Sarah rolled her eyes, not thinking twice about the fact her grandmother had read her mind, and then asked the question no one seemed in a hurry to bring up.
“Was that really Harry? Or was it a glimpse into the future of what could be? Am I allowed to go to him in real time?” She grabbed a cookie, took a large gulp of milk, and settled in under her grandfather’s arm. It was her place and her papa.
Her grandmother sat in the stuffed leather chair across from her and looked at her husband. He sighed and said, “It’s real time, Sarah. You are allowed to go to him, but it may already be too late.”
Sarah’s emotions were drained. She sat on the couch, numb. She had lost Kusaila, killed hundreds of enemies, and rallied a nation. Now she was visiting with her ghostly grandparents and had just seen the tortured body of the once love of her life—the once? Hmmm… the thought troubled her; she still loved him, right?—being prepared for a sacrifice to free some demon prince called Strongman.
She took a small bite of cookie, then stopped and looked at it. Sighing, she remembered this was a dream. Even though in a sense it was real, it was still a dream. She could eat cookies while despairing and trying to understand what she had seen in a dream… couldn’t she? She felt like she should be screaming and throwing things and then shift into dragon form and race to Harry’s side. Burning and brawling, she would steal him away and take care of him. So why was she sitting on her grandparents’ couch eating cookies and drinking ice-cold milk?
Her grandfather hugged her closer. “Sarah, it’s okay. Your grandmother and I are here, and we have deliberately tried to create the safest place for you right now. It’s your safe place. We realize you have some awful decisions to make now.”
Sarah looked at him, puzzled by his use of the word awful. He responded, “Awful in the way of huge, life-changing—more than that, nation- and time-changing—decisions, so yes, awful.”
She set her milk back on the table, was quiet a moment, and then began to speak. “Thank you for this… it is so special, so important to me, and you are right, this is a crossroads. I recognize I am in shock from a number of traumas. Traumas—is that even a word?”
Her grandmother interrupted, “It is now, honey. Keep talking.”
Sarah nodded and continued, “And no matter what I choose, someone, several someones, are going to be hurt. If I choose to stay, Harry may die horribly… I can’t stand that thought!” She shuddered. Her grandmother grabbed a blanket that lay across her chair and threw it to her husband, who draped it around Sarah.
“But if I leave, what will happen to Kusaila’s people? They were devastated by this last attack. There are so many dead, so many grieving… they need encouragement and help. But, and I don’t know about Harry’s mission or why he is in a stone cell being tortured by Nazis, but in his emails he wrote about World War Two and changing outcomes, and if that happens millions of people could die.”
“Keep talking, Sarah, you’re getting there. You’re just taking your sweet time doing it,” her grandmother mused.
Sarah looked back at her, eyes narrowed, confusion written across her face.
“Keep peeling back the layers, honey, it’s going to be all right,” her grandfather encouraged, giving his wife a scowl.
Grace simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “She has to face it, Kenneth. Her real fear… she fears for Harry but…”
Sarah frowned as the thought her grandmother had been trying to steer her toward docked in the foggy port of her heart. “I’m not that selfish, Grandma! This isn’t about me. It’s about Harry and Kusaila’s people. Not just me…”
“Sarah, there is no condemnation in this house, but the reason we are here is to help you deal with all of these issues, and especially the one that your heart hides from your head. And, if I may be so bold, the question is, Does Harry still love you? You left him for Kusaila and he has a vested interest in pursuing the witch that he has almost turned… she is not purely evil anymore. And she has fallen for Harry, and if you show up you might get your heart broke.” Her grandmother’s voice softened and she whispered, “You probably will get your heart broke.”
Large tears streamed down Sarah’s face. Her voice trembled as she pushed through confusion and denial. “Yes… Yes, I know. But I can’t leave him to die. He laid down his life for me.”
A thought hit her, and before she could form the words to ask, her grandfather answered, “I am sorry, Sarah, once time has been changed at this magnitude, the primary agent of that change—if they leave—cannot come back. You can move in other time streams, but if you leave this one, you can never return.”
