by James Maxey
“What is it?” said Cassie.
Jazz held it out. “Take a close look at the writing on the surface.”
Cassie frowned, leaned forward, and squinted. She picked it up, holding it only a few inches from her face, and turned it slowly.
“I don’t see any wri—” she stopped in mid-word as the gold coating her face and lips begin to crack, flaking away like the shell of a boiled egg, revealing pale flesh beneath.
Cassie dropped the marble. It bounced on the floor. A small mouth opened to devour it, then froze. Jagged cracks ran across the surface of the onyx tile.
“What’s happening?” The metallic shell that coated her fell away in fine flakes. Her black silk slip now sported a sheet of scaly dust, as if she’d just developed the world’s most severe case of dandruff. Her black ink hair stopped seeping from her scalp, leaving her bald, missing even her eyebrows.
“Call for help,” Jazz said.
Cassie glared at Jazz, her eyes full of hate. Slowly, her features changed; hate funneled away, leaving only fear.
“It’s silent,” she whispered. “You’ve made the city go silent.”
“Not yet,” said Jazz. “This is only a test run. The marble is a jammer. It emits a coded radio pulse that scrambles the Atlantean datastream. You’ve vanished from the city’s awareness. You can’t even use your own genie to communicate with your nanites. I’m immune because I encoded the pulse.”
“This is… this is monstrous!” said Cassie, backing away, leaving a trail of dust. He body looked pink and raw. Despite being taller than Jazz, she looked vulnerable in her girlish body, with the absurdly thin limbs that were the fashion in Atlantis. “Disabling my genie is like gouging out my eyes! You’ve made your point! Turn it off!”
“If I turn it off, you’ll be back online, and Atlantis will know what you know.”
“But… But…”
“Don’t fight this. You had a good run. A thousand years. Try to appreciate the adrenaline rush.”
Jazz willed an underspace gate to open in the air near her hand. She grabbed the edges of the rainbow, wrapping her fingers around it. Her nanites generated an electromagnetic field that let her fold the light. At the center of the rainbow, a slender black arc thinner than a human hair curved from her grasp like a scimitar.
“Have you ever seen what happens if you hit something with an underspace gate only a few nanometers wide?” Jazz asked.
Cassie clenched her fists. Despite the thinness of her limbs, Cassie’s muscles would be finely tuned, and fast. Her nerves had been created cell by cell in absolute perfection, while Jandra’s body still clunked along on the nervous system she’d been born with.
“Jazz, you can’t seriously be thinking of killing Atlantis. There are six billion people here! Killing the city is the same as killing them. Not even you are that black-hearted.”
“I snapped a baby’s neck before I came here,” said Jazz. “A scaly baby who bit the shit out of me, but still… I wouldn’t place bets about my holding onto any moral limits.”
“But… why? Why is it so awful to let the city help people? The city takes care of us.”
“Atlantis turned mankind into a race of eternal children,” said Jazz. “I’m tired of being the world’s only grownup.”
Cassie lunged forward, her fist aimed for Jazz’s nose.
Jazz stepped aside, twirling the underspace blade into her sister’s path. Cassie fell past her, landing with a wet smack on the stone floor. Jazz looked down at her sister’s hands, which had fallen near her feet, severed by the world’s sharpest scalpel.
Cassie twitched on the floor. Her exsanguination became a dark pool before her. Jazz had little appetite for gore.
She went to the black table, picked up the coffee cup, and took another sip. She was braced for the bitterness now. Jandra’s tongue was no longer virgin; this time, the liquid washed across her taste buds with a mix of sharpness and heat that was almost pleasant.
Killing Cassie was an act of mercy. The centuries had left her sister soft; she would have been ill-prepared to face the world to come. The risk Atlantis represented was too great. Maybe Cassie had failed to undo her programming over a thousand years, but what of the next thousand years? Jazz had never learned the true origins of Atlantis. It was obviously an alien construct, but who had sent it here, and why? What would happen if they suddenly showed up to fix it? She had no choice but to kill the city.
