by Bryan Davis
“Oh. Yes. We dragons have a furnace of sorts within our bodies. We can create heat, even fire, and that keeps us warm. But, as you might expect, the price is a rapid consumption of energy. In cold weather I must take food quite often. That is why dragons live in warm climes.”
“Warm climes?” she asked, her chattering now interrupting her words. “Do you … consider … this place warm?”
“When you come with me, you will understand.” He lowered himself to his belly. “If you are as bold as you present yourself, I assume you will not be afraid to ride on me.”
Marcelle surveyed the dragon’s scaly back. With sharp, protruding spines, it looked like a thorny but manageable obstacle course. A flight, on the other hand, would be a breathtaking adventure, especially in the cold wind.
Forcing her teeth to stop chattering, she nodded. “I would find it exhilarating, but I have to be sure that Cassabrie is on her way.”
“Very well.” Arxad directed his gaze past Marcelle. “Cassabrie, you have my permission to fetch the other two humans. Tell them that I have taken their companion to the castle.”
A glimmer of light appeared in the snow near the tank, as if reflecting the sunlight. The glimmer spread over a circular section about the size of two handbreadths, sparkling like diamonds. Then, in a flash, the light disappeared.
“She is gone,” Arxad said. “Come. Climb up my scales. We must take flight.”
Marcelle glanced back and forth between the dragon and where Cassabrie had been. “Can’t we wait?”
“No. I do not wish for the other humans to see me. The fewer who know my identity, the better.”
Marcelle looked him in the eye again. This was her proof. Obviously he didn’t want her to know his name, so telling him that she, Adrian, and Edison already knew it might well cost them their lives.
After collecting her other sword, she grasped the edges of two scales, each the size of her hand, and, thrusting with her legs, vaulted up. She dodged the sharp forearm-length spines rising from the ridge down the center of Arxad’s back and settled between two of the spines near the base of his neck.
“An excellent leap,” Arxad said. “You are quite fit. I did not expect a free woman to be so strong.”
Marcelle held on to the spine in front of her, hoping she wasn’t violating dragon-riding protocol. As Arxad spread out his wings, she pondered his words. A free woman. That was what her mission was all about. The distractions with getting the gas tank, fighting Darien and company, and leaping into another world had squeezed the goal out of her thoughts. It was time to focus. She was here to rescue slaves, and by sword or by stealth, she would do it.
Adrian crouched with his father just behind the tree line and looked into the clearing. With the lantern off and the moon peering around the intermittent clouds, the grassy area came into view at intervals. Every few seconds a water-laden twig or a bristle cone fell, making Adrian snap his head toward the sound. Marcelle had been gone only a few minutes, not enough time for a new company of Prescott’s soldiers to arrive. Still, that lone soldier might have chosen to follow and wait for a chance to strike while they weren’t looking. They had to be cautious.
“Father,” Adrian whispered. “I figured out who Darien was. Are you willing to talk about him?”
Edison just nodded, barely visible in the moonlight.
“How did it feel to cut his hand off?”
“Wicked.” Edison drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Revenge was not my motivation, son, but it felt like revenge all the same. I had no remorse for the blow I inflicted. It felt wicked, indeed.”
“He was a liar, a scoundrel. He deserved to die.”
“No doubt, but I would have preferred that he not die by my hand. Revenge is not mine to deliver, and I regret it deeply.”
Adrian let out a sigh, loud enough to communicate his sadness. Words were no longer necessary.
Edison pointed into the clearing. “I see something, a spark of light.”
A lengthening glimmer emerged from the ground, as if a beanstalk of pure light had sprouted. As white as newly fallen snow, it expanded rapidly, forming a spinning aura.
Adrian set a hand on Edison’s back and guided him into the grassy area. “Come with me,” he said. “This is a sight you’ll never forget.”
As before, the aura took on a feminine shape, and excited particles buzzed within. Her cloak fanned out, and once again soil swirled into her body, thick and moist. When she had fully solidified, still barefooted, wet, and dirty, she looked around, her eyes blinking and her feet shifting as she regained her balance.
