Tears of a Dragon

by Bryan Davis

  Christopher stepped back. “Of course. As you wish.”

  “Wait a minute,” Shelly said, grabbing the placard. “Does my father have to pay for the limo anyway?” Her gaze seemed locked on the company logo at the bottom of the sign, a black stretch limousine with a long-legged woman stepping into the back.

  Christopher folded his hands behind him. “Not the full fare for a ride to West Virginia, but there is a cancellation fee.”

  Shelly pointed the placard at the professor. “What are you driving?”

  Professor Hamilton shifted from one foot to the other. “A, er, a Chevrolet station wagon.”

  Shelly nodded toward Bonnie. “With the blind girl?”

  The professor stepped back and pulled Bonnie alongside him. “No. I will be with at least three other men, and she wishes to fly with her friends in a Cessna, so you have the option to go with her. Mrs. Bannister is an excellent pilot, and—”

  Shelly leaned back, waving her hand. “Oh, no! I’m not flying again in this storm. We bounced around like a pinball, and that was in a jumbo jet.”

  Christopher took the sign and folded it slowly, keeping his eyes on his hands. “My limousine has a DVD player, snacks and drinks, and a guaranteed smooth ride.”

  Bonnie wrinkled her nose. Smooth was right. Too smooth.

  The professor unclipped his cell phone. “I’ll see what your father wants you to do.”

  “What he wants me to do?” Shelly said, scowling. With her voice rising, several passersby turned their heads. “Look, I can make this decision myself. If Dad wants me to pay him back for the ride, I will, but I’m not flying, and I’ll take a limo over a station wagon crowded with a bunch of men I don’t know, anytime.” She curled her arm. “Lead the way, Christopher.”

  Christopher flashed his brilliant smile again, took Shelly’s arm, and led her away.

  Bonnie grabbed the professor’s sweater and jerked hard. “Call her dad! Quick!”

  “Again, I concur.” He pressed a speed dial button and held the cell phone to his ear, waiting for an answer.

  Bonnie chewed on her lip. It was taking too long. She tried to follow the pair with her eyes, but they disappeared into the crowd. The creep was getting away.

  The professor’s brow lifted. “Carl. It’s Charles. Did you send a limo service for your daughter? . . . You didn’t? Hold on!” He pressed the phone into Bonnie’s hand. “Talk to him!” The professor dashed down the airport corridor, running faster than she imagined he could, dodging people with amazing agility. Just a few seconds later, he returned, his hands raised in frustration as he stood on tiptoes scanning the heads in the crowd.

  Bonnie lifted the phone, her hands trembling. “Uh, Mr. Foley. Bonnie again. I think we have bad news . . .”

  Billy threw the book onto the ledge with Hambone and splashed toward Walter. He jerked his friend’s body upright, lifting his face above the water. His head lolled to one side, his cheeks ghostly white. Billy grabbed his forearms and spun him around, screaming. “Walter!” Sparks of fire spat out with his words. “Say something! Anything!”

  No response.

  Billy shivered so hard, the water around him rippled. He pulled Walter into a bear hug, holding his head near his ear. A gentle stream of air from Walter’s half-open mouth grazed his lobe. “Thank God!” Billy said.

  Towing Walter’s inert body on the surface of the rising water, Billy sloshed to Hambone’s ledge and heaved his friend onto the flat protrusion, then rolled him next to the dog. With a quick lunge, he hoisted himself up, ducking to keep his head, and Excalibur’s hilt, from hitting the ceiling of the rocky cleft. He squatted, his eyes darting to take in the scene. With water inching up the walls, the entire cave would be full in no time. The entrance seemed impenetrable, unyielding. Tiny wrinkles of energy undulated across the field as the wall of water pressed against it, but the barrier held fast.

  The water rose over Billy’s ledge and streamed around his boots and Walter’s limp body. Billy grabbed up Fama Regis and laid it across his thighs. Hambone whined and licked Billy’s face. “Cool it,” he said, pushing the dog away. “I’m trying to think.” As he squatted, Shiloh’s pendant dangled over the book’s gray cover, its pulsing rubellite casting scarlet beacon signals over the ornate black letters.

