Sarah stared, unable to move. The chains that had held her were broken but the fear was not. Finally, she noticed the screaming had stopped. The last rocks had fallen and a quiet, broken only by the sizzling of burning dragon flesh, settled on the cave. A low moan shook her out of her shock. Her feet moved toward the sound. The smell of burning flesh caused her body to revolt. Pushing back the bile that threatened to break out, she kept moving. The smoke burned her eyes. She heard the groan again, this time closer. It was the peasant boy. She saw him lying where the dragon’s fall had thrown him. He was covered in blood and his leg looked crushed, half-severed. But he was alive.
She quickly knelt beside him. Looking for a tourniquet, she found none but saw the dagger lying beside the battered body of the man who loved her enough to burn for her. She grabbed the knife and cut the hem out of her dress, then wrapped it tightly around the bloody leg. They were too close to the dragon’s burning body. It was hard to breathe. The smoke was dark and strong. She began to cough and realized she had to drag the boy, what was his name… Harry… oh my God… Harry! Her mind began to clear as the memories of her stolen conversations and shared dreams came back to her. She moved around to his head and grabbed him, pulling on his shoulders. Finally, she dragged him far enough from the flames and filthy smoke to breathe. She sat back against the cavern wall, exhausted, the light from the burning dragon casting a red tint to the dark cave.
She could hear the gentle cascade of the waterfall that had been her only companion for weeks. She listened to Harry’s slow, rough, but steady breathing and gave herself a moment. She didn’t mean to close her eyes, but heaviness due to weeks of fear and captivity pressed down on her, pushing her further and further into sleep. She didn’t see the dark vapor rising from the dragon’s skull. It started with a wisp, then another and another till black smoke poured out of the burning beast. The smoke twirled, putting out small tendrils in several directions. One got close to Sarah and drew back like a snake, coiled and hissing. It floated over Harry and leaped back, startled, then raced toward where the main body of the darkness waited. After a moment several dark tendrils began to creep toward her and Harry, moving forward then jerking back, finally converging on her, circling around her and settling in her.
Sarah’s head began to pound. She moaned and moved her head and moaned again as if the effort hurt. The dark smoke covered her; it felt clammy and cold. With one last start her eyes opened. She looked around terror-stricken, her eyes wide with fear, then they fell on Harry, and she hissed!
Quickly she stood, staring at him, anger writhing behind her expression, her hands making fists, her teeth grinding. She looked for a rock to smash against his armor till it cracked like an egg. Then she saw it. The long sword, it was still in his hand. He had not let go, and it was stained with the dragon’s blood. She wrenched it from his grasp and took it in her hands just as he had done with the dragon. She held it over his body, raised it as high as she could, and then brought it down. Lightning exploded from the sword, blowing her back against the cave wall and deflecting the sword’s downward slide so it glanced off Harry’s bronze-colored armor and stuck in the cave floor. The darkness screamed as the light pressed it. The dark tendrils retracted, imploding; fire blazed, burning the foul-smelling spirit. A legion of dark voices screeched, and suddenly were cut off. Darkness fell and Sarah collapsed.
Then she heard her name. “Sarah? Sarah! Wake up!” A cold blast of air cascaded from the sky. Morning was streaming through the opening the dragon had made, and the cave knew light for the first time. Sarah blinked and looked toward where the voice had come. Harry was awake. His face was burned. Sweat beaded across his brow; the leg she had wrapped a hem around had started to bleed again. He was trying to crawl toward her. With a start she shook herself, stood, and walked toward him. A grim smile broke across his burned face. She knelt beside him. In a hoarse cry forced from scorched lips he said, “Sarah… oh, Sarah… we did it.” Then he started coughing. A wet, raspy cough. She held his head up and saw that blood dripped from his lips. He forced himself to speak. “We did it, the dragon’s dead.”
She nodded but then said, “Harry, I betrayed you. I told him where you were. I even tried to stab you!”
Harry laughed, choking, then whispered, “Not this time… this time I lied, and…” He laughed again; it ended in a bloody cough. “You missed, Sarah. You missed with the sword.” His voice grew faint and she leaned over him.
