by Bryan Davis
“Just one other, but this is the more productive of the two by far.”
“Is it also in the heart of a mesa?”
“It is.” Jacob nodded toward the hole where the air tubes exited. “Besides shade, the covering allows us many options for support mechanisms, and since the tunnel is too narrow for dragons to enter, we are able to converse without them hearing us.”
Drexel pictured the cave where the portal brought him into the dragon world. Perhaps that mesa housed the other mine. “Then the dragons would be in trouble if this mine became unable to produce.”
“Of that, there is no doubt,” Jacob said. “In fact, the dragons are talking about opening a third mine. If they lost this one, they would likely suffer greatly.”
“Well, then, I think I have all the information I need.” Drexel withdrew his sword a few inches, then slid it back in place. “I am here to set you and the children free. I have the power of the Starlighter with me.”
“What?” Jacob grasped Drexel’s arm and pulled him close to the wall. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “What is this nonsense you’re babbling?”
Drexel looked at Jacob’s tight grip. “Why are you so surprised? I overheard you confirming Cassandra’s faithful confession. The rescuer is not a prince or a beggar, but a warrior who will lead you to freedom.”
Jacob gazed at him in silence, blinking.
“Have I misinterpreted your words?” Drexel asked.
Jacob shook his head hard. “No. No, that’s not it. Cassandra believes in that tale, as do many of the children, but it is only a tale, something we tell the young ones to give them hope in the midst of their labors. No one of age really believes in it.”
“Then what happens when the children learn that you have told them something you don’t really believe?”
Jacob’s grip eased. “When they’re old enough, they can understand that it’s a fable with a moral … a … a spiritual reality, if you will. Death is the real rescuer, and we will be transported to the next life where the Starlighter dwells. So we’re not lying to them. We’re just telling the truth in a way they can understand.”
“Then how do you respond to someone like me who bears a sword and claims to be your rescuer?”
Flashing a nervous smile, Jacob pulled off his kerchief and swabbed his forehead. “Pardon me for saying so, but I am concerned about your state of mind. I assume you know the legend about the last man who fashioned a weapon such as yours.”
“Let’s say I don’t.” Drexel tapped a finger against his head. “Remember, I might not be of sound mind.”
Jacob nodded toward the mesa’s exit. “Well, the man’s charred bones still lie in a heap in the Basilica courtyard as a reminder of what will happen to anyone who rebels against dragon authority.”
Drexel looked that way. “Interesting. And do the children know the truth behind the bones?”
“The older ones do, but we prefer not to frighten the younger ones. Since they aren’t aggressive, there is no need for the warning.”
Drexel studied Jacob’s expression—nervous, unbelieving. “So you would need proof that I am the rescuer.”
Jacob laughed under his breath. “My deluded friend, let me make the matter plain to you. There is no proof you could show that would convince me that one sword-bearing man is able to defeat a hundred dragons. We have no other weapons, save for a few picks and shovels, so you would be charging into battle alone. It’s impossible.”
Drexel glanced into the pit. “And the other men? Do they believe the same way you do?”
“Of course. It is difficult to kick reality out of bed.”
Drexel turned toward the tunnel exit. All the children had left with their filled pails. “Is reality persuaded to leave the bed if a person comes bearing the Starlighter?” He reached into his tunic and withdrew a finger. As he gazed upon it, it seemed to glow. Yes, it was, indeed, a fulfillment of prophecy. Surely this man of reason would understand now.
Jacob’s mouth dropped open. He withdrew a step, his voice altering to a rasping whisper. “What did you do? Murder someone and dismember the body?”
“Murder?” Drexel blinked at him. “She gave herself to me. In fact, she begged me to take her. Such is the sacrificial nature of a Starlighter.”
Glancing at Drexel’s sword, Jacob backed toward the pit. Offering a tremulous smile as he picked up his air tube, he nodded multiple times. “I … I had better tell my fellow workers that our rescuer has arrived. They will be overjoyed.” When he set a foot on the ladder rung, he raised a hand. “Now stay right there, and we’ll all be up to discuss our battle strategy.”
