by James Somers
The guards had kept them here for several days. They had not even been allowed to leave the chamber to relieve themselves. A basin had been kicked to them across the floor. The guards had laughed at Belial’s wraith dancers, mocking their predicament. Jen and the others had lined themselves between the male guards and anyone needing to use the basin. They wouldn’t give these infidels the satisfaction of looking upon them.
The dragons had retreated during the fight with Varen’s men and their old world weapons. None of the priestesses knew what to make of it. Still, they clung to the hope that their gods would arrive to rescue them. Many of their sisters in the faith had already been killed in the coup that won Varen the palace soon after the dragons withdrew to Mount Doom.
The slightest gesture from across the room caught Jen’s eye. She had thought that a shadow passed across the wall behind the soldiers. They took their watch in shifts; a dozen in all. These men knew what wraith dancers could do if given the chance. They didn’t intend to let them get close enough. All of the women had been stripped of weapons. They still had the Gifts of Transcendence at their disposal, but that required proximity.
Jen watched the men. Six rifles were trained on her and her sisters. The other six men slept, or ate food that other soldiers brought to them from outside the room. In an emergency, the soldiers outside could seal the chamber then blast away at them from fist-sized holes they had knocked into the wooden door.
Fifty women watched their captors while another thirty slept. The others had either been killed, or had fled the city; hopefully to bring help. The shadow on the wall behind the soldiers moved again. This time when it did, three men fell silently in their ranks. Only their impact on the stone floor caught the attention of those bearing rifles at the barricade. As several turned, a blur caught Jen’s eye.
She thought she saw an Elder Mother for a blink’s time before she disappeared. Men fell. Some were pummeled and thrown through the barricade. The other gunmen reacted, looking for the attacker. Others kept their eyes on the priestesses in their sights. More men fell. Gunmen turned and fired. They had no target.
Soldiers cried out and were silenced; all twelve within the space of a few seconds. Suddenly, Elder Mother Helda was standing next to Jen, cutting through her bonds with a bloody knife. “Escape,” she said. “Kill Varen’s soldiers in the city. Purge the Temple of Belial of these infidels. Varen has seated himself in the temple.”
She went through the women quickly as they came to her eagerly to be set free. “The armory still has our weapons,” Helda said. “Go now. The soldiers in the hall are dead.”
Jen wasted no time. The wraith dancers surged out of the chamber, leaping over the corpses of soldiers in the corridor beyond. Jen noted Helda’s efficiency in dispatching the soldiers. For such a slight, older woman she was exquisitely skilled.
Little was actually known of Helda, since she had not personally trained new priestesses for several hundred years. Jen did know that she was said to have special influence in the kingdom, though the stories were closer to legend than anything. The woman also dwelled apart from the palace on an estate of her own. This alone signified her high standing before the dragons, since none of the other priestesses were allowed to own property. Only the High Priest, Benjamin, had a similar standing. But he was not a wraith dancer.
Jen led the charge through the corridors of their familiar home in the palace. At the armory, they would arm themselves for the coming battle with Varen and his infidels. After several days of humiliation and confinement, Jen thirsted for action.
As the line of wraith dancers wound almost silently through the hall, a pair of guards on patrol appeared from around the corner ahead. Jen drew from the gifts instantly, using the Touch to take down the first of the two that reacted. She thrust her intertwined index and middle fingers directly into the soldier’s breastbone, shattering it to fragments and eviscerating the heart muscle pumping beneath. The infidel fell dead as Jen ran on with barely a pause in her stride.
One of her sister priestesses took down the other man as Jen had known she would. The door to the armory appeared within moments. Jen and the others rushed through, finding nearly a dozen soldiers with guns standing within the rectangular room. The soldiers barely had time to react as deadly wraith dancers flew into their ranks. Each man fell dead, many bearing wounds through the Touch to their torsos and heads. None of Varen’s soldiers had gotten off a shot in response.