  Billy gazed at the title absent-mindedly and murmured the words. “Fama Regis.” He opened the book to the first page, a thick yellowed parchment with two words emblazoned at the top that looked vaguely like “Fama Regis,” perhaps archaic English runes that had perished from use before the pages were bound. Underneath the title, a fabulous sketch spread across the page, a warrior holding a sword high over his head while hundreds of enemies swarmed in all directions, swords and bows in full attack positions. Light flashed from the sword, streaming around the warrior’s body and creating a dome all around.

  With water now lapping at his ankles, Billy pulled the book close to his eyes and stared at the ancient drawing. Dozens of arrows lay at the base of the dome, some twisted or broken, as if mangled when they struck the sword’s glowing field. He laid his hand on the page. A photo-umbrella!

  He slapped the book shut and yanked out Excalibur. After scooting close to Walter and Hambone, he summoned the beam and waved it, as if trying to paint the entrance to their alcove with Excalibur’s radiance. Within seconds the beam appeared to solidify into a luminescent wall, and the rising tide began crawling up the outside of the barrier of light.

  Billy blew out a long breath. “Safe. At least for now.” He moved the blade slowly back and forth, biting his lip until it hurt. Would it hold when the water had nowhere else to go? Was there any other way to use Excalibur to get out of this mess?

  Keeping one hand on the sword’s hilt, he laid the book on his lap and flipped it open again to the drawing, his eyes darting across the page. Under the drawing, a smudged caption drew a line of tiny, unintelligible runes that flashed black and red under the glow of Billy’s strobing pendant.

  Walter labored through convulsive breaths as he lay next to Hambone. The aging hound whined again, his sad red eyes staring into Billy’s.

  Billy groaned. “Give me a break! I’m working on it!” As the water crept toward the ceiling, he turned the page, finding dozens of lines of careful script, most of the letters containing a straight, vertical line with oddly angled appendages. Billy tilted his head upward. “Dad!” he called, his voice drowning in the tumult, “you know how to translate this stuff. Where are you when I need you?”

  As the sword’s light cast a ghostly radiance across the parchment, the rubellite’s incessant pulse mixed in a bloody hue, outlining the runes with scarlet shadows. With each red flash, the characters seemed to morph, appearing ancient under one shade of crimson, then reappearing in a translated form during the next brief flash. After that, they alternated between old and new, the translated text becoming more readable with every pulse.

  During each flash of intelligible words, Billy read quickly, then waited for the next flash.

  “A warrior craves the power of light.”

  A drop fell onto the page. Was the dome springing a leak?

  “Yet strength alone will not avail.”

  The water rose to within inches of the rocks above.

  “For keys to mysteries hide from men.”

  Billy tightened his grip on Excalibur, willing it to hold back the flood.

  “Who think their eyes can pierce the veil.”

  The morphed words suddenly remained intact, as if solidifying in their new forms. He read faster.

  A dragon’s key unlocks the truth

  Of light’s redeeming power to save.

  Its eye transforms the red to white;

  It finds the lost, makes wise the knave.

  For light explores the darkened heart,

  Igniting souls with probing flames.

  It cuts and burns away the chaff—

  The flesh of dragons, knights, and dames.

  The way of darkness traps a
nd keeps

  Its captives naked, cold, and blind,

  But light revealing words of truth

  Will open doors that snare and bind.

  Billy gripped the pendant. “This must be the key!” He glanced around. His photo-umbrella shrank under the strain of the pressing water. The edge of the dome of light no longer covered Walter’s lower body, leaving his legs out in the water. Hambone, sitting with a forepaw propped on Walter’s chest, sniffed the unconscious boy’s head and licked his ear.

  Billy pushed Excalibur into Walter’s hands and intertwined his fingers around the hilt. It held fast, and the photo-umbrella continued to glow, but it shrank more quickly. He grabbed Hambone’s collar and pulled him close. “Listen,” he said, staring earnestly into the old hound’s sad eyes. “Stay with Walter, no matter what.”