Jacob hurried down the ladder, skipping rungs along the way.
Drexel followed his progress until he disappeared in the darkness. “Battle strategy,” he muttered as he slid the finger back into his inner pocket. “What kind of fool does he take me for?”
He removed the photo gun from its holster and examined it. It seemed dry enough. After switching on its energizer, he aimed into the pit. When the indicator showed a full charge, he pulled the trigger. As soon as the fireball punched out of the barrel, he spun and sprinted toward the exit.
With a loud Phoom, a wave of heat shoved him through the tunnel and into daylight. He rolled across the ground, his sword clanking, until he hit something solid—Orlan’s legs.
Drexel climbed to his feet. Orlan and the other children stood with their mouths agape, each one carrying an empty pail.
Spinning, Drexel looked behind him. The mesa erupted in a fountain of fire, spewing green and orange flames from the hole at the top, and a stiff breeze blew from the exit, hot and dry. Then, like a candle snuffed out by a breath, the flames disappeared.
A load roar rumbled from behind the children. About a hundred paces away, a dragon stomped toward them, beating its wings to give it lift.
Drexel waved his arms. “Hurry, children! Back to the tunnel!”
As he ran with the children, he checked the photo gun. The energizer had not yet recharged. When he reached the entry, a blast of hot air from within blew back his hair and clothes, but it wasn’t scalding, merely uncomfortable. Surely these children were accustomed to discomfort.
While Orlan herded the children inside, Drexel stayed at the entrance and aimed the gun at the approaching dragon. “Go in as far as you can,” he shouted. “It’s hot, but the fire has died down.”
Orlan called from within the tunnel. “We’re out of the way. Ghisto can’t come this far.”
“Excellent.” The energizer light flashed on. With Ghisto now in range, it was time to show the dragon population something they likely had not seen before. He pulled the trigger. A blue fireball shot out and zoomed toward Ghisto. It smacked against his chest and splashed in an arcing array of blue sparks.
Ghisto lifted his head and screamed. Then, beating his wings again, he half ran and half flew to a nearby stream and dove into the water. As he flailed, plumes of steam shot up all around, masking the sound of his continued shrieks.
Drexel pushed the gun into its holster, dashed out of the mesa, and ran toward the fallen dragon, withdrawing his sword along the way. He waded into the knee-deep water and hacked at the dragon’s wriggling neck. With the first swing, the blade clanked against a scale, but the second struck between two scales, creating a bloody gap. While the dragon continued to squeal and flail, Drexel aimed at the wound and slashed again and again. Finally, with the neck half severed, the dragon flopped into the stream and jerked in rhythmic death throes.
With the sword at his side and his chest heaving, Drexel set his feet and glared at the defeated enemy. Too easy, much too easy. Obviously this dragon had never faced a warrior with a photo gun. Perhaps it was a weak female assigned to guard children and men who had the hearts of children.
He looked up at the sky. Would other dragons respond to this one’s cries for help? Would blood in the water send a signal to guards downstream? Even if they were all as weak as this one, facing two or m
ore would likely pose an insurmountable obstacle, even for a Starlighter-empowered warrior.
Sliding his sword back to his sheath with a triumphant thrust, Drexel marched back into the tunnel. When he found the children, huddled and sweating in the hot breeze, he stooped beside them, smiling. “Did you see what I did out there?”
“I saw,” Orlan said with a scowl. “Now when Yarlan comes on patrol, he will kill us all.”
Drexel flipped on the photo gun’s energizer. As it hummed, he pointed it at the exit. “If Yarlan comes alone, I will do the same to him.”
“You act like you’ve never seen a guardian dragon.” Orlan shook his head sadly. “He is powerful, very powerful.”
“I will trust your appraisal, young man. That means we have to leave as quickly as possible.”