Chapter 42
Harry watched from the recesses of his mind as Belle Rodum’s image collapsed and faded away. He knew he could not hold out much longer. He did not remember ever being so alone. His access to the sword had been cut off early during his captivity. How the Nazi’s did that was beyond him, but they had. He also didn’t understand how he could be so terribly aware of this refuge of his mind. Most dreams and visions were abstract vestiges of memory. This… this was real. It was vivid; it was like being hidden away in a closet of his own house, hiding from those who wanted to hurt him.
He had retreated there unexpectedly during the first round of torture. One minute he had been quivering underneath the knives of the German physician Oberheust, the next he was here seated on this rock staring at the fire. He didn’t know how it worked but he was extremely grateful it did. He still felt pain, even here. Occasionally a sharp pain would rip through him, hunching him over, but he always recovered and the pain always receded. He knew he was weakening. A heavy weight clung to him; his thoughts were often confused. The few times he had left this refuge had been excruciating. In that agony he had fought to stay aware and conscious of his surroundings, and ultimately always wound up back here staring at the campfire.
He had half expected visitors. He didn’t know what form they would take, but he had a feeling there would definitely be some. When Belle Rodum showed up he wasn’t surprised, and once they talked and she had convinced him she had not betrayed him, he was grateful and relieved. But now what? What happened next? How was he going to get out of this mess?
Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a noise, a shuffling, that came from the dark tunnel that led away from his campfire light. He had noticed the tunnel when he first came to this refuge. He wasn’t inclined to explore it and sensed no danger from it, until now.
As he listened, he heard a puffing like a giant steam engine. The sound was familiar and caused the hair on his neck to stand up. He had a hard time concentrating; he forgot words and common things, and this was one of those times. He knew the noise. It meant danger approaching. Then the smell hit him… even here in the hidden closet of his mind the odor reached him. Had he had all his senses about him he would have remembered that smells, fragrances or death odors, were markers of the supernatural. He was in a supernatural place and the odor had found him. He jerked as recognition came. He knew what crept through the dark tunnel. It was a dragon.
Harry’s first impulse was to run, but then he realized there was no place to run to. So, he waited, squinting through the gloom as the smell became more intense and the noise louder. After a moment a red glow formed, growing brighter till it filled the room. He was surprised at his calm, and his curiosity.
A large head finally filled the tunnel entrance, followed by the body and tail of the dragon he had smelled. He recognized it now. It was the beast Long had showed him, the demon Long wanted to release. Had it finally broken free? What was it doing here? A thought flashed through Harry’s mind: I’m dead and this thing has come to torment me.
The dragon sneered at Harry. The ever-present tendrils of smoke floated from its nostrils. Harry watched as it curled up like a German shepherd before a fire, nose to tail, claws extended. It faced Harry and waited. Harry was intrigued, not afraid, and stared back. Neither seemed inclined to break the silence. Finally, the dragon sighed and spo
ke.
“Harry Ferguson, the dragon rider…” The great beast’s voice was low-pitched and grinding. It wasn’t loud, but not a whisper, and it was distinctively feminine. “We’ve met before, you know. But you don’t remember, do you?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am, and I am pretty sure I would have remembered you had we met.”
The dragon’s head tilted back and a bitter laugh poured out. “Oh, Harry, we met eons ago, and we fought till we were both bled dry, my flames were quenched, and your sword broken, and it didn’t have to be… none of it had to be.”
Harry was puzzled. His eyes narrowed as he watched the dragon’s features. It was remembering, revisiting ancient memories. Lost in what was and what should have been.
He found himself apologizing. “I don’t remember and I don’t understand. What didn’t have to be?”
