The Dragon's Choice

by Wesley Allison

  “Yesss,” said Esther. “Still don’t see her as attractive?”

  Chapter Sixteen: Summon My Protector

  Lord Dechantagne sat across the desk from Father Galen. The Priest was into his sixties now and was starting to look it. His hair had long ago turned to grey, but he still had the kindly face that those of Augie’s generation had always known. For them, it was as much a symbol of the church as the crucifix.

  “Thank you very much for the donation,” said Father Galen. “The purchase of land for a car park will allow more of our members to attend, and will probably improve safety as well.”

  “Precisely why I don’t consider it a donation,” said Augie. “It’s more of an investment in the colony.”

  “I am a little bit surprised. I know you’ve been attending church here with your family all your life, but I rather expected you to devote your attentions to the shrine.”

  “I hope you won’t be insulted if I tell you I’ve given the shrine a similar donation, for a similar purpose,” said Augie. “While it’s true that my mother is Zaeri, the Dechantagne’s have always been strong supporters of the Church of Kafira, if not always notably devout.”

  “Well, you know my mind on the matter,” said Father Galen. “Interfaith cooperation can only be good for the people of Birmisia Colony.”

  “Then we are in agreement.”

  There was a knock at the door, and one of the church acolytes stepped inside and presented the father with a note on a silver tray.

  “It’s from Mr. Clipers, the Zaeri Imam.”

  “Timely,” said Father Galen, picking up the note and reading. A frown crossed his face. “He asks me to come to the Tice home at Citizen Street. He says it’s an emergency.”

  “I’ll drive you,” said Augie, jumping up. “That’s Ascan’s house.”

  “Friend of yours?” asked the priest, grabbing his sick call kit and the Holy Scriptures.”

  “I know him from shrine. His sister is Iolana’s best gal pal.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Tice home. It was a small cottage less than a quarter mile from the Zaeri Shrine. Hurrying inside, they found a dozen friends and family in the parlor, all looking pale and drawn. Ascan Tice met them and practically dragged the priest through a doorway to a back room.

  “Willa, what’s going on?” the young lord asked Ascan’s sister, a beautiful twenty-eight year old woman with long flowing raven hair.

  “Oh, Augie! It’s horrible! Noémi is so sick.”

  “When did this happen? She looked fine on the Sabbath.”

  “It just happened—hours ago, maybe. We were baking bread and she started to act nervous-like. Then suddenly, she broke out in cold shivers, and complained of a headache. I got her to bed and thought she could rest a bit, but when I went to check on her thirty minutes later, she was sweating buckets. And her sweat was blue.”

  A frown on his face, Augie stepped back through the door the priest had gone through. In the bedroom beyond, he found the stricken woman in her bed, and just as described, she was covered in blue perspiration. Father Galen was bent over her, in the midst of casting a healing spell. Ascan knelt on the other side of the bed, weeping. Mr. Clipers looked on. Augie stepped up next to him and whispered in his ear.

  “Does this blue color have something to do with her dark skin? I mean, because she’s Mirsannan?”

  “No. It’s the disease. It’s called The Blue Sweat or just The Sweat.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of it?”

  “I don’t think anyone has seen it since the fifteenth century,” replied the Imam.

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  “We’re taught about it because it is the only disease known that is resistant to healing magic. I just hope Father Galen does better than I did. He is known for his healing abilities.”

  At that moment, the priest finished his prayer and stood. He glanced at his Zaeri counterpart and shook his head ever so slightly.

  Augie took the statuette from his pocket, clasped it tightly, and whispered “Senta.”

  The sorceress appeared right in front of him, and right beside Mr. Clipers. Her pink hat just matched her pink day dress, and was tied onto her head with a wide strip of lace.

  “Now?” she asked. “At tea time?”

  “Mrs. Tice is sick,” said Augie. “Neither Mr. Clipers nor Father Galen can do anything for her.”

  Senta looked down at the young woman, now tossing her head in delirium, and moaning in a low voice.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do. I buy my healing draughts from the church, just like everyone else.”

  “Can’t you do something? Anything?”

  “I wouldn’t even know what spell to cast.”

  Noémi Tice suddenly opened her eyes, cried out, and slumped over. Father Galen bent over to take her pulse.

  “She’s dead,” he said, standing back up.

  Ascan let out a howl and then continued weeping.

  “Wait a minute,” said Senta. “This thing isn’t catchy, is it?”

  Augie looked at Mr. Clipers, who shrugged.

  “Kafira’s twat!” she growled. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”

  Then with a pop, she disappeared.

  * * * * *

  Zoantheria woke from the strangest dream, though she couldn’t quite remember what it was. All she could remember was that it had something to do with her hands. Opening her eyes, she saw a lizzie right next to her left front claw. With a growl, she pulled away, and her tail barb flew toward the offending reptile. The creature only just managed to jump out of the way.

  “Fear not, Great Goddess.” Tokkenoht was suddenly near her head. “We are merely doing a little grooming.”

  “What?”

  “We are helping you to be more presentable to Yessonar when he returns.”