Of course, Atlantis was probably a more formidable opponent than Cassie had been. If she was serious about doing this, she needed allies. Her long-wyrm riders had been laughably ineffective. Her best angel had been thoroughly trashed by a sour-faced little man with nothing more than a bow, an arrow, tenacity, and brains.
Bitterwood had killed her, true, but she didn’t feel angry about this. Instead, she had a grudging admiration. The people of Atlantis were spineless hedonists. They reminded her of the world of her youth, an entire planet full of people with the mentality of locusts, devouring all the pleasures the world could grow, ignoring the wastelands left in their wake. Bitterwood, born and bred in Jazz’s new world, was a true man; fearless, clever, and full of conviction. He was living proof that her world was a better environment for humans than this false paradise. There were more important things in the world than being safe and healthy and entertained.
For a man to be truly great, he must struggle against monsters. With the right weapons, Bitterwood would make a valuable ally.
Darkness crept across the ocean, lapping the shore of North America.
THE SUN WAS low over the hills to the west as Vulpine walked along the Forge Road, admiring the decaying scarecrows Sawface and his Wasters had placed along the highway. Word of the blockade had apparently spread quickly throughout the human population. In recent days, the stream of humans attempting to reach the fort had ended. This meant that humans were staying on their farms. Now that the earth-dragons that had been raiding them were organized once more into an army, home was the safest place for a human to be. In a few weeks, they would go out and plant their crops. Rebellions were easier to sustain in early winter, when food was plentiful following harvests. Once the crops were in the ground, the rebellion would effectively be finished. Few people would abandon crops to join a hopeless cause. By this time next year, the rebellion would be only a bad memory.
As pleasing as the results of the scarecrows were to Vulpine, the stench of the road was unsettling. He lifted into the air, climbing, climbing, till he was almost a mile high. In the dying light, it was difficult to be certain, but it appeared as if activity within the walls of Dragon Forge had greatly reduced. The streets were empty. Only a few spotters remained along the walls with the wheeled bows that caused such terror among the sun-dragons.
Most importantly, only one of the smokestacks of the foundry was spewing smoke. It was too soon for yellow-mouth to have manifested in many victims yet, but even one or two would be sufficient to spread terror. The foundry was faltering, no doubt because the workers were hiding in their bunks, afraid of encountering anyone with the disease.
Dropping from the sky back toward his camp, he saw the squad of valkyrie engineers still working on the thousands of iron bits spread upon the large tarp near his tent. These were the remnants of the war engine Sawface had destroyed. It was a shame—the machine had looked impressive in its short run. It obviously had design flaws—exploding after the bridge collapsed being chief among them. Still, he could only imagine what the valkyrie engineers and the biologians could accomplish if they’d gotten their talons on a working prototype.
Arifiel was present, speaking with her fellow valkyries. She broke away as she saw Vulpine, flapping her wings for a short flight to his landing target. Arifiel was a veteran of Blasphet’s recent attack on the Nest. She still bore a rather unattractive festering burn wound on her shoulder as a reminder. It didn’t slow her, however.
“How goes it?” Vulpine asked.
“My engineers are still analyzing t
he placement of the fragments. We’ve interviewed the earth-dragons who witnessed it up close, but their capacity for describing a device of this complexity is somewhat limited.”
“I value Sawface for his ability to demolish a stone bridge with a hammer blow more than for his verbal prowess,” said Vulpine. “Still, the report from Bazanel should be complete any—”
“Bazanel is dead,” said Arifiel.
“What?”
“Chapelion’s messenger arrived while you were visiting the other checkpoints. I was present when he gave the news to Sagen. A human assassin killed Bazanel and stole the gun. The secret of gunpowder had already been given to a valkyrie. She gave it to Chapelion, who shared the news with his advisors. A few days later, all of his advisors were slain by an assassin too—a young human female. Unfortunately, no copies of the formula survived, and Chapelion didn’t bother to memorize the formula.”
