Dragonseed

by James Maxey

  Colobi smiled. “The healer may not be awake yet, but he will be soon. He’ll be happy to receive you.”

  Colobi held out her open hand. Anza tentatively placed her palm against Colobi’s. The white-robed woman led Anza through the wide-open gate of the Free City, humming softly beneath her breath.

  The most disturbing thing about the streets was their unnatural cleanliness. In Dragon Forge. grime fell constantly from the sky. Even Anza’s home town of Burke’s Tavern had shown the wear and tear of daily life, with cracked paint on the houses, fallen slats on fences, and windows forever dimmed with lamp soot. In contrast, the Free City looked as if it had been built only yesterday. Every wall was bright with fresh paint. Granite cobblestones paved the streets, speckled with crystals that glittered in the morning light. Every shingle on the houses that lined the boulevard was precisely parallel to its neighbor.

  There was no hint of the savage battle that had covered these streets with blood. Anza wondered if reports of the Battle of the Free City had been exaggerated. Or perhaps the people who now lived here were simply working overtime to erase all traces of the unpleasant history.

  They turned onto a boulevard where the houses were still half-finished. A crew of five human workmen stood near a stack of freshly cut lumber, mumbling words and laughing as they drank hot broth from tin cups. Their white canvas overalls looked newly tailored. There were no rips, patches, or stains. The men, all middle-aged adults, had a curiously pristine appearance as well. Anza couldn’t recall the last time she’d ever seen five men together where at least three of them didn’t show some obvious facial scar. Nor were these men sunburned or wind-chapped. Odd.

  The hair on the Anza’s neck rose as a trio of green, scaly heads approached the workmen. Earth-dragons. The humans raised their hands and offered greetings as the dragons sauntered up to them. Additional cups of the broth were poured from a ceramic kettle and offered to the dragons, who took them gently in their massive claws.

  Colobi must have noticed that Anza was staring.

  “Here, there is no hatred between humans and dragons,” she said. “For centuries, we’ve struggled to distribute the resources of the land between four intelligent species with uneven talents and abilities. Now, the days of hunger and bitterness are at an end. We’ve reached the time of plenty. Dragon and men shall be part of a greater family. We’ve been sickened by poisonous philosophies. We shall all be healed.”

  As if to prove her words, a pair of sky-dragons descended to the construction site to be greeted with open hands by the humans and the earth-dragons. The sky-dragons unrolled a large parchment sheet atop the boards and everyone gathered around to look at the plans.

  Colobi walked on, heading toward a large red barn. As Anza followed, Colobi said, “You may be surprised to find that the healer resides in such humble surroundings. There are those among us who would prefer to build a temple for his comfort; he insists, however, that we use our labor for the good of the many rather than the good of the one. Priority must be given to building homes for the refugees.”

  As they approached the broad double doors of the barn, faces peeked out through small windows. The doors opened slowly as they neared.

  Within the barn, it was warm as springtime. The room was full of candles that lined the walls and sat along the rafters. They flickered from the breeze of the opening door.

  Near the rear of the barn there was a large pedestal built of bales of hay covered with a bleached canvas that might have once served as the sail of a ship. The only people in the room were a score of young women Colobi’s age. All wore white robes and knelt around the canvas platform, their heads bowed, as if praying to some unseen deity.

  Colobi came to a halt before the platform. She grasped Anza’s right hand and looked into her eyes.

  “You haven’t said a word since I pulled you out of the river,” she said. “I know this is overwhelming. You’ll soon understand. You’ll be one of us.”

  As Colobi spoke, the hairs on the back of Anza’s neck began to rise. She detected a hint of ozone in the air, the same odor that she’d smelled when Jandra had struck her bracelet against the stone to turn them invisible. Fixing her gaze upon the canvas platform, she couldn’t help but sense that there was some giant entity before her, despite the testimony of her own eyes that she was looking at empty air. Her pulse quickened and her fingers fell to the steel tomahawks at her hips.

  “You’re nervous,” said Colobi, placing her fingers on her arm. “There’s no need for fear. Everything will be made apparent when the healer arrives.”