“Great with flame and claws, but terrible with a sword. Never any good with it… now get me into the stream. Take me to the stream!” He lifted up, grasping the front of her dress. She grabbed him by his shoulders and slowly, agonizingly pulled him over the hard cave floor to the stream. Finally, she got him close to it, then tore another piece off her sleeve, dipped it in the icy water, and washed his face. Harry opened his eyes and smiled. Peace flowed from him. “Where is my sword?”
“It’s here.” She pointed to the long sheath where she had placed the sword and then gently unstrapped it from his side and placed it across his chest. He clutched it with both hands, tried to sit up, and groaned. His leg was bleeding profusely now.
“Sarah, you have to get me in the stream… hurry.”
The only way Sarah could move Harry was to drag him, so she climbed into the small cave stream and pulled him in after her. As soon as his body hit the water, it sank, the weight of his armor pulling him under. She grabbed for his head, desperately trying to keep it above water, but didn’t have the strength to pull him up. It was like something else was yanking him down. There was a flash of light and he was gone, disappearing beneath her hands. She forced her head above the water, drew a quick breath, and dived. The stream was dark, the waters frigid; she dived as deep as she could. She had no idea the stream was so deep. Then she saw light, and a current grabbed her, pulling her toward it.
Chapter 15
“You know, that does have a strange smell to it. What did we drink? Huh?” Brady said, sniffing as he zipped up his pants.
Raleigh looked back at Brady, his large brown eyes perplexed and a big doggy grin exposing a mouth full of inch-and-a-half fangs. “Me smell good smell too. Smell same as smell in little box Harry carry. Powerful blood on sharp tooth of little plant. Smell is all over Brady and Raleigh and really much on Harry.”
The big man winced. “Didn’t see that coming… and yeah, I can smell it. I didn’t at first. I guess I just missed it. You think other people can smell it too? It’s a wonderful clean smell, like a lightning strike in a rose garden, clean and fragrant. But it must really be powerful to get in our systems. Mercy! I don’t know what prolonged exposure is going to do to us, buddy, but… I bet when this is done, I won’t be arguing with my wife about going to Sunday meeting.”
Raleigh’s laugh sounded more like a deep throated moan than any form of agreement. Brady switched the subject before the large white wolf started lecturing him on his need for more regular and joyful church attendance. “You must have had to go for a while there, Raleigh.” The big professor of organic chemistry pointed to the antique pitcher full of Sasquatch and oversize wolf pee. “You almost filled it up, pup. But hey, no worries, in spite of what Harry said.” Then he carefully opened the cabin door, peered both ways, and frowned as he noticed several people walking along the narrow corridor. He quietly closed it again. “But, ah, we do have to get rid of this, and probably be a whole lot better if we got rid of it before Harry gets back from his tour of the train. And ya know, me carrying a hundred-year-old pitcher full of strange-smelling pee down a swaying hall full of very wealthy and sophisticated people does not strike me as a good way to make a meaningful impression… lasting impression perhaps, but probably not meaningful… so…”
Anyone else walking up on the scene would have thought the big man just a bit off, talking to the white dog like the animal actually understood. And they would have been wrong. To the outside world Raleigh’s movements and yaps, sniffs and groany growls would have just been
cute dog noises, but to Brady and Harry, who understood their canine companion even to the point of hearing his thoughts in plain English, all was as it should be.
The pure-born redneck Bigfoot spied the window, shook his head, and then laughed. “Who’s gonna know?”
Cautiously he opened the large cabin window with the available hand crank. When he had gotten it opened as far as he could and the cold night air streaming along the side of the train was causing the temperature in the room to plunge, he picked up the very full pitcher and very, very gingerly, like he was caressing a large stinky bowl of nasty, placed the pitcher on the lip of the windowsill and poured.
