by Casey Lane
Her gun isn’t pointed at me anymore, so I leap from the floor and tackle her, holding her down until the knockout drug takes effect.
Feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, I scrub the scene of all evidence and then collect Spero’s unconscious body. My back is aching from the bullet impact and it’s difficult to lift her.
Spero, her left eye bloodshot, wakes to find herself tied to a chair in my closet. She screams, and I let her. The closet has been soundproofed for just such occasions.
She’s breathing hard now. “Where am I?”
“Who are you working for?”
She gathers her wits and speaks in a command tone. “Colonel Argyros, I am Lieutenant Heather Spero of the KoR Criminal Conduct Division. It is my duty to inform you that any criminal actions you undertake will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
“You’re not investigating me. You’re trying to kill me. Why?”
She pauses for a moment. Is she constructing a deception?
“I just follow orders, Colonel. I don’t ask why.”
“But surely you must have some inkling of why CCD wants me dead.”
She hesitates, and I position the chronomichani close to her bound right hand.
Her command tone begins to falter. “What is that thing?”
“Your doom, Lieutenant, unless you tell me what I want to know.”
“Look, I’m only a junior officer. They don’t tell me anything. All I hear are rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“That your dragon delusions are more important to you than KoR.”
“They are not delusions!”
She screams again as I force her finger into the chronomichani’s feeding slot. In my mind, I hear the device sing with pleasure as it drinks her blood. Not only her blood, but her soul. Her soul is not destroyed per se, it’s absorbed by the device.
Spero’s eyes have glazed over. The machine has her in its grasp. I doubt she even needs to be tied now. She will sit peacefully until drained, which can take several hours.
In the meantime, I have an important errand to run.
Grandma Kittler has already gone to bed when I knock on her door. She’s actually not my grandmother, but that’s her preferred form of address.
She lives and works in this kitschy little urban cottage with a neon sign out front that reads Psychic.
After what seems like a half hour, she finally answers the door, leaning heavily on her cane.
“Alex, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?”
“It’s eight p.m.”
Her hairy lip stiffens. “Don’t get smart with me.”
I hold out my offering. “My apologies for the late visitation. I brought you toffee ice cream.”
She eyes the grocery bag, her features softening. “Is this about your soul armor?”
I nod.
“You got a pick for me, boy?”
“I went ahead in time and checked the boxing outcomes. In two days, there will be a prize fight in Las Vegas. Bet on the fighter in the red trunks, his name is Navarro.”
She smiles and opens the door, snatching the ice cream from my hand.
I’ll never understand people who are motivated by money. Had I wanted wealth, the chronomichani could have given me that. But instead, I use the device to make the world a safer place.
I follow Grandma into her workplace. Along the wall, below portraits of various zoo animals, stands a plastic-covered sofa that looks a century old.
She points for me to sit on the sofa. Then she sits heavily beside me. She reaches over with her left hand to feel the back of my head.
As she speaks, I smell garlic on her breath. “That beast has been chewing on your soul.”
Interesting, she’s never called it a beast before.
“Yes. I need my armor renewed. Why do you call it a beast?”
“Because I can see the bite marks.”
“Bite marks? As a vampire might leave behind?”
“Not a vampire, something older. Perhaps a Fae or a dragon.”
I stiffen in shock. It all makes sense now! The chronomichani was probably built to serve only as a mechanical calendar. Then some dark power bound it with the soul of a dragon. And not just any dragon, one of the rare dragons that can time travel.
The very device that helps me fight dragons has a dragon within it. What rich irony. How many times have I let that foul creature dine on my blood? Why didn’t my St. George relic warn me, or protect me?
I think I know the answer. Perhaps St. George would agree that one must use evil to fight evil. As long as I don’t harm someone who is good, I haven’t crossed a moral line.
“Come lay on Grandma’s lap.”
Her voice breaks me out of my bitter reverie. Recalling the procedure, I lie faceup on her lap.
With one meaty hand, she finds a notch at the base of my skull and presses it hard. With the other hand, she drives her thumb into my navel.
I feel dizzy and speak to distract myself from the growing nausea. “You never explained how this works.”
She makes a rude noise. “Next, you’ll want my recipe for tuna casserole.”
I wake up, still lying on Grandma’s lap. She’s asleep, with a long line of drool hanging from her bottom lip.
I don’t remember passing out. I check my phone and discover I’ve been here for over an hour. The same thing happened last time.
She doesn’t wake as I slowly rise from the sofa, even though the plastic squeaks loudly.
I find a notepad beside her old landline phone and write down the name Navarro. Otherwise, she’ll never remember the winner of the fight.
When I return home, I find Spero’s body pale and lifeless. The dragon device has claimed another victim, and now it’s primed for many more jumps.
All that’s left to do is dispose of the body, and I know an abandoned mine that will do nicely.
I experience a pang of conscience as I wrap Spero’s body in a tarp. I don’t enjoy killing women.
My blood freezes as I hear someone pound on my front door. Who could that be? No one from my team would come here without permission in advance.
Glancing out my bedroom window, I can just see the tail end of a standard KoR-issued sedan.