A vast cache of knives and swords lay before them. The priestesses armed themselves quickly and efficiently. This drill was well practiced, though most of the priestesses had never participated in the kind of action they were faced with now. Most wraith dancers practiced a quiet life of routine and training. Seldom did the average citizen require the kind of special consideration offered by these skilled assassins.
Still, all the training they had received promoted a zeal for battle; a hunger to kill the enemy that had only now begun to be sated. Jen procured several braces of daggers, thrown across her torso for easy throwing. Then she grabbed a set of long fighting knives; more like short swords than anything. She had spent years perfecting her skills with them. Now she wanted to see how it worked in real combat.
The priestesses took what they needed then started out again, running through the palace. Every time they found guards on patrol, they immediately killed them, staying on the move. They would cleanse Belial’s palace, at least what was left after Belial’s rampage, then move on into the city and the High Serpent King’s temple where Varen had set up his base of operation.
Jen and the others came upon another group of guards like those who had previously been guarding them. Again, they did not pause to plan, but ran hard at the men. The soldiers attempted to react, but the wraith dancers at the front of the line hurled daggers at them again and again, quickly subduing all twelve who had been posted. Not a shot had been fired.
Jen dared to hope that they might have found another group of wraith dancers held captive. The barricade with holes hacked through the door appeared the same. A man’s face came close to one of the holes, looking out to investigate the disturbance. The Elder Mother standing next to Jen did not waste time formulating a plan to get inside.
The man’s eyes widened as he prepared to sound the alarm to his fellows within. Elder Mother Grace powered through with two arms, palms out toward her target. Jen recognized the maneuver. Grace impacted the door using the gift known as the Ram.
The wooden door shattered, flying inward upon the surprised soldiers as Grace followed through with her body, sounding a loud war cry as she did so. The result was like an explosion. Grace plowed through over top of the man, searching for more combatants on the other side. Jen and her sisters swarmed through after her. Jen put her twin blades to good use.
She deflected a rifle leveling on her with her left blade while simultaneously thrusting her right through the soldier’s chest. She let him fall as she went to the next and the next. Nearly twenty soldiers had been posted here guarding about fifty to sixty more wraith dancers. Within moments, the soldiers were dead and the captive priestesses had been released from their bonds. It was now time to cleanse Belial’s temple.
REVENGE
Ezekiah and Donavan stumbled down the face of Mount Doom. Baphmet’s cries followed them despite the dragon not having an immediate way to reach them. They followed the paved path left by the dragon priests; a cobble lane suitable for driving horses and wagons along. Still, their frantic pace had them nearly tripping over one another as they ran for safety.
“The charges, Ezekiah!” Donavan shouted. “Detonate the explosives like Thane said.”
The prophet slowed then.
“What’s wrong?” Donavan asked, looking back every few seconds with the expectation of dragons in pursuit.
“This is not the way the dragons will be defeated, Donavan. I tried to tell Thane that.”
“Surely it’s better than nothing at this point,” Donavan argued. “Bes
ides, you did promise the man as he took his dying breaths, Ezekiah. That must be worth something.”
Ezekiah sighed as he stared back up the mountain. Then he looked at Donavan. “I did promise, and so I must keep my word. However, I see no good in this, Donavan.”
The preacher waited expectantly as Ezekiah held the detonator.
“We still need to get further away,” Ezekiah warned.
Donavan took off ahead of him down the path. “Then let’s be quick about it while they are still contained within the mountain.”
Ezekiah followed him another three hundred yards further down the mountain. He looked at the green light then pressed the trigger on the detonator.
“Bring it down and grind it to powder,” Varen commanded. He watched as his men threw ropes over the great head of the stone dragon perched upon its plinth in the temple’s outer court. More than twenty had lassoed the great marble image of Belial. Horses had been brought in to provide muscle on the ropes with the hope of toppling Belial from his seat of power.