Adrian ran to her and pulled her into a brief embrace. Again she felt cold, too cold. When he pushed her back, he held her shoulders. “Where is Marcelle?”
She looked at him, still blinking. “Arxad took her to the king’s castle. She is safe.”
“And the gas?”
“It is pheterone. Arxad seemed very pleased. He is allowing your entry.”
“Good.” Adrian checked his sword and belt. “Let’s go.”
Cassabrie touched his shirt. “Marcelle seemed very cold there. Be prepared for a chill.” With that, she spread out her arms and closed her eyes. The aura reappeared, expanded throughout the clearing, and swallowed all three of them.
Adrian laid a palm on his chest. The light felt warm and soothing, like bathing in a freshly filled tub. Again, flakes formed on Cassabrie’s cheeks and forehead, but his closeness revealed more this time. Instead of debris from her surroundings, the flakes were composed of skin. As each one peeled off in the wind, her face thinned. Her hair pulled away from her head and joined the flakes in the growing swirl. Soon, her body dissolved completely, and only the aura remained.
Glancing between himself and his father, Adrian felt his mouth drop open. Their surroundings were disappearing, not crumbling as Cassabrie had, but rather fading away.
After a few seconds, only light stayed visible, so bright he closed his eyes to shut it out, but it wouldn’t go away. Then, as quickly as the light had appeared, it fractured like glass and evaporated. Cold wind knifed through his clothes, making him shiver.
He scanned the area. His father still stood at his side, and the gas tank sat just beyond him, but Cassabrie was nowhere in sight.
Adrian swung his head from side to side. “Where did she go?”
Edison glanced around. “Could she have arrived before we did and run away?”
“I don’t think she had time.” Adrian looked at the ground. Snow lay in a thick blanket that stretched into a thin forest. “I see footprints, but they’re not from bare feet. Maybe they’re Marcelle’s.”
Edison followed the trail to the tank. “They end here. I also see animal tracks, something very large with claws.”
“The dragon?”
“Perhaps. If the dragon took her to a castle, as Cassabrie said, then they must have flown. I see no sign of prints leading away.”
Adrian looked toward the horizon. A mountain loomed about an hour’s walk away, the sun gleaming on its snowy cap. A castle sat within a deep cleft, white with reddish trim, apparently an enormous structure, though the size of the mountain likely skewed the perspective.
“Well, I don’t know what happened to Cassabrie,” Adrian said, “but we had better start for the castle. We’ll freeze if we wait.”
A warm sensation crawled along Adrian’s skin, like a summer wind. It penetrated deeper and deeper, funneling toward his chest until it seemed that his heart had caught on fire. He gasped and fanned his face with his hand.
“Son!” Edison called. “What is it? Your cheeks are as red as tomatoes.”
He panted through his words. “I don’t know. It’s like I ate ten lava peppers, only worse.” He pulled open the front of his shirt and let the air cool his body.
Edison drew closer. “There is something on your chest.”
“Where?” Adrian looked at his skin. A dim light, about the size of a tithe coin, pulsed yellowish orange, like
a summer firefly from the southern regions. As he watched, it grew until it doubled in size, as big as a hen’s egg. The warmth in his body seeped toward that point and focused the scorching pain. The patch of skin emanated heat, warming his entire chest.
“A bee sting?” Edison asked. “I remember no such allergies in our family.”
Adrian blew on the spot. Nothing seemed to help. “There’s no swelling, and I didn’t feel a—”
“Adrian!”
He swiveled, searching for the source of the voice. It sounded like Cassabrie.
Edison turned. “Did you see something?”
“Heard something.” Adrian scanned the snowy blanket. No sign of Cassabrie. “Did you hear a voice?”
Edison shook his head. “Once when you were bitten by a spider, you said you heard ringing in your ears. Maybe it’s—”
“No, I heard someone call my name.”