  He closed the book and tucked it tightly under his coat before taking a deep breath and plunging through the dome of light. Keeping his eyes open, he swam frantically for the entrance, following the dim light that seeped through the force field. He let out some air, allowing his body to sink until his feet touched the cave floor. Struggling to stand in the midst of the flood, he held out the flashing pendant, guiding the jewel’s glow closer and closer to the barrier. Its crimson light flashed a vague, wide circle on the surface of the field, narrowing to a disc and then to a pinpoint as he continued to guide it forward.

  His lungs begging for breath, Billy waited, praying for a miracle. Could this little light possibly cut through what Excalibur couldn’t even dent? The red point reminded him of the communication laser that Dr. Conner shot into the candlestone, filling the gem with crimson, like a crystal scarab engorged with blood.

  The pinpoint grew. Like tiny capillaries branching out from an artery, red light trickled from the point, making the force field look like a huge bloodshot eye. Billy’s lungs felt like they were about to collapse. He had to breathe! Now!

  The red focal point continued to expand. Water spilled outside, a miniscule leak in the massive dike. Billy felt faint, his heart pounding. His chest tried to heave in a breath, but he pinched his nose and squeezed his lips together. Both arms trembled. Could he keep the pendant in place long enough?

  With the outlet hole slowly growing, darkness began flooding his mind. His arms and legs went numb, and the burning pain in his lungs vanished. An awareness of floating overtook all other sensations, but it was short-lived. A new pain ripped through his body as he felt himself tumbling across rough ground. He thrust out his arm and grabbed something that felt like a tree root. A river of water rushed by, and heavy rain pelted his face, but he held on.

  Dirty water and debris gushed from the cave. Billy struggled to his feet and stood in the calf-deep wash, clutching his knees and coughing violently. He spat out a mouthful of water, then a plume of steam. As he gasped for breath, his lungs gurgled, forcing him to cough again. After three cycles of coughing and gasping, he finally straightened his body and drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then swiveled his head, searching for any sign of Walter and Hambone.

  He spotted something moving near the cave entrance and dashed toward it. Hambone paddled furiously across the raging current. Clutching Walter’s coat in his teeth, the dog barely kept the boy’s head above water. Billy waded through the flow, yanked Walter upright, and hugged his drenched body. Hambone, now free of his burden, swam easily to the side of the river and shook a spray of droplets from his coat.

  Billy trudged out of the current and laid Walter gently on the leaf-matted slope next to his canine rescuer. As the downpour sprayed Walter’s forehead, Billy patted his friend’s cheeks with his frigid hands. “C’mon buddy! Wake up!”

  Gaunt and pale, Walter coughed and spat out a stream of thin saliva. Sitting up slowly, he wagged his head back and forth before looking up at Billy. With a feeble grin and a trembling voice, he said, “I dreamed I was surfing in a washing machine.”

  “Pretty close,” Billy said, bracing Walter’s back. “That rinse cycle was nearly a killer.”

  Walter rubbed his neck. “And a long-sleeved shirt with sharp teeth grabbed me and wouldn’t let go!”

  Billy scratched Hambone’s floppy ear and laughed. “And it’s a good thing, or you’d be all washed up!”

  Walter bent his neck from side to side, grimacing as loud pops sounded from his vertebrae. He motioned for Billy to let him lie down. Once his head rested on the ground again, he took a deep breath, his eyes closed. “So what now? Chase that Watcher creep?”

  Billy unfastened his coat and pulled out Fama Regis. Water had drenched the cover, but the inner pages seemed dry enough. “We have to find Arlo and see if he survived, and Excalibur’s still gotta be around here somewhere.” He tucked the book under his coat again. “I put it in your hands to keep a dome around you, but I guess you let it go.”

  Walter flashed a weak smile. “I guess it was the beach umbrella I was holding in my dream. I couldn’t surf with it, so I dropped it in the spin cycle.”

  Billy stepped back into the flow of water, now abating to a gentle stream. “After we find them, we have to figure out a way to contact Mom and Prof.”

  Walter shivered in the cool breeze, his eyes still closed. “Give me a minute, and I’ll help. My arms and legs are tingling.”

  “Hey! Maybe Arlo carries a cell phone with him.”