The wind caught the amazing mix of carnal Sasquatch, neutral dog, and ancient piety and blew it straight into the face of the Jormungandr who had been creeping along the streaking train’s side like a spider crawling down its web toward unsuspecting prey. A demon straight out of Norse legend, the Jormungandr’s serpent like face caught the full blast of the fragrant spray. The effect was immediate and devastating. What Brady and Raleigh felt was clean and fragrant burned into the demon like acid coals. Its skin blistered and when it instinctively grabbed its face, it lost its balance, fell off the speeding train, was slammed backwards by the high wind, and got sucked beneath the crushing iron wheels of the railroad car.
Brady heard a brief shriek and jumped back. Hearing no more, he looked at Raleigh, who shrugged doggy-style.
“What in hell was that?” Brady asked, then remembered Harry’s warning about the possible consequences of using the pitcher for a slop jar and throwing the product out the window. Raleigh, who had just had a similar thought, whimpered, lay on the floor, crossed his legs, and looked up at Brady, trying to play innocent.
“Don’t give me that I’m just a big dumb dog look. You are just as much to blame as I am.” The huge man dropped heavily into his seat. He expected to hear the rush of the conductor’s feet and the screeching complaints of some dear old lady who just woke from an evening nap to the warm slap of a watery spray of fragrant pee. He waited, the clock in the cabin ticking… Nothing… His forehead beaded with perspiration expecting the worst. Yet no frantic calls or running feet made their way down the narrow corridor. Finally, after five minutes, he sighed and turned to the white wolf, whose eyes had never left him and whose head and ears had tilted listening for the same troubles to come hurrying toward them. Brady’s left eyebrow slowly snuck up toward his forehead, a slight grin creeping into position across his lips. Then Raleigh snorted and the big man bent over howling.
Before the laughter reached Raleigh’s ears, the wall separating Brady and Raleigh’s cabin from its neighbor exploded. Splinters of wood raked into both of them, piercing in dozens of places. Behind the explosion burst a giant red-headed warrior and a figure draped in a Greek tunic. Together they smashed into Brady and Raleigh, hammering them into the ground. Bleeding and stunned by the explosion and the blows that followed immediately after, both wolf and Sasquatch were knocked unconscious.
Harry felt the explosion fifty yards away in the lounge. Instinctively he grabbed Belle, pushing her down and under a nearby lounge table.
Before Belle hit the ground, she was yelling, “It wasn’t my doing, Harry!”
Puzzled, Harry looked down at her. Belle Rodum felt the pressure of his body covering her, protecting her, willing to put himself between her and harm. Thoughts raced through her mind. She’d never had anybody sacrifice themselves for her nor ever known anybody she would have done it for. But the most troubling thought, one that stunned her, was what else she saw in him. It had not even occurred to Harry that she had been a part or aware of the explosion. He trusted her!
Belle realized she had been set up. Laden Long was ahead of her, anticipating her. She knew that explosion had been meant for Harry’s friends. She grabbed Harry by the collar, pulled him close, and said, “Go! Run to them, you may yet be in time! Go!”
Faster than most humans could move, Harry was off the floor and out the door, the speaker sword out of its sheath, blazing with a bright blue flame. “I told you not to trust her!” the sword’s voice screamed in his head.
“It wasn’t her, they set her up!” he answered, racing down the smoking corridor. In seconds Harry was on site. The cabin was burning. The train’s metallic cry pierced the shouts of rescuers as its braking threw people to the ground. As Harry stumbled toward the burning ruin of his cabin, the cries of wounded surrounded him, blood covered the walls and floor. His heart in his throat, he pulled down the visor of his armor. He had worn it since they got on the boat in England, its stealth qualities allowing it to hide over his regular clothing till needed. With the visor down he stepped across the burning threshold of his and Brady’s cabin, expecting to see the shredded remains of his friends. There was nothing. The bodies were gone.
Chapter 16
Sarah woke in the strong arms of Kusaila. She could smell him before she opened her eyes. He smelled of camp smoke and sweat, mixed with a tinge of fear. He usually smelled strong and masculine. The tinge of fear she caught was not for himself but for her. Both avatars, golden age starlet and Colonial colonel, were aware the moment she crossed into consciousness.
“She’s awake,” the sword’s Virginian drawl announced.