“Was poison used by the assassins?”
“No. This was my first thought as well. It doesn’t appear to be the work of Blasphet.”
Vulpine walked over to the tarp. He craned his neck down to see the gears and wheels laid out before him in the dim light that remained. He shook his head as he contemplated this turn of events.
“Why did he delay in sending me the formula?” Vulpine asked, speaking more to himself than Arifiel. “I would have had gunpowder in production within a day.”
“The greatest failing of biologians is that they debate all matters endlessly before taking action,” said Arifiel. “Chapelion is the ultimate embodiment of this flaw.”
Vulpine wanted to scold the female for making such disparaging accusations against his chief employer, yet in his heart, he knew it was true. As well as things were going here, it sounded as if things were in decline at the Dragon Palace. Every few days brought bad news. The Grand Library was burned. A dozen aerial guards and valkyries had abandoned their posts, in contrast to the mere four under his command. Now this.
“The valkyries were to aid in the protection of Chapelion and his advisors,” said Vulpine. “Instead they’ve focused their attention on seducing members of the aerial guard and fleeing.”
“I would argue it's members of the aerial guard who are leading the valkyries astray.”
Vulpine ground his teeth. “The blame for our setbacks rests upon multiple shoulders, including my own. I’ve underestimated the humans in the fort. First the new bows, then the guns. Now they’ve built a war machine capable of rolling under its own power. There’s obviously a genius hidden within the walls of the fort. He sent the assassins.”
“What do you propose to do about it?”
“You valkyries are the ones who boast of being experts in war,” said Vulpine. “What would you do about it?”
“I would load the catapults with barrels of flaming pitch and burn the city to the ground. We can build a new foundry on the ashes of the old.”
“We could build a new foundry a few miles up the road without destroying anything,” said Vulpine. “There’s more to victory than mere destruction.”
“Do you have a better strategy?”
Vulpine scratched his chin and gazed at the red sky left by the vanished sun. The black outlines of Sawface’s scarecrows ran along the ridge.
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah?” asked Arifiel.
“Tell your valkyries to ready their catapults. Have Sawface remove the scarecrows. They’ve served their purpose on the roads.”
He looked toward Dragon Forge. The sky above it was dim in comparison to only a week ago. He said, “Whoever our mysterious genius is, he’ll be working in unpleasant weather tomorrow.”
Arifiel looked up. “The sky isn’t all that cloudy.”
“We won’t need clouds for the rain I have in mind,” said Vulpine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
THIS LITTLE PATCH OF EARTH
SHAY AND HEX stood beside the tiny grave. They were near the peak of a rocky, rugged mountain, covered with a low, thick cover of rhododendron bushes. The stone shelf jutted out relatively flat for a dozen yards. Shay had made Lizard’s grave by piling stones into a rough pyramid. From the cliff, the view was breathtaking, a narrow valley winding among steep-walled mountains. The sun painted the valley in vivid shades of green. The rhododendron leaves held their color throughout the winter.
The sun warmed the stone shelf. Birds sang in the bushes behind him. When his own time came, Shay could think of worse places for his mortal remains to rest.
Hex stood nearby. Shay hadn’t spent much time around sun-dragons—even though Hex was friendly, it was still difficult not to feel small and vulnerable in his imposing presence.
“I should say something,” Shay said. “It’s traditional to pray.”
“We dragons don’t offer prayers to the dead,” said Hex. “We speak mainly for the comfort of the surviving relatives and friends. We cremate our dead. The living inhale the smoke of the body. In this way, the deceased becomes part of our vital energy. It seems wasteful to bury a body.”
“Humans prefer burial because we like to think of death as a type of sleep from which we’ll one day awaken. The families of the dead visit the grave and talk to their lost loved ones.”
“Not many people can visit him here, I fear.”
“Lizard didn’t have any friends other than Jandra. Zeeky, maybe.”
“And you,” said Hex.
“I wasn’t much of a friend, I’m afraid,” said Shay. His shoulders sagged. “I thought it was only a matter of time before the little beast tried to eat us.”