As he concentrated on every sound—the wind rustling the laden firs, the ploof of snow falling onto deep drifts, and the twittering of distant birds—Adrian caught the melody of gentle laughter.
“Adrian,” a voice broke in. “This is Cassabrie.”
He searched the area around his body. It sounded as if she were standing right in front of him. “You heard it that time, didn’t you? Cassabrie called my name.”
“No, son. Birds and wind. Nothing more.”
Cassabrie stretched out her words. “Adrian. I am speaking to you. Just talk to me.”
“Cassabrie?” Adrian kept his gaze away from his father, feeling less than sane for addressing someone who wasn’t there. “Can you hear me?”
“Better than ever,” she replied. “I am now inside you. That’s why you feel the warmth. It is my spirit, and I have taken residence in your breast. The glow is my mark.”
Adrian looked at the glowing patch of skin. “Say something else, louder this time. I want to check something.”
“Son,” Edison said. “Are you talking to me?”
Adrian set a finger to his lips. “No, Father. Just a moment.”
“Oh, Adrian,” Cassabrie said in a motherly tone. “What must I do to get you to believe me?”
As she spoke, the patch grew brighter, as if measuring the volume of each word, or perhaps the passion in her mood.
Adrian pointed at his head. “Father, Cassabrie is speaking in my mind. She says she’s inside me, and this glow is a sign that she’s there.”
Edison stared, his mouth ajar, then, with hesitant fingers, he touched the patch. “It seems that this world is full of surprises.”
“Cassabrie,” Adrian said. “What do we do now? Where do we go to find Marcelle?”
“Arxad flew with Marcelle to the castle. Should you choose to go, our journey will be more difficult than hers. We have no wings.”
“And no suitable clothing,” Adrian added.
“Son,” Edison said. “Perhaps you could give me a short summary of her words. It is difficult to guess what she is saying.”
Adrian looked at his father. “Marcelle is at the castle. We’re talking about how to get there.”
“Is that so?” Edison took a few steps toward the valley between the forest and the mountain and gazed at the castle. “Very difficult, I think.”
Adrian joined him. Snow and ice covered the low-lying area, possibly concealing any number of obstacles. Lakes? A river? Ditches?
“Yes,” Adrian agreed. “We could fall through the snow and end up at the bottom of a canyon.”
“What does Cassabrie say about the terrain?”
Cassabrie’s voice entered Adrian’s mind again, this time in the tone of a teacher. “I am able to glide on top of the snow, so, of course, I cannot stumble. You, however, might have more trouble. I have seen the valley in seasons of thaw. The snow never completely melts, but those seasons allow a better view of what lies underneath. A narrow yet deep river winds like a serpent through the center of the valley. In these conditions, you will not know you have reached it until its waters chill your feet. Once you have passed this obstacle, I will tell you about another.”
Adrian nodded slowly. “She says there’s a river in that valley, a deep one.”
Setting a fist on his hip, Edison studied the scene. His scant hair whipped across his scalp, and his gray eyebrows scrunched together. “I have an idea.” He strode to the tank and set his palms behind it. “Give me a hand.”
Adrian hurried to his father’s side. They rolled the tank to the edge of the forest at the point the slope gradually turned steeper as it descended into the valley. After giving it a final shove, they watched it roll, pressing down the snow, bumping over rocks, and finally crunching through ice and splashing into the river. The tank turned on its end, like a ship ready to sink, but it stayed put, apparently locked by the surrounding ice.
“That worked perfectly,” Adrian said. “Assuming you were trying to blaze a trail.”
“That was exactly my intent.” Edison snatched up a long branch and stripped off its protruding twigs. Then, using it as a walking stick, he marched ahead, calling back as he made tracks across the smooth path, “And now the tank is our way of crossing the river.”
Smiling, Adrian followed in his father’s footsteps. Having him along was a gift from above. His wisdom and experience would likely be a blessing time and again. Yet, how could the tank help them cross the river?