  “Why would I care if I’m presentable?” growled Zoey.

  “You are his.”

  “I am a dragon! Nobody owns me!”

  “Of course not, Great Goddess. I meant only that you are his… his chosen companion.”

  “I’m not his chosen anything, and I’m not likely to be. Now, what were you doing to my hand?”

  She held up the extremity to see that three of the five claws had been painted dark red.

  “Who thought this up? And why? You lot don’t paint your claws.”

  “It was Szakhandu. It was she that noticed that the human females painted theirs. Since both you and Yessonar grew up among the soft-skins, she thought that it might make you more attractive.”

  “She’s an idiot. Look at me. How could I be any more attractive?”

  “It is even so, Great Goddess,” said Tokkenoht with a bow.

  “What is this stuff you’ve put on me?”

  “It is dye from the red clay.”

  The dragon breathed out a shot of flame, which enveloped her own hand. In two seconds it was gone, and the red dye had turned to ashes. She blew them away with a puff of breath.

  “Do you have any other plans to annoy me while I’m trying to sleep?”

  “We were going to check over your scales for parasites.”

  “My scales are scrupulously clean,” hissed Zoey. “The only parasites around me are you and your kind. Now I’m going to sleep, and if I’m bothered again, I’m flying away for good. Explain that to your precious sky god.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She just closed her eyes and dropped her head back onto the pile of pillows that the lizzies had provided.

  * * * * *

  Yuah sat down at the breakfast table. One of the lizzies set a cup of tea in front of her. She looked across at the only other diner that morning—her son. He hadn’t acknowledged her and his brow was furrowed in deep thought.

  “What is the matter, Augie?”

  He held up the newspaper. The headline read “Death Count Now 421.”

  “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she said.

&n
bsp; He just nodded.

  “It’s not your fault, you know.”

  “I know it’s not my fault, Mother, but it is my responsibility.”

  “How can that be? You’re not an imam. You’re not even a doctor.” She took a sip of her tea. “Iolanthe doesn’t seem that worried about it.”

  “Auntie is Governor, but I am March Lord of Birmisia. I’m the face of this colony. People look to me for help.”

  “But what can you do?”

  “I’m putting together a team of doctors to find out what’s causing this and how we can put an end to it. I’ve called in Dr. Megistus from Mallontah. He’s had great success in battling the spread of typhoid and cholera. They had some miserable epidemics there over the past fifty years. Not everyone can afford a cabinet full of healing draughts, like we can.”

  “You don’t need to remind me,” said his mother. “I grew up poor.”

  “Not so poor as some. You grew up in a wealthy home, even if it wasn’t yours. You didn’t have to live on the streets.”

  “Maybe not,” she sniffed. “I was always worried I’d end up in the streets though, especially with your dear Auntie in charge.”

  “I’m off,” said Augie, getting up. “I’m meeting with some people on this very subject, at the hospital.”

  He stepped around the table, kissed his mother on the cheek, and then left. Yuah sat for several minutes alone, if one discounted the lizzies that refilled her teacup. Then Gladys Highsmith entered the room and sat down next to her.

  “You’re late getting up,” observed Yuah.

  “I was tired. I have temporary employment at the government building. I’ve almost got enough money saved.”

  “Money for what?”

  “To move back to Mallontah. I need enough to tide me over until I find work there. It seems I’m not as able to count on my brother as I thought.”

  “Why are you going back to Mallontah? I hear it’s dreadful. Everyone says so. Besides, I thought that you liked it here.”

  “You can’t want me here after what Senta said about me.”

  “You’re not still upset about that, are you?” asked Yuah. “She was just being hateful.”

  “But it’s true. Everything she said is true.”

  * * * * *

  A heavy whomp shook the great pyramid to its foundation as the steel dragon dropped onto the temple building at the top. Zoantheria opened one eye and looked at him. The sun had already gone down, but his steel-colored scales still managed to look shiny, though not nearly as shiny as Argentine’s.

  “I’m glad you could come,” he said.

  “That should be my line. I’ve been here a fortnight.”

  “Sleeping?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Now I’m hungry.”

  “I’m feeling a bit peckish myself,” he replied. “Shall we go out together?”

  She launched herself into the sky, in an arc that would take her over the southern mountain. She could hear him following her. Crossing over the foothills on the distant slope, and the forests, they at last came to the plains beyond. Circling, Zoey located a herd of sauroposeidon, feeding at the edge of the woods. The bizarre creatures, with their comically long necks, ranged in size from three ton adolescents to a sixty ton matriarch.

  “Now that is a truly big animal,” said Bessemer.

  “Hardly a mouthful for Voindrazius,” said Zoey.

  “Maybe, but enough for the two of us,” he said. “Shall we share?”

  Folding his wings, he dropped from the sky, hitting the gigantic dinosaur just behind the shoulders, breaking its back, and driving it to the ground. The rest of the herd took off running in their ungainly gallop. Zoantheria landed next them.

  “Help yourself,” he said.

  She tore off a haunch and began eating. Skin, sinew, muscle, bones—it was all the same to her.