  In response to these words, the air on the platform began to shimmer. Suddenly, a huge dome of sparks covered the canvas, a million small flares bursting into existence before fading almost instantly. In their wake, a sun-dragon was revealed sitting upon the platform.

  Unlike most sun-dragons, this one possessed scales of pure black, as smooth and dark as the surface of a lake on a moonless, windless night. His eyes were green as jade as he peered at Anza. A silver halo hovered a few inches above his forehead, glowing faintly.

  The sun-dragon looked toward Colobi and said, “Faithful one, you need not wait for my arrival. In truth, I am with you always.”

  As one, the kneeling women help up their arms, with outstretched palms, and said in a single voice, “Welcome, oh merciful healer!”

  Anza let the quilt that warmed her slip to the ground, revealing the tomahawks in her grasp. She only knew of one sun-dragon with a black hide. But… he was dead. Jandra said Bitterwood had killed him. This couldn’t possibly be the Murder God, could it?

  As if in answer, the chorus of women spoke again. “Hail, oh beloved Blasphet!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN:

  BRAIN-DAMAGED FREAK WITH A VIOLENT STREAK

  THREE HEARTBEATS.

  Beat one: Anza inhaled deeply as she pushed all distractions from her mind. The ice in her bones, the weakness of her legs, and the pain of the burn mark on her breast were blocked out as she twirled the twin steel tomahawks around her fingers.

  Beat two: Her eyes narrowed, turning the world into a tunnel. At the end of that tunnel was Blasphet’s throat. His trachea slid beneath the smooth onyx scales of his neck. His jugular vein, thick as a man’s thumb, would run directly beside this.

  Beat three: Anza danced forward, swinging both tomahawks around in a graceful arc. Using the full momentum of her body, she released the left tomahawk, holding the right in reserve in case she needed a second shot. She wouldn’t. The small, finely balanced hatchet spun almost lazily through the air in her hyper-aware state. The axe edge hit Blasphet’s hide and sank into it.

  His serpentine neck jerked as blood gushed from the wound.

  Anza knew she’d just killed Blasphet. Unfortunately, it might take the giant beast a moment before he’d lost enough blood to realize it.

  She stood before him, blinking off her tunnel vision, cataloging the gauntlet of potential dangers around her. The Sisters of the Serpent were numerous, but none were armed, and they looked stunned by Anza’s action.

  Behind Blasphet, there was a sky-dragon who glowered at her. This dragon, too, was unarmed but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. The dragon spread its wings, revealing diamond studs within the folds of skin there. As he moved, silvery dust fell from his fore-talons. Anza blinked. In the span of that blink, the sky-dragon vanished.

  She’d spared as much time as she could surveying the room. She was ready to make her retreat, once she dodged Blasphet’s counter attack. She focused on the Murder God, anticipating that his huge jaws would be shooting toward her any second.

  Instead, Blasphet reared up, his head nearly brushing the high rafters of the barn. He didn’t look angry or frightened. Instead, he gazed at her with eyes filled with pity. His fore-talon moved to his throat and pulled the tomahawk free, letting it drop. Splashes of red dappled the canvas he stood upon.

  Whatever the cause of the delay, Anza decided to exploit it. She spun, bolting for the
door. She didn’t make it even a yard before Colobi jumped on her back. She hit the ground hard as Colobi fell on top of her. The white-robed woman straddled Anza’s hips, pinning her.

  “Defiler!” Colobi shrieked as she closed her hands around Anza’s windpipe. “This is how you repay our kindness?” She squeezed with all her might.

  The battle gears in Anza’s mind clicked forward a notch. Colobi’s choking attack was a reasonable one for unarmed combat. Under the present battle conditions, however, it possessed a rather serious flaw. Anza swung her remaining tomahawk, driving the blade several inches into Colobi’s forehead. The young woman’s eyes rolled upward until only white showed, and she fell.

  Anza pushed the corpse aside, freeing her tomahawk with a slurp. She rolled to her hands and knees and looked up.

  If not for her ordeal in the river, she might have stood a chance. The remaining Sisters of the Serpent fell upon her like a wave. Anza swung her hatchet, but it was too late. A trio of women caught her arm, pressing it down, tearing the tomahawk loose. Another woman wrapped her arms around Anza’s waist and pushed her once more to the ground. A dozen hands grabbed her legs. More hands grasped her right arm, pinning that limb to the straw-covered floor.

