Tears of a Dragon

by Bryan Davis

  “Why not?” Billy asked.

  “I am not a dragon,” Merlin said, spreading out his arms. “Those in the village are the spirits of the dragons who never allowed the Nephilim to control their minds. I suppose you could call them the uncorrupted dragons.”

  “Uncorrupted?” Billy smirked. “There’s at least one in here who seems plenty corrupted. She’s been a pain ever since we got here.”

  “Is that so?” Merlin asked, a hint of concern in his voice. “What does she do?”

  “Her name is Jasmine. She calls herself a prophetess and tells the townspeople not to think about the past. A couple of them have told us she’d like to kill us if she could. She’s been saying we’re something called ‘Oracles of Fire’ and deserve to die.”

  Merlin stroked his chin. “I see. Very interesting. I suppose she could be a self-corrupted dragon. Although the Nephilim never took residence in her body, perhaps she sought power from dark sources and uses it to control the others.” He folded his hands at his waist. “I did not expect someone like her to exist in Dragons’ Rest. I advise you to avoid her.”

  “Yeah,” Billy said, adding a chuckle. “We guessed that. But why are the dragons here?”

  “They are in there,” Merlin replied, “because their souls have nowhere else to go. Dragons were designed to rule with mankind in the original paradise of earth, but when man fell, paradise collapsed. As you know, the dragons who were killed after they became humans were sent to the seventh circle of Hades. They were dry bones in need of a spiritual awakening that you provided as a representative of the human messiah. The dragons you see in this village were killed as dragons, so they went to this holding place not meant for humans. They had no messiah to rescue them . . . until now.

  Billy pressed his thumb against his chest. “You mean me? How?”

  Merlin pointed at the floor. “Convince them to come here, and you will all see together. They know that deliverance has long been prophesied. I’m sure many are already awaiting your coming.”

  Billy nodded toward the doorway. “Well, not that many, maybe a couple dozen at the most.”

  Merlin’s lips turned downward, but they slowly recovered as he lowered his brow, a wave of determination steeling his face. “Then you must convince more to come. Earth depends on their numbers, and their deliverance depends on their faith in you, the chosen one.” He raised a fist and rapped on the screen. “They cannot be saved unless they follow you to this stone, and even when they come, their faith will be tested. All who have enough faith to line up will believe when they see you pass through the stone, and only a chosen anthrozil, fully human and fully dragon, can lead them through the passage.”

  Bonnie laid her palm on the glass. “What will happen to the dragons when they go through?”

  Merlin lowered his fist and flapped his arm against his robe. “Actually, I am not quite sure. These dragons have died, so they will likely not return to physical life, but”—he pointed at the glass barrier—“there are not only dragons in there. You must also find two souls who do not belong.”

  “Your wife?” Bonnie asked. “Billy read about her in Fama Regis.”

  “Yes. My wife still has her mind, but her human soul has died within her, making her like one of the deceased dragons. I searched through the circles to find her, especially the sixth circle, but I never saw her among the spirits there. Perhaps her image is unable to appear in the human realm because of the unusual nature of her captivity in Dragons’ Rest.” A glimmer of a smile brightened Merlin’s face. “But if you can get her out, I can take her to a place where she will be restored.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bonnie said. “We’ll do everything we can to find her.”

  Billy breathed a sad sigh. “Then I guess the second one must be Professor Hamilton’s wife.”

  Merlin half closed one eye. “Is Dorcas in there?”

  “Yes,” Bonnie said, nodding. “She’s a seamstress, just like she was in our world.”

  “Well, then, Morgan murdered another enemy’s wife. I should have guessed. She is predictable, if nothing else.”

  Billy drew a smudge line on the glass with his finger. “Then who’s the other one who doesn’t belong here?”

  Merlin leaned close to the barrier. “Your eyes give you away, Billy. Yes, your father is likely in the village, though I cannot tell you where to look. He doesn’t belong there, and he, above all, must be convinced to come. The fate of the world may rest on his shoulders.”