A sad smirk settled across the beast’s face. “A dragon and a dragon rider share many of the same gifts, Harry Ferguson. They both traverse the corridors of time. They both get lost in what could have been and what should be. Most of the time they are of one accord, but you and I, we never have been. I remember, but because of your human nature you cannot. Your simple brain can’t multitask. You can’t weave the discord and the chaos, and the possibilities, into a tapestry. You get lost among the threads, but believe me, we have been entangled for millennia. Our souls have fought and loved and killed each other, hammering out the kinks of time. You are more than you know, and in each life you discover facets of that nature. Occasionally you grasp the truth, and then you lose it with each transition.”
“So, who are you? And why have we fought?”
The dragon moved closer to Harry’s shivering form. Darkness like a depressing shadow pushed forward, invading his space. A malicious façade of a smile slipped across the massive face, and it whispered, “I am Sarah!”
Chapter 43
Raleigh’s tail couldn’t help itself, and for the first time in days thumped wildly on the stone walls of the small cell. “Good lady, make fire, loud noise. Throw poo-poo on mean mans that lock us up. Me like her lots.”
“I’m starting to think you’re right, you big oaf. But don’t be forgetting she is a witch. Might be on our side for the moment, but only till it suits her to change back. She is for herself and doesn’t even know how to be any other way. So don’t go slobbering all over her. Remember it was her pointy sticks that pierced you a few months ago.”
Raleigh’s tail stopped thumping. He backed up a few feet, tilted his head, and then cautiously step by step moved closer to Belle. Finally, he was eyeball to eyeball with her, his brown eyes focused on hers. She tried hard to hold his stare but then dropped her eyes to the floor. Gently Raleigh’s big tongue swept across her downcast face. She looked back into his eyes and threw her arms around him. Raleigh’s tail began to thump wildly again.
Brady didn’t know what to think and, truth be known, thought Belle was a good actor and Raleigh a simple dog.
“Brady no need be ’fraid of Belle. Her heart change. No more bad ghost in there. She good now. She love Harry. Raleigh likes her lots.” The great white dog ducked his head and tried to nuzzle Belle. She just held him tighter, her head resting on his huge neck.
“I don’t know that Raleigh is a good judge of character, but I do know his heart is and his nose can sniff out deceit. So, if he trusts you… then, well, I guess I ought to as well.”
Belle rose from holding on to Raleigh. Her face was red, and even in the gloom of the dark cell Brady could see her eyes glistened. It was enough for him. He exhaled a breath he did not realize he had held and said, “Now is there any way you can use those witchy powers of yours to finish breaking off these silver shackles?”
Belle smiled. “Of course.” She took Brady’s hands in her own and flinched. Silver was not a metal supernaturals cherished. It burnt them. But Belle could see the manacles were close to breaking. If she could endure the pain for a few minutes and focus on the areas Brady’s hammering had already weakened, she could finish the job and set him free. “This is going to hurt.” She tightened her grip on the silver cuffs, closed her eyes, and spoke.
“Silver metal of purest form, hear me now and revert to norm, pull back and change, by blood and name, loose this man, there is no claim.” As Belle chanted, the silver vibrated and grew hotter, so hot that Brady began to gasp. He bit his lips to keep from crying out. Belle’s own hands were burning, sweat dripping off her forehead. The smell of burnt hair and flesh assaulted their noses. Raleigh whimpered. Belle gritted her teeth but still she held on. Brady was about to scream at her to stop when he heard a crack, a pop, and then the clang of the metal hitting the stone floor. Belle collapsed into a pile on the filthy floor. Raleigh tried as much as a creature without hands could to catch her, easing her fall. Brady slid down the stone wall, smoke still curling around his hands. Both of them had amazing regenerative powers, but the pain was overwhelming. And they were working off extremely limited reserves.
Belle slipped into a welcome unconscious but did not stay there long. She woke to hear a familiar voice steeped in contempt and saturated with deceit.
“That’s right, Harry. I am Sarah, and we have been locked together in a hundred lifetimes and in each I have betrayed you!”