  Anza arched her back, wriggling, trying to kick free, but for every hand she knocked loose, four more seized her. In seconds she was pinned, immobile, spread-eagle on the ground as the dark form of Blasphet loomed above her.

  Blasphet had his fore-talon pressed against his throat. When he pulled his gore-wet claws away, blood no longer squirted from the wound. The blood on his claws and neck faded, absorbed into his dark hide. The wound was no longer visible.

  The black beast stared at Anza, his brow furrowed.

  He ran his claws along his chest. The scales of his breast were malformed, no doubt due to the poisons that ran within his blood. The scales were bunched up, looking more like fat ticks than the smooth overlapping plates of a serpent. He plucked one of the scale polyps free and handed it to the woman who sat on Anza’s chest.

  “Feed this to her,” he said.

  Anza clenched her jaws. One sister pinched her nose shut. Another clawed at Anza’s lips, sinking her nails into the gums beneath. Anza fought the pressure until she trembled, but it was of no use. Slowly, her jaws were pried open. One of her own knives was placed between her teeth to keep them from closing. A woman’s fingers flickered against her tongue, pushing the seed-like scale toward the back of her throat.

  A jug carried by one of the women was held over her head. A stream of water poured into her open mouth. Suddenly the knife was pulled free and her jaws were forced shut. She closed her eyes, fighting to the urge to breathe. Against her will, Anza swallowed.

  The women released her mouth. When she opened her eyes, Blasphet no longer loomed above her. The black dragon leaned over Colobi’s fallen form, ignoring Anza for the moment.

  “Ah, my faithful one,” he said, his voice mournful as he lifted her limp body. “You’ve known nothing but violence all your life.” He brushed the bloody hair away from her forehead. He placed his scaly talon over her face. “I know you acted out of love, but there’s no need for fighting.”

  He pulled his talon away. Colobi’s forehead was intact; there was no sign of the tomahawk wound, not even a scar. Colobi’s eyes opened, glistening with tears. She whispered, “I’ve defiled your holy presence with my anger. I’m not deserving of your mercy.”

  “You’re wrong, my child,” said Blasphet. The skin around his eyes creased. Dragons couldn’t smile, but his eyes signaled affection. “All are worthy of wholeness and mercy. You understand what you did wrong; you won’t transgress again. You’ve paid for your sins. When I picked you up, you had no heartbeat. The woman who acted in anger is dead. You are a reborn creature now, free from the sins of your past.”

  Blasphet set Colobi down. She stood on unsteady legs; tears ran down her cheeks. Driven by emotions that Anza couldn’t fathom, Colobi spun and ran from the barn, weeping.

  Blasphet turned toward Anza. His great, long face, bigger than a horse’s head, snaked down toward her. He exhaled as he studied her. His breath was pleasant, smelling of mint. It was nothing like the carrion breath of most dragons.

  He took a long, deep breath inches from her face. A fine silver dust rose from Anza’s flesh. It reminded her of the residue that had been left behind by Jandra’s bracelet.

  Blasphet’s eyes stayed focused upon her as she searched his face for any possible weak points. If she could get her hands free, she still possessed a chance. The silver halo that hung above Blasphet’s scalp reflected candlelight, meaning it was solid. It was plain, and didn’t look strong, but it did have a small triangle near the front that rose up into a decorative peak. A sun-dragon’s ears were large, flat disks on the side of their head, almost like the surface of a drum. If she could grab the circlet, then drive the point into Blasphet’s ear, the pain would immobilize him. Then, if she could reach her throwing knives…

  Blasphet observed, “You’re calculating how best to kill me. This is one reason I hold such affection for mankind. The best of you cling to hope long after a more rational being would succumb to despair. Tell me my child, what is your name?”

  Anza glared at him.

  “There is no need to fear me. I will not harm you.”

  Anza stared silently as Blasphet cocked his head, waiting for her answer. In the candlelight, she saw more of the silvery dust riding in and out of Blasphet’s nostrils. Blasphet turned his head to the right, then to the left, his eyes running up and down the length of her body.