“What about Jacob and Broderick and the others?” Cassandra asked.
Drexel turned off the gun and pushed it back to its holster. “I will check on them.” Easing past the tunnel’s shelf, he closed in on the mining pit. Hot air assaulted his face, stinging his cheeks. He peered into the hole. The odor of burnt flesh poured into his nostrils, making him choke. No one could have survived.
He returned to the tunnel and, putting on a sincere expression, he grasped Cassandra’s arms and spoke softly. “There has been a terrible accident. Something lit the gas and ignited a huge explosion.” Adding a sigh, he lowered his head. “I’m afraid the miners were all in the pit when it happened.”
Cassandra covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “Oh, poor Jacob! Poor Broderick!”
As she continued naming and lamenting over the fallen miners, Orlan squinted at the photo gun. “Did that thing cause the explosion?”
“This?” Drexel touched the gun. “Possibly. I was unaware of the volatility of the gas, so a spark might have triggered the explosion.”
“So you killed our miners?”
“Of course not! Jacob asked what it was, so I showed the photo gun to him. He caused the spark.”
Orlan pointed toward the mine chamber, his voice cracking with emotion. “I thought you said they were in the pit.”
“They were. Jacob fell in with the force of the explosion. The others were already down there.”
Orlan shifted his finger to Drexel. “Then how did you survive? And how did you get the …” He took a moment to recall the name. “The photo gun back?”
Drexel looked Orlan in the eye. “Young man, if you are going to lack faith in me, then perhaps you should leave now. I cannot lead you to freedom if you’re going to spread doubt among the others. We will go without you.”
“I’m sorry. I was just—”
“For your information, the explosion was confined to the pit. Jacob fell into it, and I did not. That’s how I survived. And I never fully released the gun into his hands. I kept my grip on it the entire time.” Drexel forced a scowl. “I hope that satisfies your faithless questions.”
“It does.” Orlan lowered his voice to a whisper. “I won’t ask any more questions.”
Drexel relaxed his expression and studied each face. Two children were openly crying, perhaps grieving over lost friends or family. The other three were pensive, worried, probably about the power of the guardian dragons and the likely punishment they would have to endure. Maybe their fear would play into his hands.
“Because of this unfortunate series of events, we will have to flee for our lives before Yarlan gets here.” Drexel slid his hand into Cassandra’s. “You must maintain silence and hurry with me to the other mine. There, we will be able to escape.”
“We don’t have time,” Orlan said. “Yarlan will be flying by at any minute. Nothing escapes his sharp eyes.” He lowered his head. “That was a statement, not a question.”
Drexel looked at the exit, then at the pit. The dragons would be unable to enter the tunnel and investigate. Maybe they wouldn’t risk sending any other humans in until they were confident the mine had stabilized. “Then we’ll wait here. If no one comes out, they will assume that everyone perished, and we can leave under the cover of darkness.”
“But once we go to the other mine, how do we escape? It’s just another mine.”
“That was a question, Orlan.” Drexel laughed and mussed the boy’s hair. “Fear not, my valiant skeptic. I have everything under control. We will walk out of here and into the arms of freedom before night reaches its midpoint.”
FOURTEEN
WITH her head above water, Marcelle swam in darkness, using one arm to paddle and the other to hold the sword in front of her as a feeler. She kicked as noiselessly as possible. If something dangerous lurked in the depths, better to let it sleep. She would be a minnow passing by, a missed lunch.
She jabbed with the sword, always hitting empty water. Was she going in the right direction? With the stream so calm, she might be swimming in circles.
She stopped and tried to stay as stationary as possible, feeling for the current. No. She had drifted off course. Upstream lay twenty degrees to the right.
A cold appendage slithered up her ankle and held on. She let out a yelp and jerked her leg up, but the creature pulled back, dragging her down.
She dove and hacked with her sword, aiming just below her foot. She sliced through something. A water-warped squeal ripped through the pool. Now free, she lunged to the surface and swam with all her might, stabbing straight down, splashing and kicking to escape.