Oh dear Lord! Is this about Spero’s CCD investigation? Has one of her colleagues come to rescue her?
The knocking continues, weaker this time, and I hear a woman’s voice calling my name.
I recognize the voice. It’s Betty, the maven of Cultural Services. Relief washes through me. Betty is romantically fixated on me and probably stopped by to report on the scrolls I sent in for translation. I always try to avoid her, but she has a way of tracking me down.
I close Spero’s body in the closet and hurry out to answer the door. Betty has seen my car, so she knows I’m here.
Betty and I had one date, nearly a decade ago, when she was much trimmer. I remember that she enjoyed running her hand over my smooth scalp. Ever since then, she’s been obsessed with me, sending me birthday presents, flowers on Valentine’s Day, and even Halloween cards. I’ve gotten good work from her, on a professional level, so I’ve managed to resist crushing her heart, but it hasn’t been easy.
I open the door, giving her my best smile. “Goodness, I fell asleep at the TV. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
She smiles shyly as she fidgets with an elephant brooch on her blouse. For some reason, she loves elephants. Her office is covered with elephant knickknacks.
“Hello, Alex. Sorry to disturb you at home, but I’ve been working late, and I think you’ll be excited by my findings.”
“I’m intrigued. Thank you so much for coming.” And please hurry it up, you sad old cow.
I usher her inside. “Can I make you some tea?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
I make her a cup of tea and we sit together in the dining room. Beaming, she pulls up her notes on a tablet.
“The scrolls are st
ill at the office. It will take a few more days to translate the more difficult passages. But I thought I should bring you what I had.”
“By all means, I’m eager to hear.”
“The scrolls were written in Ethiopic script, a branch of the more common South Arabian script.”
Something tells me she’s going to draw this out.
“Though the script is old, the scrolls themselves are modern. Perhaps this is an attempt to forge an antiquity.”
Suddenly, I hear a soft pounding noise coming from my bedroom! I could have sworn that Spero was dead. How irritating. The closet is soundproof, but apparently not pound proof.
Betty turns, frowning. “Is there someone here?”
“No! It’s just … the washing machine. It’s out of balance.”
“I can help with that.”
I flash my best smile. “Thank you, Betty, but I’m eager to hear what the scrolls say. Don’t keep me in suspense, my dear.”
She blushes. “Of course, Alex. I don’t mean to tease you. One of the scrolls was used for record keeping, mostly tracking supplies. But the other is more interesting. It refers to an important event happening near the end of the year 542 CE.”
“What event? You have me on the edge of my seat.”
As she opens her mouth to speak, the pounding noise continues.
Betty looks unsettled. “That’s awfully loud. Maybe you should have a look at that.”
“Thank you, but I’ll take care of it later. What happened in 542 CE?”
Chapter Twelve
Sapphire Mentor
TYLER BUCK
As I sit at the feast table, I open the wooden box that Ms. Luvalle gave me. Inside it is the dragon amulet, and the emerald in its left eye glows, indicating I’ve passed my dragon training. But the ruby and sapphire gems are still dim.
“Thank you, Ms. Luvalle. But I gave this to my mother.”
“She sold it to pay bills and secure a new apartment for the two of you. We rescued it from a pawnshop.”
As I place the amulet around my neck, the Hwedoists pound the table in approval. Even Lagashan smiles.
I just have to remember to take it off the next time I shift.
Later that night, Ms. Luvalle takes me aside to speak privately.
“Tyler, I have some business to attend to, so I won’t be making these regular visits anymore. I’m going to give you a beacon stick you can use to call me when your training is complete. Before you take it, we both need to grip the ends for a few moments.”
She holds out a black object, the same size and shape as a stick of gum. It’s capped with gold on the ends. Her fingers squeeze the gold cap on one end, so I grasp the other. After a couple seconds, I feel a tingle in my hand.
Ms. Luvalle nods and releases her end. “It’s charged now. Just break the stick when you want me to come.”
I examine the stick. “That’s pretty cool. Is it magic or some advanced technology?”
She smiles. “There really isn’t any difference.”
When we return to the feast table, I see that Lagashan is gone, and there’s a fat Ethiopian man in his sixties sitting in her place. He smiles at me with big, crooked teeth. His face has deep laugh lines around his mouth and orange eyes.
“Hello, Tyler. I am Gammachu, your fight mentor. I hear you are funny. Tell me a joke.”
“You speak English!”
“I speak all languages. Now where is my joke?”
My mind goes blank. I’ll have to wing it.
“If you’re in a hurry, don’t ask a dragon for a story. They have long tales.”
He laughs. “That is a terrible joke. I love it.”
This is surreal. My fight instructor is a fat old dracoform who likes cheesy jokes.
Gammachu and I sit on reed mats in the center of a stone room lit by oil lamps. The back wall of the room displays a large fresco of a hooded cobra, poised to strike. Its glittery eyes seem to stare directly at me.
