Heart of a Dragon

by David Niall Wilson

  Snake slid off the bike and stepped onto the sidewalk. He scanned the park slowly, but there was nothing to see. Salvatore climbed carefully off the bike and stood beside Snake. To the right and left, the others followed suit. They lined the sidewalk, and this time there were so many that the entire edge of the park became a wall of Dragons. They didn't speak, and they didn't move. Every man of them waited for a sign from Snake.

  In the park, the shadows shifted and slid. Patches of darkness so black they stood out, even against the darkness of the unlit field spread out before them, moved and then disappeared. There were lights in the distance. At least, to Salvatore they seem to be far in the distance. He knew the park, though, and it wasn't that big. It wasn't that deep. Those lights looked too far away to exist, and they danced in and around the moving shadows like will-o-the-wisps.

  At every movement, Salvatore felt a shiver of fear dance up his spine. His hands were cold and clammy where he held the flagpole, and he tightened his grip until it was painful. He had one purpose, one reason to stand where he stood. He had to hold the flag. He had to hold it no matter what happened. He had to hold it, or whatever was out there in the darkness would win, and he would be standing there unprotected.

  As they waited, a fog rose. It shimmered up from the grass and licked at the bases of the swings and slides. It floated across the ground from the trees on the far side of the park, sifted through the metal tubes of the monkey bars and jungle gyms. There was no reason for the fog. There was no change in temperature, and when he glanced up, Salvatore saw a clear night sky.

  As that mist obscured their view of the park, something laughed. The sound was dark and chilling. The laughter skittered along the sidewalks and shivered through the air. It was joined by an echoing voice, and then another, but Salvatore could not see where the sounds came from.

  The Dragons shifted nervously. There were coughs and muttered words. Snake glanced right, and then left along the line. Whatever was happening in the park was getting to them, and they wavered.

  Snake reached out quickly and grabbed hold of the flagpole. He didn't yank it from Salvatore's hands, but he shook it, and the motion loosened the ties. With a snap, as if caught in a wind Salvatore couldn't feel, the flag unfurled and flew above them. Snake released the pole and Salvatore stumbled, just for an instant. Then he stood tall. Snake turned toward the park. He slid a heavy dagger from its sheath on his belt. The fog had risen halfway to the lowest branches of the trees now, and nothing but flickering lights was visible in front of them.

  With a scream of rage and defiance, Snake lunged forward. Caught up in the moment, Salvatore raised his own small voice, joining it to Snake's as he plunged after.

  The Dragons, as though released from some common bond that had held them immobile, followed, slipping in behind in ranks of three or four, forming the long, serpentine shape of a serpent as they followed Snake into battle.

  Where Salvatore and the flag moved, the fog dispersed. He saw Snake ahead of him. Shadows flowed in to meet them, and the Dragons surged up and around him. Then the darkness resolved itself into faces. They were men, though their eyes were far too dark, and their expressions held no humanity. Salvatore thought of that dark place, the city of the Dragons, and thought such men as these might slink around the base of the wall and hide in the alleys between buildings. They were fast, so fast they blurred, and Salvatore struggled to avoid the hundred small battles erupting around him.

  Snake fought like a man possessed. He lashed out with his blade, and wherever he turned, shadow-figures fell. He seemed taller, and for every bit of the demon speed of Los Escorpiones, he was faster. To his right, Jake fought valiantly. The big man glowed with an odd, greenish light that emanated from the dragon on his back. Salvatore wished in that instant that he could have painted the dragons of every one of them, could have armored them for this battle.

  He held the flag high, and when he saw a Dragon in trouble, he lunged closer. The presence of the standard rallied them, lent them strength, and drove Los Escorpiones back into the shadows. The battle raged around them, wild, surreal, and encased in a wall of heavy mist and fog. They fought on, but the enemy seemed endless, and Salvatore feared they might never stop coming. His hands were slick from sweat, but he clutched the flagpole with all his strength and prayed for more. He had never felt so alive.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  By the time Donovan was close enough to see the park, the mist had risen to where it nearly brushed the clouds. Lights flickered deep within that mist, but it obscured any view of what was happening beyond the edge of the sidewalk. The street was lined with the Dragons' bikes; the glittering, polished chromed caught reflected shadows from the park itself, but they had no form.