After nearly a minute, her sword hit something solid. The pool had grown shallow, allowing her to stand in waist-deep water. As she walked, the depth gradually lessened—thigh-deep, then knee-deep. Soon, only her feet and ankles pushed through the stream, but an extra weight dragged with her.
She sat down in the current, a little swifter now, and felt her right ankle. Something hung on, apparently the creature’s severed appendage. She peeled away a snakelike section, popping suction attachments from her skin and clothing as she pulled. Once free, she slung it back toward the pool, whispering, “I drew first blood. You lost.”
When she rose to her feet and resumed her stride, her ankle throbbed with every step. She glanced back into the darkness. Had that creature stung her? Injected her with poison? Maybe it followed, waiting for her to succumb to the venom and float back into its clutches.
Limping, she picked up her pace. Who cared about splashing noises? She had to get away.
Soon, her head scraped the ceiling. As she bent over and pushed forward, the current grew ever swifter. The passage had to be narrowing, and it seemed to be sloping upward now, a good sign. Maybe it would break through on the surface, preferably on the opposite side of the wall. But would she be able to crawl through? Or would she have to give up and go back the way she came, including swimming through the pool again?
Shaking her head, she muttered, “Retreat is not an option.”
When the ceiling forced her down to hands and knees, she slid the sword back into her strapped-in scabbard and crawled. Her ankle ached horribly, and the sting began inching up her leg. Ignore it. Just ignore it. That was her only choice.
As she lowered herself to her belly, the water gushed. She waited through five surges, counting between each one, but the interval differed every time—five seconds, nine seconds, five seconds again, and three seconds. This wouldn’t be easy.
She squirmed ahead, her nose barely above the surface. The stream gushed again, filling her nostrils. She sneezed, then inhaled just in time to breathe in the next surge of water. She jerked her head upward to cough and slammed against the ceiling, but it couldn’t be helped. With her chin now above the surface, she coughed, spat out trickles of fluid, and coughed again, repeating the pattern several times. Soon, she expelled the last drops and lowered herself back to her belly.
Now taking a breath after each pulse of water, she pushed on. Her ankle felt like it was on fire, and the wound in her side stung. The bandage had likely stripped away long ago. Still, she wiggled ahead, progressing inches with every push. Would this channel never come
to the surface?
After a few minutes, the blackness changed to gray. The rocky walls on each side became visible, as did her hands. With every push, a glow somewhere far ahead grew stronger. Could that be where the river poured into this underground channel? Might dragons be guarding the way out?
With light now making her path easy to see, she studied the passage. Only a few pushes ahead, the water surged to the ceiling for a moment, dimming the light, then lowered again without leaving enough room for a traveler to come up for air. Maybe this was the final exit, the gateway to the river’s surface, but emerging into the light would expose her to any dragons that might be guarding the hole. She would have to take a deep breath, exit as quickly as possible, and dive back underwater until she could check for guards. And if she ran out of oxygen, retreating through the narrow passage would likely be impossible. It might be time to choose her poison—dragons or drowning.
After taking a deep breath, she charged ahead, wiggling and squirming with every muscle. The glow grew brighter, but the channel continued on, inches upon inches, feet upon feet. Her lungs ached. Her arms and legs burned. If she didn’t find air soon, all would be lost.
Finally, her head broke the surface. She took in a silent breath of air and looked around. She had emerged in a cave. A wall stood only two body lengths in front of her with an opening that allowed the river and outside light to enter. The upper arch of the opening rose less than a foot above the river’s surface, and the remainder of its circular shape, perhaps a body length wide, was underwater. A gate of crisscrossing wooden slats covered the opening, leaving gaps far too small to allow a human to pass through.
The river flowed in at a tranquil rate, and the tunnel sucked it in, slurping every few seconds as the level fell below the top of the tunnel before rising over it again. With the river being far larger than the tunnel, perhaps this outlet was just one of many.