“Don’t rush her, it’s been a very traumatic moment!” a husky Mid-Atlantic purr responded.
“Okay, okay… Sarah… how are you doing?” the sword continued.
Sarah shook herself, groaned, and then opened her eyes. She had hoped to be staring up into Kusaila’s big brown eyes but instead two heads crowded the space, both faces more in her mind than out. She closed her eyes again, took a deep breath, then opened them. The faces had disappeared and this time Kusaila was waiting for her.
“You did it, my Sarah, you finally broke the spell of the dark serpent. You willingly went back and touched the broken place. Things will be better, Sarah. Now they will be better.” Kusaila lifted her and placed a cup of water to her lips. She took a sip, then another.
In a coarse voice she asked, “What time is it, how long was I gone?”
“It is the morning of the next day, my Sarah… You were gone most of one day. The sword and Liv were able to observe your journey and report back. I grieve for you. Your pain really is my pain now.”
Sarah stared at Kusaila. She was quiet a moment as different thoughts fought for control. Part of her was glad to be with Kusaila. She loved him and knew it. But there was also a part of her that could not let go of Harry. She had expected once she had relived her betrayal that the depth of her love for Harry would have been washed away in the time stream’s cold rush. It had not. Now all she felt was a terrible grief, and a conflict that threatened to rip her apart. But as she looked up into the deep brown eyes of the Berber chieftain, she knew what she would do. She gulped, stuffed her heartache into an abyss of her soul, and chained it there. She would marry Kusaila; she would fight for his people, and if need be, she would die for them.
“Oh, Sarah…” she heard two voices in sync, one male, one female, softly whisper.
She sat up, grabbed Kusaila’s outstretched hand, and stood. With the back of her hand she wiped the tears from her face and turned toward her fiancé. “I have one more task to do, then we are free to marry. Could you give me a moment? I think this will be easier to do if you’re not in the room with me when I write it.”
“I understand… I really do, Sarah. You are an amazing and honorable woman. I love you.” And with those words Kusaila parted the tent curtains and walked out. What Sarah didn’t hear were his thoughts. My Sarah, one day I will tell you how dragons can hear the thoughts of those they love… and now I have a decision to make. Will I accept your sacrifice knowing you love me but are not in love with me? Or will I set you free to follow your true heart?
As soon as Kusaila left the room, Sarah said, “Liv, help me! Sword, I am going to need words that cut him free. But not that hurt him.”
George Washington Sword appeared sittin
g at an old desk with parchment in front of him and a quill in his hand. “Do what you have to do, Sarah.”
“We are with you, Sarah. You know you are doing the right thing,” Liv whispered.
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
Liv sighed and in a comforting motherly tone continued, “Oh, Sarah, if it didn’t hurt it would mean you didn’t care, you didn’t love. It should hurt. The more you love Harry, the more it should hurt.”
Sarah’s voice cracked and, in a whisper, she cried, “Then I must love him more than life itself because I am ripping out my heart to do the right thing.”
“Yes, you are, Sarah… Yes, you are…” Liv answered as the speaker Washington began to write with the quill.
Chapter 17
After helping other rescuers relocate the wounded to a safe car of the express, Harry found a quiet spot in the forward lounge and sat down. The train had begun to move again. It was limping along with a gaping hole in its streamlined side, but it was moving, rushing toward a hospital where they could find help for the more seriously wounded. Harry had tried to find Belle Rodum but not been able to. She had disappeared. He wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. It seemed he had lived with disappointment for so long it was second nature. What he found surprising were the days when things went right and he was at peace. He couldn’t actually remember the last time that was.
As he sat at the table lost in his own thoughts, wondering if Brady and Raleigh had been blown out of the train, a somber waiter brought him a note.
“This was left for you, sir.”
He took the note and opened it. In handwritten Greek letters it read,
Dragon Rider, I have the Sasquatch and your dog. They will live a little longer if in three days you surrender yourself to me in Goslar, Germany, at the Goslar collegiate church of St. Jude.
Cadmus
The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set Page 57