  “Yeah, right,” Walter said, a broad smile spreading across his wincing face. “The hillbilly wireless network.” He put an imaginary phone to his ear, his voice still quiet and pained. “Izzat yew, Agnes? Lemme talk at my hound dawg fer a minnit. I want to—”

  “That’s purty close,” a voice interrupted.

  Billy spun around. Arlo, drenched and dirty, held out a cell phone. “My sister’s named Agnes, but I don’t never call Hambone on a cell phone.” The old hillbilly grinned. “He uses e-mail.”

  Chapter 3

  A NEW HOSTIAM

  Shelly gasped at the amazing sights hundreds of feet below—fields and farms laid out in green and brown checkerboards, highways and rivers lining the mountain creases like gray and blue ribbons decorating a royal garden, tiny houses with even tinier people rushing in and out pointing at the sky.

  Shelly laughed at their antics. No wonder they were frightened! Her smooth limo ride had turned into a flight in the arms of an angel! Here she was, soaring through the air, embraced by powerful, yet tender arms and shielded from the driving rain by a shimmering, transparent dome. The angel, gently gliding under wings of gold, his chiseled bronze face smiling under flowing blond hair, was more than a dream come true. He was heaven on earth.

  “Fear not,” the angel whispered in her ear. “We will now descend quickly.”

  Shelly suddenly felt weightless, the ground rushing up toward her as though a movie camera were zooming in on a grassy field below. Excitement shook her body and snatched her breath away. Then, the soles of her shoes pressed against soft earth, saturated grass and mud with puddles all around. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to settle her feet, but, still feeling the effects of the weightless plunge, she wobbled until the angel caught her and set her upright. The gentle touch of the radiant man sent new chills of delight racing across her skin. She rubbed away the goose bumps and sighed. A real angel had flown her to a secret hideaway! What would be next?

  The angel led her into a thick forest, his soft, deep voice rumbling. “Take heed, fair maiden. The trail is dark, and the mud is slick.”

  The two sloshed through the dim woods, the angel keeping one hand on her shoulder. His grip was soft, caressing, like a kindly grandfather’s guiding hand. They rounded a large boulder and approached a sturdy looking cabin with stacked, hewn logs and draped windows. The scent of burning wood mixed with the musty smell of damp earth, and clouds of bluish gray puffed from a brick chimney atop the sloped, cedar roof. As they drew close, an ebony door opened by itself, its hinges silent in the drum of vertical sheets of rain. The angel motioned for her to enter.

  Shelly step
ped up to the threshold, noting an odd design burned into the lintel. No larger than an old silver dollar, it looked like a compass with a circle at the end of each directional point. Inside, the smell of wood grew stronger, pungent, a sickeningly sweet incense injected into the smoke. The malodorous vapor hung from the low, plastered ceiling like a translucent theatre curtain that had just been raised for a performance. A steady drip from a crack in the gray plaster disclosed a leaking roof, each dime-sized drop adding to a growing puddle on the polished wood floor.

  The fireplace, its flames greenish-orange, infused the cabin with stifling heat. In front of the hearth sat a low, stone table, perhaps a pedestal for the flaming crystal ball that perched on its marble top. A woman sat on a swivel chair, her hands hovering over the blazing crystal as if warming her bony fingers in the ball’s rippled aura. Shelly could only see the side of the woman’s wrinkled face, deeply creased and cracking, yet somehow still beautiful, like an antique sculpture that needed buffing.

  A huge, multicolored dog lay curled at the woman’s feet, its triangular ears perking and its black eyes shining. Shelly tiptoed closer. A strange light emanated from the dog’s coat, waves of color washing through a yellowish glow. A low growl rumbled from its throat.

  Shelly halted and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. The air in the cabin was too stifling, the situation too strange, even scary. While the angel helped her slip off her sweatshirt, the dog let out another growl. Its bared teeth didn’t impress her as a smile of greeting.

  The woman turned her chair and tapped the dog on its head. “Quiet, Iridian!” Shelly jumped back a step. The woman’s sharp voice sounded like a firecracker, belying her apparent age. Dry, wrinkled skin hung over her skull like a rotting mask, a deep scar blistering one cheek, but her eyes blazed red, alive with vibrant energy and ancient wisdom. Shelly trembled.