  As they drew closer, muffled sounds of a battle reached them, but it was impossible to make it out as more than the muted clash of metal and the distant echoes of screams. Donovan stopped and turned.

  "What's happening?" Amethyst asked.

  "I'm not sure," Donovan replied. "It could be Los Escorpiones, if they're still possessed. It could be something Martinez and the boy unleashed. We need to get in there."

  Amethyst nodded. She reached up and unclasped a silver chain from her hair. When it unwound it was surprisingly long. There were crystal globes at either end, wrapped in coils of silver. She gripped it near the center and began spinning the globes with a deft flick of her wrist. After only a moment the chain was a blur of motion.

  Donovan watched in fascination as she strode toward the mist. He followed, and as they made contact with that cloudy wall, it gave way before the whirling crystals. It didn't disperse, but the motion of the chain created a tunnel about twice the height of a man that stretched out slowly, cutting through the misty shroud toward the center of the park. Figures flashed in and out of that tunnel. Donovan saw a big man, one of the Dragons, with his hands locked around the throat of a small, slender Escorpione. Before the two disappeared into the mist, the Dragon lifted his opponent and threw him like a rag doll.

  Amethyst glanced over her shoulder at Donovan, her eyebrow raised. The Dragon was a big man, but what they'd just witnessed had been too effortless. A second later the man lunged out of sight with a cry of rage. As he turned, Donovan caught a flash of green, and knew it must be Jake.

  Something cracked like a shot from a very large gun. The sound came from overhead, and Donovan glanced up. He didn't want to take his eyes off of Amethyst. While she spun the crystal she was unable to fend off any attack. Something very big and very dark soared overhead. The mist cleared, just for an instant, and Donovan saw vast wings stretching out to either side. He saw the passing of a long, serpentine tail, and before he could open his mouth to shout a warning, or even voice his surprise, a scream cut through the air that shook the ground and shivered through the mist like rippling waves on a pond.

  At that moment, there was another cry. It wasn't as loud, but there was an echo of the dragon's scream buried deep in the sound. Donovan spun back to the park in time to see Snake leap into view. The Dragon leader had his head back and his face to the sky. He screamed in answer to the beast and spun, just in time, to catch one of Anya Cabrera's bald servants by the throat. The black man was much larger than Snake, but the Dragon gripped him with one hand and lifted him. A quick shake of that hand, and the big man's head lolled one way, and then the other. There was a horrible snapping sound, and Snake released him, turning again. This time he saw Amethyst and Donovan approaching.

  For just a second it seemed he would come at them. Donovan braced himself. His hand went to the hilt of the slender dagger he wore on his hip. Then Salvatore stepped from the fog, the flagpole gripped so tightly in his hands that even from where he stood Donovan saw the boy's knuckles were white with strain. Salvatore's eyes had a glazed, far-away expression, so different from Snake's that Donovan's hand fell away from the handle of his blade in confusion. It was obvious the young artist saw nothing that happened around him. He stood very still, and a
white light flickered up and down his arms. It shimmered on his hair and cast a brilliant glow on the ground at his feet.

  Over head, the flag flapped and waved. As it moved, the dragon emblazoned across it swooped and dove. There was such a sense of motion and life, that Donovan found his gaze drawn to the sky above them once again. Somehow he knew that the dragons were connected. Salvatore was the key.

  Two more Escorpiones leaped into sight. One came at Snake from the front, and the other literally climbed his back, clawing at his hair, scrambling to get higher and reach over to the Dragon president's eyes. Snake bellowed and rolled forward, flinging the attacker off his back. Donovan drew his blade and moved in. He had to step to the side to get around Amethyst without disturbing the spin of the crystal globes, and in that instant, everything changed.