  Billy lifted his eyebrows. He didn’t want to get too excited. Not yet. “So, if he doesn’t belong here, then he’s not dead?”

  “No. Not at all. He is merely without a body. When you sent Excalibur’s beam into the abyss, his spirit passed through the pendant’s rubellite and entered Dragons’ Rest. Since an evil spirit now controls his dragon body, I cannot say what will happen should you bring him out, but you must persuade him, for your coming marks the end of the dragon’s redemption story. They will all make their choice, and there will no longer be any need for this place. It will be utterly destroyed.” He paced to the edge of the barrier and back, then leaned close again. “For some reason, God doesn’t tell me exactly how he will carry out his plans, but I do know that your decisions, Billy, will make all the difference. Mark these words well, for they are words of prophecy.

  The path to grace, a path of blood,

  Will cost the king his greatest gifts.

  Of life, of love, he must resign

  And give his all for souls adrift.

  “Give his all?” Billy repeated. “What does that mean?”

  Merlin paced again, faster this time, his head down and his arms lifted. “I don’t know!” he said, his voice strained. “It could mean a lot of things.” He stopped at the center and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as though fearing to gaze into Billy’s. Finally, he looked up again, tears flowing and his voice barely a whisper. “Just be ready for anything, even if it means following in your savior’s footsteps. No matter what happens, even if you should die, you will never be forsaken.”

  The sound of shuffling feet filled the theatre. Martha hobbled to the very front row, her eyes sparkling in the glow of the red screen. “Look!” she cried. “The king has parted the curtains!” Cheers erupted as the people hurried to their seats.

  Merlin ducked low and whispered. “These people have awaited your coming for many years, so they won’t mind when you tell them you will return with as many of their fellow villagers as you can. But mark this well. A portal to and from this realm requires an extraordinary amount of spiritual energy to maintain, even for just three hours. Although the power to open the portal originates in heaven, it comes in response to the prayers of the faithful ones who wait here every day as they adhere to the schedule God has ordained. So, at three o’clock the screen’s passageway will close, and you must return by then and lead them to salvation. May God give you the right words to say, both here and in the village.” Merlin turned to the side and marched away, his shadow growing again, then fading.

  Billy turned and faced the onlookers, slowly walking to the front of the stage with Bonnie at his side. Their bright and eager faces gazed up at him as if begging for a single word, like puppies hoping for table scraps. Bonnie slipped her hand into Billy’s, squeezed it three times, then let go. The warmth of her touch sent a stream of courage through his body.

  Billy cleared his throat. “You have come because of the prophecy a man made here many years ago, and you were wise to believe him. I assume you have told many others, right?”

  Martha waved her cane. “Everyone I knew and some I didn’t. I even made my own tracts and handed them out, but people just laughed at me.”

  “Same here,” a man in the second row shouted. “My own wife thinks I’m crazy.”

  Constance stood near the back. “I tell all my customers at the inn about the coming king, but most of them call me a fool.” A rumble of agreement passed through the audience.

  Billy waved
both hands, his palms down. “But you still want them to come, right?”

  Silence fell upon the theatre. Billy glanced around at each person, a glow of red pulsing on every emotion-torn face. After a few seconds, a middle-aged woman stood up in the third row, her hands wringing. “I want them to come.” Her head turned from side to side. “We all have loved ones who just won’t listen.” Reaching into a dress pocket, she withdrew a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “My own son is kind and thoughtful, but he refuses to believe the prophet.” She returned her hand to the pocket, this time retrieving a carnation. “He brings me flowers, but he won’t give me what I long for more than anything else, hope that he’ll escape this place with me.”

  Bonnie clutched Billy’s wrist. He knew what her signal meant.

  “Is his name Brogan?” Billy asked.

  The lady’s eyes lit up like two crimson sparklers. “Yes! How did you know?”

  “I’ve met him. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try to find him again and tell him to come.”