“You are both fine men,” Cassabrie said. “Arxad will like you.”
The warmth spread again throughout his body, this time a soothing warmth that carried no sting. He stayed a few steps back, hoping to keep his end of the conversation with Cassabrie private. “What I am, I owe to my father and the Creator.”
“I’m glad to hear you speak of the Creator.” Cassabrie’s voice grew animated. “I heard you mention the Code earlier. What do you know about it?”
“Well … it’s a book that tells us how to live life, and it was written by the Creator himself.” He rolled his eyes upward, as if trying to look at her in his mind. “How do you know about the Code?”
“We have a copy of it, and we pass it around from family to family. Each person of age is assigned a passage to memorize. That way, if it gets confiscated by the dragons, we will be able to write it again.”
“That’s an excellent idea. I wish we had been so careful to guard its value. A full copy would be a treasure, indeed.”
“Really? Your people are free. Why wouldn’t everyone on Darksphere have his own copy?”
Adrian sighed. “Not as free as we would like. The governing authorities in our land gathered them all and burned every page. They sent armed soldiers who ransacked homes in search of them. I assume a few are still in existence, those that were hidden well, but if they are, no one breathes a word about it. Our governor has many spies. I have a partial page that I keep hidden, but even that would be enough to put me in the stocks for three days if he found out about it.”
“Your governor fears the Code that much?”
“To be sure. He is loyal only to our nation and himself. Anything that might hold a greater authority than his own is certainly a threat.”
“If you have no copies of the Code, then how do you follow its precepts? Do you have it all memorized?”
“Not so that I can quote it. I have listened to my father for so many years, it seems that it’s ingrained in me, not the words, but its spirit.” Smiling again, he touched the glowing patch on his chest. “I assume you can understand that.”
A soft laugh rippled across his skin, again warming his body. “Being inside you is a pleasurable experience. I feel your nobility, your integrity, your love, especially every time you gaze upon your father. The spirit behind the Code has certainly made you a clean vessel.”
This time heat radiated from Adrian’s ears and cheeks. Having someone inside felt warm and good, but also more than a little bit uncomfortable. If she could feel his emotions, what might she think if something happened that aroused his anger, especially if he had to draw his swo
rd for battle as he did against Darien and the other soldiers? If someone was in danger, holding back his emotions just to keep from offending her wouldn’t be a good idea, but could he forget she was there and go to war with an unguarded mind?
After another minute or so, Edison reached the edge of the river and stopped in front of the tank. When Adrian caught up, he looked at the broken ice and the castle beyond, now a half hour away, assuming, of course, a path without obstacles. About three feet from the bank, the cylindrical tank sat upright with one flat end protruding from the water, its output valve visible at the top.
Jagged lines carved the ice between the shoreline and the tank, making the path appear fragile. Adrian stepped on the ice with one foot. A piece twice as long as his foot broke away and sank under his weight, forcing him to pull back. “It’s too thin, and it’s likely to be even thinner in the middle.”
A cold breeze tossed Edison’s hair again, but he didn’t shiver. With his shoulders square, his cheeks red, and his eyes wide, he seemed alive, energized, animated. He was having the time of his life. “Think, son. The solution is staring right at you.”
Adrian grinned. His father never failed to take advantage of a learning opportunity. “Okay, but we can’t keep Marcelle waiting, especially in the company of a dragon.”
NINE
AS Arxad descended toward the castle’s front entry, Marcelle held on to the spine in front of her, hugging it with both arms. Even with her bag strapped on her back and two layers covering her torso, the wind still bit through, chilling her skin. Her bare hands felt like blocks at the ends of her arms, numb and stiff, and her feet had long ago lost any feeling. Teachers in training classes had warned of frostbite conditions and the need to amputate frozen toes to prevent a deadly infection. Could these feelings be a precursor to such on-the-field surgery?
She shuddered. Although accustomed to the sight of blood, lack of any experience as a battlefield soldier had left her squeamish about some things. Cutting off her own appendages was one of them.