  There was a screech of rage from off to their left. A small form moving very quickly darted out of the mist. It was a young Hispanic woman. Her skin glowed a sickly yellow, and her hair spun out about her face madly. There was something familiar in the woman's gait, and in her voice. Donovan dove forward to try and intercept her course, but she was like a screeching bolt of lightning. As Donovan closed on her, he heard her chanting, and his heart glazed with ice.

  "Anya!" he cried. "Snake! Look out!"

  Snake spun. He saw the girl coming for him and he slipped to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack. He stepped back, but his motion was too swift, and Salvatore was lost in some vision the rest of them could not see. The two collided, and just for an instant, Snake was off balance. In that moment, the woman struck. She dove at him and drove a long, thin blade into his heart.

  Snake reeled from the blow. Even as he lost his balance, he managed to grip the woman by the hair and toss her to the side. She spun with another screech of rage and came in low. Snake tried to dodge her again, but he was bleeding from the knife wound, and still tangled with Salvatore, who stumbled blindly back as if unaware of the encroaching danger.

  "No!" Donovan cried. He flicked his wrist, and a rolled bit of parchment slipped into his hand. He raised it and began to speak, but even as the first words left his lips, Anya struck again. Snake screamed and clutched his chest where her blade bit deep. She drove it in again and again, and he toppled.

  The moment lasted an eternity. Snake fell hard into Salvatore, driving him back and down. Even as they fell, the young artist clung to the flagpole. They struck the ground at the same moment and bounced once. Snake fell across the painted image of the dragon, his blood pouring freely from a wound directly over his heart and blended with the brilliant red paint – the Rojo Fuego. The mist faltered, and as Donovan stepped forward, holding the small parchment before him like a shield, the park grew deathly still.

  Amethyst stepped up behind him. She stopped whirling the crystals and stood just behind his shoulder. Donovan felt her pressing close, and heard her mutter under her breath.

  "My god," she said. "What have they done?"

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  In the second that the world grew still and Donovan hesitated, Anya Cabrera regained her balance and spun on them like an enraged cat. The girl she possessed was lovely, but with Anya's spirit twisting her features she looked like a wild, feral animal. Donovan stood his ground. He held the bit of parchment before him and continued to read. His words were steady and measured. There was little or no variance in his tone. The sound was soothing, mesmerizing, and its effect was immediate.

  Tendrils of light materialized from the air surrounding Anya. They began above her and out of her line of sight, but as she moved to attack they dropped over her in glowing ringlets and formed a net that stopped her in her tracks. She tried to break through, but it held against her assault; where her skin touched the links of light, sparks shot out in all directions. She screamed in rage and backed away, only to find that the net had dropped behind her as well. Donovan's voice grew in strength and volume and he took a step closer.

  Anya grew very still. She watched him approaching, her eyes black pits of hatred, and then – without warning – she began to laugh. The sound grew from a low, crackle like waxed paper flapping in a breeze to the deep cracking of ice breaking in a river. It rose in volume, stretched out and increased in power until the web of light around her shimmered and wavered. She reached out with one hand, almost casually, and plucked at the net with a long nail. It shivered. One frail strand stretched, and though the sparks still flew, and there must have been incredible heat and pain, Anya continued to pull.

  Donovan felt Amethyst move up behind him. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and in the periphery of his vision he saw a golden glow emanate from something clutched in her fingers. She leaned in and read over his shoulder. The parchment contained only a single, two stanza charm. She whispered softly and carefully, and wound her voice in with his. The net around Anya Cabrera flared suddenly and grew strong. The old Houngan pulled her hand back with another screech of pain and rage.

  "You will fail," she cried. "You will fail because your net is meant to cage a mortal, a human captive. I am no longer a part of your weak, puny race. I walk two planes. I share the power of the Loa. It flows through my blood and you have no power to bind it. There is no power in this world to bind it."

  As she spoke, she stepped forward. She reached out and slid her fingers through the links of light, gripped tightly, and began to pull. Smoke rose from her fingers. Donovan heard the sizzle and pop of skin, but still she did not relent. She pulled, and the strands of light stretched. Amethyst gasped and leaned against him. The energy they were expending to create the web of light drained his strength, and he knew it was weakening her as well. They could only hold on for so long, but there was nothing else to do. She was too powerful.