Gammachu speaks in a jolly tone. “It will be my great pleasure to teach you the secret art of Altaneen-alqital. Those are Arabic words that mean dragon fighting. The art was born in Africa and perfected by many generations of dracoforms. It is built on animal forms, drawing heavily from serpents and clawed beasts. At this time, I will teach you only the fundamentals, but it is my hope that you will return in the coming years to learn more advanced techniques.”
I nod my head respectfully. “Thank you, I appreciate the opportunity to learn. Do I call you Master?”
He chuckles. “No, Tyler, as much as I like the sound of that, Gammachu will do.”
He whistles, and I’m startled when the fresco swings open, revealing a hidden door. Four men emerge, each carrying something heavy.
Gammachu claps his hands together. “It is time to receive your iron. You must wear it at all times, except when bathing and sleeping.”
The men clamp heavy iron armor over my forearms and shins. Each piece must weigh at least thirty pounds. I can barely move.
Gammachu explains. “As a dracoform, you are naturally stronger and faster than any human. You will be tempted to use this physical advantage to win fights, rather than relying on proper technique. Do you see the danger of that?”
I nod. “I’ll be in trouble if I have to fight anyone with the same advantages, or someone even more powerful.”
His eyes twinkle. “Yes! Very good, Tyler.”
The four men leave, and a fifth emerges from behind the fresco, carrying a pair of wooden claws, rounded and dull, attached to brass knuckles. He slides my fingers into the weapons.
Gammachu checks the fit and nods, satisfied. “These are your wooden training claws. Eventually, you will transition to sharp steel.”
“What about those crystal claws I’ve seen around here?”
For the first time, Gammachu looks peeved. “Those are made to mimic the claws of Aido-Hwedo, but they are brittle imitations, not suitable for real combat. Even the wooden claws are better, because they will not shatter. But I cannot convince the Guardians to stop wearing them. It is a tradition.”
I nod, taking a few swipes with the training claws. Wearing the iron bracers, I feel like I’m moving underwater. I must look silly, like a kid in a tiger costume. I’m king of the jungle. Flee from my wooden claws or I’ll give you a splinter.
Gammachu positions himself in front of me. “The first thing I want you to do is close your fists and strike me with one of the wooden claws. Please understand that my intention is not to humiliate you, but to show you how much work lies ahead of us.”
This has to be a trick. Even with the iron slowing me down, how hard could it be to hit a fat man standing right in front of me? Sure, he’s a dracoform, but he’s an old one, and badly out of shape.
I reach out and claw him lightly on the arm.
He laughs. “What a committed attack!”
I know sarcasm when I hear it. “I’m supposed to come at you harder?”
“Please.”
I swing my right hand, my wooden claws coming up fast and stopping just short of his arm. He doesn’t move.
“Are you actually trying to strike me? If so, that is a poor start.”
I cock my hand back for another swing, praying the old man really has the goods. This time, I swipe hard through his arm, or at least the space where his arm used to be. He’s standing there untouched, only inches from his previous position.
I try to hide my surprise. “That’s pretty cool.”
He smiles and claps me on the shoulder. “When you can hit me, your training will be nearly complete.”
“What happens when I graduate? I know the sapphire on my amulet will light up. But how? Do you cast a spell on it?”
“I’m a warrior, not a magician. The amulet knows when you are ready, and the gem will light itself.”
As the weeks pass, I miss having Ayana around during the day as a translator. But I still see her every night, and she always asks me about my training.
The
fighting system is really interesting. It’s mainly defensive, based on the idea of being in constant motion. I’ve learned to sway my body like a snake, while making my movements unpredictable. The next stage of training is to make my movements seemingly predictable, and then break the established pattern to launch surprise attacks.
Most of the attacks are claw slashes, focusing on the eyes, neck, wrist, and groin, places where the blood flows near the surface of the skin. The best time to attack is when an opponent is off-balance, in midstep, or when they are withdrawing a weapon to prepare a strike.
Gammachu teaches me how to keep my face blank and move without any wasted motion, so I don’t telegraph my attacks.
There’s so much to think about that at the end of each day, my brain is as exhausted as my body. In some ways, Altaneen-alqital is more of a science than an art.
At first, the iron plates around my forearms and shins cause itching and chafing, but my dracoform skin quickly adapts. I wear them all the time, except when I’m bathing, sleeping, or having sex. Ayana is fine with them but I’m afraid I’ll hurt her.
As the months pass, Gammachu talks more about getting into the mind of an opponent, and how to read their body language in order to predict their actions. I’ve never paid much attention to body language, at least not consciously. It’s really fascinating, and I find myself using this emerging skill to read people around the temple, including Ayana.
Only then do I realize that she’s not easy to read. It’s like she’s had the same training as me. She spends most of her time mirroring my own body language. This must be why I’ve been with her for a year now and still know almost nothing about her.
I think back to all the times I’ve tried to have a serious conversation with her. We’ve always ended up having sex. I’ve been feeling guilty about taking advantage of her, but maybe she’s the one who’s been in control all along.
Lately, Ayana has been interested in weird jewelry. I’ve seen oddly shaped rings, and amulets with flowers and geometric patterns, sometimes with markings that look like Arabic letters. She tells me she got them because they look pretty, but I’m not sure I believe her.