  Shouts from the audience peppered Billy with names, obviously loved ones the desperate people wanted him to find. He waved his hands again to settle them down. “I’ll bring everyone I can, but I’d better get going. There isn’t much time.” He turned and looked at the screen. The walking motion in the other world had stopped, and the professor had turned around. Mr. Foley and Sir Patrick stood next to him. The three seemed to be discussing something important, each one carrying stern expressions. “Just watch the screen until I get back,” Billy continued, “and tell me if anything really interesting happens.”

  Billy jumped down the stairs, Bonnie following close behind. They ran up the slope toward the theatre exit and dashed out the door and onto the street. Billy stopped and surveyed the area, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight. “Okay. First back to the bookstore. Maybe Jasmine will be gone and we can talk to the clerk.”

  “True,” Bonnie said, “but with time passing the way it is, it won’t be long till one o’clock. She’ll probably be close by.”

  With a slight nod of his head, he gestured at the people streaming toward the center of town. “Think we can play follow the leader and blend in?”

  Bonnie checked her ring to make sure the gem was on the palm side. “You lead,” she said, curling her fingers into a fist. “I’ll follow.”

  The airplane hovered over a field next to the lake’s shore, its propeller quiet. Samyaza barked, “We’re low enough. Jump out.”

  Ashley unbuckled her seatbelt, hustled down the aisle, still clutching her stomach, and stopped at the cargo door. She looked down at a field of wet grass sparkling in the moonlight. A cool breeze wafted in and chilled her body, making her shiver.

  With the lake on one side and tall trees on the other, the long, narrow meadow acted as a border to the forested state park, probably a fun playground under normal circumstances. Tonight, however, it would be a field of nightmares where she would have to meet an enraged demon face-to-face. She swallowed, tasting again the caustic bile that so recently passed through her throat, then leaped from the plane.

  Trained as a long jumper in school, she knew how to land, bending her knees when she struck the ground and thrusting forward again to ride out her momentum. She rolled to her back, the airplane and demon now in full view. As big as an elephant, yet as striking as a sculpture of a Greek god, Samyaza gripped Merlin II under its wing structure, then, with his bare feet set like a boy throwing a toy glider, he slung the plane into a stand of trees and sent a stream of dark red flames behind it. The Cessna ripped apart, and the trailing flames ignited the remaining fuel, creating a fireball that engulfed nose, wings, and tail almost instantly.

  Ashley sat up and gulped. Walter had barely escaped that explosion, but was his watery plunge any better? She jumped to her feet, turned a half circle, and gazed at the lake’s waves lapping at the shoreline. Could he have survived the impact after falling from such a height? Even if he had, could he survive the frigid water?

  Samyaza stomped toward her, his pointed teeth bared. “Enough playing nice.” Ashley grabbed a thin branch, but how could such a feeble weapon ward off a monster? With a sweep of his arm, he scooped Ashley up and carried her toward the forest as if she were a teddy bear, his grip squeezing her breath away. She chattered her teeth, still encoding their location, and broke off a piece of the branch.

  “It’s not that cold,” Samyaza growled.

  Ashley dropped the piece and gasped through his crushing hold. “It is cold, . . . and you’re scaring me . . . half to death!” She broke off another thumb-length fragment and dropped it.

  He tightened his grip even more, compressing her stomach and making her feel like her liver was about to explode and spew into her esophagus. She heaved for each breath, her lungs catching teaspoonfuls of oxygen. Forget chattering Morse code! She just had to survive!

  Cold rushed through Walter’s crate. “Gahhh! I’m falling!” His limbs stiffened. His lungs grabbed for air and held it tight. Then—

  Splash!

  The impact whipped his head against an inner wall. Jets of ice-cold water sprayed his face and soaked his clothes, keeping him from blacking out. Thrusting upward with both arms, he threw the lid off and found himself bobbing on the surface of an enormous lake, bright moonlight shimmering on choppy waves as far as he could see. A brisk wind raced across the wide expanse and pummeled him unhindered, biting through his wet jacket and shirt like a thousand dagger-sharp icicles.