  "I can't hold it," Amethyst gasped. She clutched at him with her free hand, gripping so tightly he thought her nails might have pierced his shoulder. He used the pain and focused it. He drew power from deep within himself and funneled it through his lips. He pulled the words from the small paper, words he knew well, and flung them into the night. The web surged again, and then again, and once more Anya stepped back with a screech. Her smile didn't falter. She knew he couldn't keep it up. It was only a matter of time until the trap failed, and she was free. When that happened, he wasn't even certain the two of them would make it out of the park alive.

  Beyond Anya, something moved. Donovan watched at the periphery of his sight, but he didn't lessen his concentration. Jake had knelt behind Anya and leaned over the flag. All Donovan could make out of the once magnificent painting was a spreading stain. It was dark, and there should have been nothing but shades of gray. Impossibly, the stain on that flag was brilliant, blood red. Snake's blood.

  Donovan sensed that Snake still lived, but barely. A second figure rose beside Jake. Salvatore. He held something in his hands, and Donovan realized it was the tent pole. It had snapped in the fall, but Salvatore still clutched it. The boy stepped toward Anya, raising the broken stick like a club over his head.

  "No!" Donovan cried. He spoke before he thought, and it cost him his control. The net abound Anya Cabrera shimmered and fell apart in a shower of sparks. She screamed in rage, turning in a circle as if uncertain which of them to attack first.

  Salvatore struck. He swung the broken tent post in a quick, hard arc that slapped into Anya's head with a sickening crunch. She staggered. She did not go down, not exactly, but her legs seemed, just for a moment, to lose the ability to hold her erect. She took a lurching step toward Donovan, tried to turn, failed, and started to fall.

  The night erupted in sound. The sky, which had taken on a silver glow as the mist cleared and the moon shone through, grew suddenly dark. A thunderous roar shook the ground, threatened to topple the trees, and drove Donovan back into Amethyst so hard they toppled. He fought for balance, failed, and did his best to land softly. He knew if he went down and stayed down, Anya would not hesitate to attack, and she was too strong to allow even a moment's advantage.

  Th
en he was driven to the ground with such force the breath left him, and it was all he could do not to pass out. He gasped, clutched at the grass, and stared upward. The dragon dropped from the sky with stunning speed. It was like watching an eagle the size of an elephant dropping from incredible heights.

  The only one who retained footing was Anya Cabrera. The old Houngan lifted her face to the sky, and she screamed in defiance. Donovan noted, as his pulse thundered in his ears and he fought desperately for consciousness, that Anya's voice could be heard, even over the scream of the dragon and the roar of wind that accompanied its descent. She actually reached up, as though she might catch it and drag it to the ground.

  The two collided. There was a snap of sound and energy that blacked out all light. Once again the air was sucked out from around them, and then, as the dragon rose with another scream, it returned in a rush. The world swam before Donovan's eyes. He was lifted slightly by the returning rush of air and he spun, getting his hands beneath him and pressing up. He made it to his knees, and then to his feet. Dirt and dust and leaves swirled around him but he waved his arm, found his voice, and spoke. His single word stilled the air around him – a circle formed, about twenty feet in circumference, and he stood at its center.

  He craned his neck and stared into the sky. The dragon was so high, even after only a few seconds, that it seemed no more than a large bird, flying into the face of the moon. Donovan heard a cry to his right and spun. Salvatore had crawled over to where Snake lay across the bloody sheet that had been a flag. The boy turned, his face awash in tears.

  Jake knelt across from him. The big man turned to Donovan.

  "He's dead," Jake said.

  There was a crackle of energy. Far up, thousands of feet, a tear in the darkness shot a bolt of pure energy to the earth. It struck with surgical precision, driving Salvatore and Jake back and slamming into Snake's body with the force of a lightning strike. The air filled with the scent of ozone, and the light blinded them all – just for a second. Then it was gone.