  “You don’t seem to be very happy,” said the steel dragon. “Tokkenoht was supposed to take care of you.”

  “She’s been fine. They brought me pillows and wine and some disgusting lizzie concoction. Other than trying to paint my claws, they’ve been pleasant enough.”

  “What’s the matter then?”

  “I’m not used to living like this—sitting atop a temple, like some kind of statue of Kafira, as the devoted stare on.”

  “You’re a dragon. This is how we live.” He pulled the dinosaurs neck back until he could reach the head, and bit through the brain.

  “Who says?”

  “That’s the way it is—the way it’s always been.”

  “What do you know about Aurium and Argentine?” she changed the subject.

  “I know Aurium. He’s old, though not as old as Voindrazius. I don’t know Argentine. Is that his new silver? He’s had several in the past.”

  “Are they the good dragons?”

  “Depends on your point of view,” he said. “He’s certainly been a patron to the humans, Brechs in particular. But I don’t want to talk politics now.”

  He stretched his neck over the sauroposeidon carcass and licked some of the blood running down Zoantheria’s neck. She jumped back and stared at him. Then she jumped into the air and was gone. With a sigh, he turned back to his meal.

  * * * * *

  Sen walked from the parlor towards the back of the house, looking in each doorway as she passed. She stopped at the door to the library, seeing her mother sitting cross-legged in a chair, a large bowl of water in her lap.

  “Who are you scrying now?” the girl asked.

  “Not who. What.”

  “What are you scrying then?”

  “I am attempting to find some pattern to this frightening disease.”

  “What disease is that then?”

  Her mother looked up at her like she was crazy.

  “I know, I know. It’s The Sweat. The paper yesterday said only about four hundred people got it. I’ll bet there have been thousands of cases of influenza, and people die from that.”

  “Yes,” said the sorceress, “but only one in a thousand die of influenza, and one out of one seem to die of this. More importantly, healing draughts won’t cure it.”

  “Seems like the priests should be able to make something stronger,” said the girl.

  “What?”

  “I mean, you have ways of making your spells stronger. They should too. Maybe they’re holding out on everyone.”

  “If it were just a random generic priest, I’d agree with you,” said Senta. “I’ve known Father Galen and Mother Auni since I was younger than you, and they’re just about the most forthright and dedicated people in the world, I expect. I would never believe something like that from either of them.”

  “Golly. I’ve never heard such effusive praise from you for anyone other than yourself,” said the girl.

  “Effusive? Don’t make up words!”

  “Whatever,” said the girl, turning on her heel and leaving.

  “Wait,” said her mother, catching up with her in the parlor. “Are you here to learn more magic?”

  “That was the idea. Do you think you can pry yourself away from your scrying bowl?”

  “Meet me in the garden. You said something about making spells stronger. It’s time you learned how to do that.”

  * * * * *

  The train station was busy, as it always was when a train was due to arrive. Lord Dechantagne climbed out of his steam carriage and had just walked around to the back to release the steam cock, when there was a loud crash. The sound seemed to come from the other side of the depot building. There were a few screams and shouts, but nothing like the pandemonium one would expect in a true emergency. Hurrying across the street and up the steps, the young lord had to weave through quite a crowd at the station. When he reached trackside, he saw the Number 7 steam locomotive had come off the tracks, and was leaning over precariously. The coal tender was likewise off the rails, as was the first of a dozen cars, though it wasn’t leaning as badly. The rest of the train was just as it should ha
ve been, with all of the metal wheels engaged.

  “What happened?” Augie asked the engineer, who was looking beneath the still steaming monster.

  “Broke an axel. Good thing it was here. We weren’t above four miles per hour. If it had happened out on the run, the whole train could have crashed.”

  “I guess we were lucky.”

  “I wouldn’t say lucky, Your Lordship.”

  Augie turned to see Mr. Cawdry, the station agent.

  “Don’t get me wrong. It could have been a disaster. Still, it’s going to take us a week to get the repair train up from Mallontah to lift this lady back onto the tracks.”

  “Maybe not,” said Augie.

  He reached into his pocket and clasped the statuette. “Senta.”

  “This had better not be another sick call,” said the sorceress, after she popped into existence in front of him. She was dressed in her outlandish black sorceress’s outfit.

  “No. The train has come off the track. Do you think you can lift it back on?”

  Senta looked at the train and then looked back at the young man.

  “I can’t lift a train. Can you?”

  “No, but magic…”

  “Yes, magic.” She took a deep breath. “Sieor Uuthanum sembia eetarri tortestos err.”

  Augie looked from her to the train. Suddenly it was back on the track. The locomotive, the coal tender, and the cars were all exactly where they should have been.

  “So you could lift it.”

  “Didn’t your expensive tutor teach you about gravity and mass and that sort of thing?” she asked.

  “Yes, but magic…”

  “Yes, magic. It was simpler just to shift reality. Somewhere else in the world, a train has gone wrong. Hopefully nobody was killed. I’d hate for you to have that on your conscience.” She raised her hand. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.” And she was gone again.

  “I suppose you’ll still need to repair that axel,” Augie told the engineer.