Jillian regarded their efforts with a roll of her eyes from across the room. She was twirling a bejeweled dagger between her elegant, nimble fingers. The blade whirled round; a blur of motion. She never received so much as a scratch from the blade.
Varen turned, strolling toward her.
“Stone does not engulf you in flame when you attack it,” she said.
Varen laughed. “You disapprove?”
She stood, looking him in the eyes. “I’m only saying that Belial will not be so easily subdued.”
Varen considered her with a grin. “Where is he then? Last I saw of the brute he had turned tail and run back to his mountain to lick his wounds. In days now he has not emerged to challenge our takeover in his patron city.”
“This is too easy, Varen,” she said, suddenly serious. “They will not stay away, and I don’t want to lose you.”
Varen grinned at her again then took her into his arms, kissing her. Jillian accepted it, but her troubled thoughts still had sway. She was not smiling as he withdrew.
Behind them, the soldiers worked with the horses, attempting to bring down the marble statue of the High Serpent King. The stone was stubborn to say the least. So far, neither men nor horses had been able to budge it. They pulled together; the horses taking the lead with men lined up behind each on the ropes. The image began to shift but not much.
Jillian heard a shot fire outside in the street some distance away. Only once. No more. She reached for the Gifts of Transcendence; pulling enhanced hearing, sight and speed from the reservoir she found waiting. She ran toward the temple entrance with her knife ready in her hand.
In the street beyond, she saw over one hundred wraith dancers approaching the temple. They moved quickly and silently. Soldiers patrolling the main thoroughfare before Belial’s Temple had been slain already. Fortunately, one shot had been fired before they were all killed. Otherwise, she and Varen would have been unaware until it was too late.
“Varen!” she cried. “The wraith dancers have escaped the palace. They’ll be here in seconds!”
“Weapons men!” Varen commanded. “We’re under attack!”
The men ceased their work on Belial’s image straightway, gathering their weapons immediately in preparation to defend the temple as Varen had ordered. Jillian watched as her former sisters in the priesthood approached. She was not foolish enough to run headlong into the fray with so many. In moments, she would be overwhelmed.
The soldiers took up positions near the entrance while others rushed to the main arch leading into the street. As they emerged, several were cut down by knives and arrows in flight. The other soldiers opened fire on anything that moved before them.
Jillian rushed to Varen’s side. She meant to protect him with her very life, if need be. Varen raised his own gun in preparation. He knew better than to fight wraith dancers on their own terms. Any sane person who valued their life would. He cocked the firing bolt on the machine gun and waited for the priestesses of Belial to breach the line of soldiers already engaged.
As Ezekiah and Donavan ran down the hillside on approach to Babale, a thunderous explosion rocked the mountain above them. Less than one second from the time the prophet’s finger had depressed the trigger, the explosives had detonated. Shrieks and cries echoed through the caverns and openings in Mount Doom as the dragons cried out in pain and anger.
Ezekiah tripped as the ground shifted beneath his feet. He rolled to a stop, looking back on the mountain as the eastern face slid away into the valley on the other side. As the gargantuan mass of rock fell away, numerous holes appeared; the mouths of tunnels used by the dragons to make their way through the mountain.
Donavan helped Ezekiah to his feet as terrible roaring erupted from the mountain, magnified in intensity by the tunnels themselves. The roaring continued, growing more intense. Ezekiah knew what must be coming.
The tunnels revealed by the landslide funneled the rage of the Serpent Kings to them. Within moments the rock bridging those corridors collapsed as Belial and his cohorts crashed through in their fury. In all, four dragons emerged.
Belial, the great red dragon and High Serpent King, shot through first, releasing gouts of flame into the open air; certainly only a taste of what he would unleash upon Varen and his soldiers in Babale below. Daimon, the sapphire blue dragon and third in size below Belial and Moloch, came after. Asteroth, the yellow dragon, and Baphmet the emerald green followed them as they took to the air, howling and screeching so that Ezekiah and Donavan had to hold their hands to their ears against the pain.