“So why bury him?”
“Because Jandra loved him. And… he obviously loved her, or came as close to love as an earth-dragon can get. He fought to protect her.” Shay straightened up, crossing his hands in front of himself as the wind whipped over the edge of the cliff. He faced the mound of stones.
“Lizard I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if anything waits for anyone after we die, for men or dragons. But, if there is some great final judge who weighs the good we’ve done in life against the bad, I hope he judges that you were brave, you were gentle, and you were even wise. You accepted Jandra’s love without question or hesitation. If there’s a heaven, I hope you find a home there.”
The shadow pointing from the pyramid led straight to Shay’s feet. He felt as if the words he was saying were trivial, weightless noises that would vanish in the air. Yet, he had to keep talking.
“Maybe there is no heaven, and perhaps death is just another kind of sleep. Maybe someday you’re going to wake up and look out over the valley. I hope this little patch of earth will make you happy when you see it.”
Shay looked over his shoulder. “In a month or two, all these bushes are going to bloom with a million flowers. Maybe you’ll wake up on a morning like that. It would have been fun to watch you hiding among them with your camouflage.”
He searched desperately for more words to say. A faint smile crossed his lips as he found the words he'd meant to say all along. “Sleep well, Lizard.”
Shay turned away from the stones. “I wish I’d had something to read.”
“You took those books from the barracks.”
“Those aren’t for poetry,” said Shay.
“Your words were quite moving,” said Hex. “I think you’ve said what needed to be said.”
Shay shook his head. “I think that with every day that passes, I’m coming to understand the inadequacy of words.” He unfurled his metal wings. The wind played across his silvery feathers. In the valley, white circles of light danced on the dark leaves, reflections of the sun on his wings.
“Let’s go,” he said, tilting forward, his feet lifting from the earth. Now driven by the urgency of their cause, Shay had lost all fear of flying and was grateful for the twists and turns of fate that had provided him wings. They traveled a hundred miles in the span of a few hours.
Shay could have traveled further, faster. His mechanical wings were tireless. They
also propelled him more swiftly than Hex could follow, a literally breathtaking speed at which the wind made it difficult to fill his lungs. Hex required several breaks. The sun-dragon flew at a speed that any could outpace any horse, but he couldn’t keep up with Shay.
They paused to drink by a stream at the edge of a farm. Off in the distance, cows gave them nervous glances. Shay noticed the big dragon trembling when he lowered his head to the water. Hex’s right limbs looked shakier than their counterparts.
“Are you all right?” Shay asked. “Are you still recovering from Jazz’s attack?”
“Somewhat,” said Hex. “Half of my body is numb. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but my speech feels slurred.”
“I never heard you talk before, so I can’t judge. Have you always lisped?”
“I suspect Jazz’s attack had the practical effect of a mild stroke,” said Hex. “A more sustained assault might have killed me.”
“We don’t have to keep pushing on if you don’t feel up to it. We don’t know where Jazz is.”
“We don’t have the luxury of resting,” said Hex. “It’s difficult to counter the speed advantages of a foe who can traverse great distances in a heartbeat by taking a shortcut through unreality. I want to go to the Free City as swiftly as possible to recover the genie, then travel to Dragon Forge.”
“Dragon Forge? Why?”
“Bitterwood was heading there to rescue Zeeky’s brother, Jeremiah. He may linger there still. If he’s moved on, no doubt someone can provide us with clues to their next destination.”
“I’m not really welcome in Dragon Forge anymore. You definitely aren’t welcome. They’ll shoot you from the sky the second they see you.”
“I’ll approach on foot, fully armored. I hid my armor near Rorg’s cavern to travel more swiftly. If needed, I’ll recover it. I’m not afraid of archers.”
Shay held up the shotgun. “Forget the archers. This is what you need to worry about. It can punch holes in armor. The earth-dragons we fought at Burke’s Tavern had armor and we cut right through them.”