Belle rubbed her eyes and walked toward the voice and the dim campfire light. She saw two figures, one huddled, trembling, the other hulking and laughing. The dragon was tormenting Harry. Immediately she realized she was in Harry’s mind, watching as the strongman pressed against the bonds. It was not free yet but it was close. Belle could sense the bonds stretching, tearing, on the verge of breaking, and when they did hell would ascend and rivers of blood would once again cover the earth.
She rushed toward Harry, ignoring the dragon, who pulled back hissing from her presence. “Harry! Harry!” She shook him, then threw her arms around him. She saw his face and grimaced. He was in shock.
His words stumbled over one another in a slow fall into madness. “Sarah? Sarah? Can’t be… not a demon… but she is! Explains so much… betrayal, again and again…” Sadness etched his voice, his eyes were glassy, and he kept repeating, “Sarah? No! Sarah? Explains so much.”
Belle was stunned. She watched Harry falling into the abyss, love broken, dreams shattered, life grasping for hope that was not. She heard the quiet laughter of the dragon who had crept back up as she held Harry. She closed her eyes, and then she saw it, a spark, like fireflies gathering on the inside of her eyelids. She studied them and realized they were growing brighter. Instinctively she blew on them. Suddenly they were no longer limited to the darkness of her imagination, they were hovering and swirling around her, and they spoke with tiny voices, in chorus—a harmony of light that brightened her heart and stoked the coals that had almost sputtered out.
Belle heard their voices faintly at first. She pressed in and their volume increased. She knew the song, so familiar, but not her memories… Not her memories, but memories of those who came before her, who were part of her, her ancestors. Her blood had not forgotten in spite of generations of evil and rebellion. The blood still sang, and when her heart was free from the clamoring darkness it remembered the song.
The Name comes still, it comes from the beginning,
Burning with anger in dense clouds and in lips that are full of wrath and a tongue of consuming fire.
Remember whose you were, remember whose you are. His hand has never left you; his flame is in your heart.
Arise, O angry one, and speak against the night. The name has not forgotten, children of the blight.
Belle opened her eyes and grinned. She looked at Harry and then slapped him right across the face. He blinked and she slapped him again. Her hand stung. She didn’t understand how in a disembodied form she could feel the sting of her hand against his cheek, but she did. She started to slap him again but he caught her hand. He raised an eyebrow and nodded, then stood up and threw back the robes he had cowered in. He looked directly at the d
ragon and spit.
He turned to Belle Rodum. “Thank you.” Then looking back at the dragon, he folded his arms and said, “You are a liar. You are not Sarah. You have not lived a hundred lives. You may be a time traveler, we might have fought, but you are also a demon, bound and striving to break free. I will not give you that ground.
“You are trying to break my will, to cause me such despair that I willingly sacrifice my life to you…” He moved closer to the dragon that had stepped back. This time he leaned into the great beast and whispered, “Dragon, you forget I know your past, the glory from which you fell and the battle that you lost and the future that you dread! Now go. You lost again, you are defeated, and I will not abide your presence here anymore!”
Smoke billowed from the dragon’s flared nostrils. Its stomach rumbled, preparing to vomit out its scouring flame. Harry raised an eyebrow and his right hand and wagged his index finger in the serpent’s face. “Uh-uh. Now go.”
The beast stumbled back like it had been struck, a loud screech rang from its lips, and then it turned and slithered quickly back into the dark tunnel.
Belle shook her head in disbelief. She looked up at Harry and stammered, “How did you do that? It cowed before you and backed off. You didn’t strike it or threaten it. I don’t… understand?”
Harry turned back toward her and fell forward. Right away she knew the surge of spiritual strength had drained the physical reserves he had been surviving on. He only had so much energy and if he used it here, he lost it in the physical where his body was struggling to hold on. She caught him and gently lowered him to the cold cave floor. Time was running out. She started to whisper his name, and then felt her essence pulling away. “Noooo!” she screamed, her voice fading like a train whistle retreating into the night.
****
Belle felt something warm and slobbery; someone was scratching her face with wet sandpaper. She struggled to wake and was not helped by the booming voice in her ear yelling her name and shaking her.
The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set Page 67