  “You’ve not lead an easy life,” said Blasphet, touching the festering burn wound on her chest. She sucked in air as a jangle of pain ran through her. “You possess far more scars than a typical woman your age. You’ve broken several bones over the years. Yet, you’ve received better medical attention than most humans. Your cuts have been expertly stitched and your bones have been reset by a confident hand.”

  Blasphet turned his attention to her face. He stroked her cheek. “A typical female your age would already be a mother. Yet I see you retain your virginity. It’s obvious from your rather formidable skills that someone has trained you as a warrior, not a wife. What a curious life you’ve led. Won’t you tell me your story?”

  Anza ground her teeth together and strained against the hands that held her. Though she was still fully clothed, she felt as if Blasphet was somehow undressing her. She’d never felt so vulnerable.

  “Whoever trained you… he was never able to teach you to speak, was he?” asked Blasphet. He didn’t wait for Anza to answer. His eyes were fixed on her throat. “He couldn’t have. I see a small tumor on your recurrent laryngeal nerve. It looks quite old; perhaps you’ve had it since infancy. It’s become calcified. It’s a tiny stone in your throat that blocks nerve impulses to your vocal chords. The muscles in your larynx have atrophied, producing your present aphonia.”

  Blasphet’s talons fell upon Anza’s throat. He lightly rubbed her skin. Anza shuddered, then tipped her head back as searing pain ripped through her neck. It felt as if Blasphet were attempting to decapitate her from the inside out. She couldn’t breathe—it felt as if a dozen thick worms were squirming and coiling in her windpipe.

  She opened her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. She’d lived her life as a tool of death, like a sword or a bow. She’d known that the day would come when she would break and be discarded, as was the fate of all tools. She’d never told a soul that she was afraid of this day. Who was she to tell? It was her shameful secret that she sometimes woke up in the dead of night, from dreamless sleep, shivering at the thought of nothingness, of non-existence, of the world moving on in her absence.

  Suddenly, the worms in her throat lined up in a more orderly fashion, allowing the movement of air once more. She filled her lungs to fullness with a deep, desperate gasp.

  As she exhaled, a noise tore from her throat that was like nothing she’d ever heard. It was something t
he cry of a hungry baby, only deeper, like the howl of a coyote, or the wail of a wildcat. It was a long, deafening, drawn-out scream that caused the hands that pinned her to flinch.

  It was the scream of a woman who had never even whispered. It was a howl that was the sum of countless days of silence. It was the cry of a woman who’d never laughed, never cursed, and bore in silence the pain of broken bones and a thousand cuts.

  It was a sound she’d heard only in her dreams. There was no mistaking it. This noise was coming from her own mouth. It made her tongue itch and her teeth ache.

  Slowly, the scream died away as the last thimble of air left her lungs. She took a deep breath, and screamed again.

  One by one the hands that held her let go. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. All the anger and fear and shame of a silent lifetime had provided the tension that drove the springs of her clockwork heart. That tension was gone now, carried away by the primal howls. The last remnants of her unspoken agony seeped out as loud, choking, sobs.

  “Ooo,” she said, trembling. “Ooohhh, oohhhh, ooohhhhhh.”

  She possessed a voice, but she didn’t know how to make words.

  “Ooohhhh!” she groaned, as she curled into a tight, fetal ball. “Oooohhh… Ooooohhh!”

  Gently, a pair of giant talons slipped beneath her and picked her up. She was cradled against Blasphet’s enormous breast. She pressed her wet face against it. His scales felt cool in contrast to the heat of her tears. The drum-like beat of his heart filled her ears.

  “Your screams are like music to me, child,” Blasphet whispered. “They are the sounds of your body healing, so that your soul may heal. Soon enough, we’ll teach you to talk. You shall be whole, child. You shall be healed.”

  “We shall all be healed,” the chorus of women said in unison.

  Anza opened her teary eyes. She didn’t see an angry face among the women who looked up at her.

  Beyond the women, however, was the sky-dragon she’d spotted earlier. He was standing near the back of the room, staring at her with a look that was best interpreted as a scowl. He didn’t look pleased by what he was seeing, but he didn’t look like a threat either. Nothing in the way the dragon carried himself suggested he was contemplating violence.