The prophet and his apprentice lay in the brush where they had fallen as the Serpent Kings assembled themselves in loose formation then drove hard toward helpless Babale spread across the vast plain below. They did not go quietly. They went forward to spread terror in the hearts of man.
Ezekiah stood up from the ground, Donavan joining him. “What have we done?” Donavan asked.
Ezekiah stared out over the city below them; the sun reflected brilliantly from Babale’s endless sea of polished marble. “We’ve made things worse than we could have imagined.”
DRAGONS
I had very few and precious memories of my family; that is of my natural family. I remembered my mother having auburn hair like overripe apples from the vineyards of Canaan. My father had been a tall man with a muscular frame. He had worn a beard matching his curly brown mop of hair. My brother had taken after him.
Being the lone female child in the household, and possessing whatever particular traits that the Elder Mothers looked for, I had been chosen by the priestess assigned to our suburb of Babale. I would be trained as a wraith dancer in order to serve the High Serpent King, Belial the Glorious, as one of his priestesses.
Our family had celebrated along with our neighbors. This was a great honor. Out of all of the families to whom girls were born, this was a rare gift from the gods. Not only would I be honored by the choosing, my family would receive accolades as well. In fact, they would now have the honor and pleasure of experiencing the blessed Renewal before the common folk of the kingdom. They would be received by Belial himself, becoming one with a god.
Even within the dream of my family, I nearly choked at the thought. For I knew, for certain, that Belial and his fellow dragons were no gods at all. Mankind had been fooled all these hundreds of years. We had believed a lie and worshiped monsters.
The memory of smiling faces came back now to haunt me; the sweet smelling flowers that adorned our home during the dedication ceremony where my family surrendered me to the High Serpent King. The street before my home had been lined with happy neighbors wishing me and my family well.
My father had kissed my forehead. My mother had braided daisies into my hair. My brother had pulled on my braids. Typical that.
I had been taken in one carriage while my family departed in another. I had gone into seclusion for three days as part of my purification before being presented to my new Elder Mother. My
family had gone straight to the palace. I could only imagine what had happened next.
No doubt they had been welcomed with open arms by the priests of Belial. Had there been much fanfare for the parents of the newest priestess? It was very likely. The priests love to eat. What better excuse to have a banquet prepared. Besides, what better way to fatten up my family for their coming audience with the High Serpent King?
I could see them now in my mind as they waited breathlessly in the vestibule connected to Belial’s private chamber. They would have been nervous, likely even terrified of the prospect of standing before one of the dragon gods. I had been scared to death before walking through those doors.
Still, the steward would have ushered them all through when the little bell rang. Nervously, they would have proceeded into Belial’s private chamber, following the corridor with its candles aglow. Standing petrified at the marble balustrade, my family would have waited as Belial revealed himself. Naturally they would have fallen upon their faces before him. My father had taught us reverence for the dragons, and we had obeyed without question.
I can only guess at the words Belial might have spoken before he reached out to embrace them all. Perhaps they had willingly entered the great palm of his scaly hand, still scared but elated as well, expecting that a magnificent miracle was about to change them all into gods. In a heartbeat, Belial would have then devoured them. Their cries would never have been heard by those on the outside.
My dream had imprisoned me. Nevertheless I knew that I was still chained to the wall beneath the streets of Babale. The guards who had been left by the wraith dancer, Jillian, had evidently been given liberty to beat me if they felt like it. I had been struck across the face several times by one of the men. In three days, they had rotated their shifts a number of times.
I had been allowed limited freedom only to relieve myself. Tobias had been held at knife point as far from me as possible to ensure my good behavior. Otherwise, the small amount of food and water we received had to be force fed to me by Tobias. They allowed him free, since he seemed only a very small threat, in order to feed me.
