeing that dawn was too long to wait for Burke’s beheading.
Burke grabbed the iron handle of the chili pot and swung it with a grunt. The cast iron connected solidly with the side of the prophet’s shaggy head. The force of the blow knocked the scimitars from Ragnar’s grasp. Hot, thick chili splashed down Ragnar’s bare body, matting his chest hair. The prophet’s eyes grew large. A very unholy word formed on his lips.
Burke didn’t wait to hear it. With the heavy pot still in his hands, he swung upward, catching the big man under his hairy chin, knocking him from his feet.
“Get in the Beetle!” Burke screamed.
Thorny was already two steps ahead of him. His scrawny legs disappeared into the shadowy interior of the war machine. Burke turned to grab Vance by the wrist, but Vance, too, was already moving, diving into the interior. For a third time since they’d come to the warehouse, Burke suspected the boy could see more than he let on. But, why would Vance lie about such a thing?
Burke threw his crutch in and rolled into the Beetle, hitting the catch that held the metal hatch open. He pulled his leg in as the hatch slammed shut. Seconds later, loud bangs shook the Beetle as the Mighty Men who’d regained their footing began to hack the war machine with their swords.
Burke sat up, grabbing Vance by the wrist. “You’re going to have to shovel coal,” he said. “Let me put your hand on the—”
“I can see,” said Vance.
“What?”
“I can see! My sight’s not fully back yet, but it’s getting there. I only see blurry colors out past a few yards, but up close I see pretty good.”
“So… you’ve been faking?” Burke asked.
“No! My sight’s just started coming back in the last little bit.”
Thorny scratched his scraggly beard. “I’ve heard of men going blind after they drink goom. Maybe it works the other way around, too.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s because of the dragonseed,” said Vance.