  His joints locked in the frigid water. The wooden crate, although not even close to sea-worthy, kept him afloat, but would he be able to swim if it started to sink? Maybe he could paddle to shore with his hands before it got waterlogged. He could see lights, probably houses at the edge of the water, but he had no way to judge how far away they were. Could he possibly get there before he turned into a human popsicle?

  He picked a single light on the shore and surged toward it, paddling in the direction the wind was blowing. He felt like a mouse in a flooded coracle as he bobbed in an endless expanse of white-capped water. Every stroke brought a stab of pain. Every wave splashed ice water into his hair. Every gust of wind snatched breath out of his lungs, breath he sorely needed as he slogged across the lake.

  A huge fireball erupted to his right. He gasped. “Ashley!” The towering column of flames marked his new course, a two o’clock heading. He had to fight the wind somewhat, but the explosion sent a shot of adrenaline into his heart and limbs. He thrust his arms through the water, new energy giving him new hope. But how long would it last?

  Chapter 12

  JARED BANNISTER

  With more people filling the town square, Billy felt safe weaving through them as he and Bonnie headed for the bookstore. Still, he eased the door open, entering slowly and scanning the room for Jasmine. When he stepped to the side to give Bonnie room to enter, a plank groaned under his weight.

  An elderly woman glanced up from the sales counter, smiling as she peered over her spectacles. “May I help you?” she asked.

  Billy ambled to the counter, trying not to appear too anxious. “Yes. I’m looking for someone—a man, over six feet tall, slender and kind of muscular. Reddish-brown hair.”

  “You’ve described my librarian to a tee. Are you a friend?”

  “Uh . . . a relative.”

  “I see. Reginald didn’t tell me about relatives coming to visit, but you are certainly welcome.” She gestured toward a set of swinging double doors. Billy took note of the fingers on the one hand he could see, her right hand. No ring.

  “He is working on a research project,” she continued, “but you may interrupt him.”

  At the sound of “Reginald,” Billy’s heart sank. He was hoping for “Jared,” but somehow the name seemed familiar, as if Reginald might be a relative from long ago, maybe a great uncle he had never met but had seen listed in a family tree.

  “Bonnie,” Billy whispered as they approached the door. “She doesn’t have a ring. Are y
ou thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Merlin’s wife?” Bonnie asked.

  “Books are like scrolls. Why not?”

  “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  With Billy following several feet behind, Bonnie strode to the counter and extended her hand. “My name is Bonnie. May I ask yours?”

  The clerk tilted her head and stared. “Yes, young lady,” she said, slowly putting her hand in Bonnie’s. “My name is Sarah.”

  Bonnie shook her hand firmly, her smile growing from ear to ear. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She picked up a book from a stack on the counter—Jasmine’s prophecies. Apparently it was required reading among the townspeople, and an ample supply lay within easy reach. “How long have you been selling books here?”

  “Oh, as long as I can remember, but I rarely think about such things.” She held her hand out for the book. A hint of sarcasm spiced her tone. “As Jasmine says, dwelling on the past is an unprofitable venture.”

  “I see.” Bonnie passed the book to her. “Are you married?”

  Sarah took off her spectacles and laid them on the counter. “Young lady, I adore your smile.” She touched the tip of Bonnie’s nose. “But I think your nose is getting rather long, if you understand my meaning.”

  Bonnie rubbed her nose, then blushed. “I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “Apology accepted. Since you are obviously not accustomed to our practices here, I have three pieces of advice for you. One, gentlemen shake hands. Ladies curtsy. Two”—she pointed at Bonnie’s finger—“keep the gem in that ring hidden. Turning it is not enough. Three, refrain from asking anyone about the past. Four, stay away from Jasmine, the mayor.”

  Bonnie held up three fingers. “Uh, you said three pieces of advice. That was four.”

  “Here is a fifth,” Sarah replied, holding up her hand, her fingers spread. “Be careful about correcting an old woman. We rarely enjoy being reminded of approaching senility.”