by Marc Secchia
With a howl, the enraged dragon snapped at her.
True to her word, Shioni darted forward. Again, the blade whispered its strange song as it amputated three clawed toes on the dragon’s other forefoot. Flame licked around her. Shioni retreated around the curved church wall, followed by the fire-breathing head. She duelled it with blade and magic, trying to keep one step ahead as the dragon somehow changed the nature of its fire and several times singed her hair and legs by burning through her shield.
Panting and battling hard, Shioni almost did not hear the second head coming up behind her.
She staggered as huge teeth clamped down on her magical shield. The two heads fought over her, rattling her about like a nut in a gourd. The dragon seemed maddened by its inability to reach her through the invisible cocoon of her making. The teeth sawed at her defences, champing and gnashing furiously. Shioni knew her strength was rapidly failing; but if she dropped her protection, those teeth would make short work of her.
But the heads seemed to be coming at her from beneath … expecting her to drop when her strength gave out? Choosing her moment, she shaped a hole above her head with her thoughts and clambered free. The left head saw her move. Shioni cried out as a tooth stabbed into her thigh-muscle. She wrenched herself free, dropping sword-first onto the base of the right head’s skull.
The dragon’s skin was as slimy and bumpy as it looked. Shioni could not stop herself from sliding, although she jabbed the sword so deep that she struck the spine, to arrest her fall. But again, even dragon-bone proved no barrier to the strange sword. She slid right down to where the two necks joined, butchering a huge trench in the fleshy length of the dragon’s neck. The dragon bellowed a long, bubbling cry of anguish.
She caught sight of an arm protruding from the gaping flesh. Getu? No, surely not … Shioni dropped to the ground almost beneath the dragon’s mighty chest. Using her sword like an axe, she chopped the man free. It was General Getu! His body flopped out on the ground.
The huge creature reared, its right head dragging on the ground now. Its cries deafened her as the dragon thrashed blindly in search of her. “How can this be?” babbled the dragon. “It’s the magic … it’s real … but your kind are dead, all dead!”
“This is for the old priest!” Shioni struck again and again, deep into the dragon’s belly, trying somehow to find a heart, a vital spot, anything in truth she could reach to do damage. “This is for Gondar and all the people you’ve killed!” The sword sung low and hungry, as bloodthirsty as she felt at that terrible moment. Black dragon blood sprayed over her hands and arms, even up into her face. She closed her mouth and hacked away, beyond caring where she placed her blows. She had only one thought: this foul creature must die.
“No!” The dragon roared, heaving its weight forward to crush her. “You cannot–my brethren will avenge me!”
Shioni ducked beneath the descending belly–her foot! Somehow, she managed to twist it free. With a blind swing she lopped off another leg near the ankle, and rolled away desperately as the dragon lurched to one side.
Reversing the sword in her hands, Shioni jabbed it to the hilt in the dragon’s remaining neck and tore sideways with all of her strength. The dragon fell half-over the church wall, convulsing. It shuddered; one last terrible cry shook the church. Black blood flooded out of its mouths.
“Quick!” Annakiya tugged Shioni’s hand. “Get Getu!”
And Abba Petros was there too, helping them drag the General clear of the dragon’s death-throes. The dragon thrashed several more times, and then it began to shrivel up before their astonished eyes.
In the end, only a battered stick remained.
Abba Petros, as unsteady as a toddling one year-old, walked over to pick it up. “Anyone want to help me start a fire?”
Chapter 28: The Valley of the Shadow of Death
SHioni knelt next to General Getu and put her ear to his chest. “He’s alive!”
“Only just,” said Annakiya. “Clear his mouth, Shioni. I’ll–oh dear, would you look at his leg?”
With her fingers, Shioni scooped a good handful of muck out of his mouth. Annakiya prodded the remains of his calf. “Wrap it with something,” she ordered the Princess. “Stop the bleeding.”
“I, er–”
“Here.” Using her sword, Shioni hacked off her tunic top to the midriff. She sliced the cloth into crude bandages and handed them to her best friend.
“Mind Azurelle,” Annakiya said. “You’ve chopped enough onions for one day, slave-girl. You’re bleeding, Shioni. Oh, I think I’m going to throw up–can you handle this?”
“Onions?” For a moment, the inane image muddled her, but then strangely, it caused Shioni’s mind to clear. “Of course I’ll help. Never mind me or Azurelle. Let’s get the one-armed, one-legged General bandaged up.”
The wound on her leg burned as though it were on fire, but Getu’s wounds were far more serious. Shioni gritted her teeth as she examined the General’s leg. It was not a pretty sight.
Suddenly, Annakiya chortled, “Mama Nomuula’s going to kill us.”
“She’ll have to marry him now,” said Shioni, smiling. She pressed the ruined flesh into place with her fingers before padding and tying the bandage as tightly as she could manage. “He surely can’t ride out to battle, or …?”
“If he lives,” the Princess worried. “Shioni, he’s hardly breathing.”
Shioni realised that they were only joking in response to the horrors they had experienced. Beyond the wall, she saw a Sheban warrior helping a comrade limp into the courtyard. His lower leg and side looked burned, perhaps by the dragon’s acid. She wrapped a third layer of bandages around the stump of Getu’s leg. His skin was pale, his heart beat too rapidly, and there were other burns and cuts that were serious in their own right.
She chopped off more of her top for bandages. “We need to find the teshal,” Shioni said to the Princess. “Ask Abba Petros.”
“I can’t believe Haile’s finally dead.”
She nodded. “It’s over, Anni.”
Petros had been examining Haile’s body. At Princess Annakiya’s urging, he checked the pockets of Abba Methi’s robes, but there was nothing to be found there.
“What did he mean about the twenty-third Psalm?” asked Shioni. “He said, ‘It’s the way.’ He said I must remember … Abba, what did he mean …?”
She stopped at the look of grief on Father Petros’ face. “I didn’t tell you everything, Shioni. I lived here ten years when I was a boy. Abba Methuselah–Methi for short–became like a father to me. But I was restless. When he asked me to become a monk, I ran away instead. That’s why I became a trader and an explorer, because I couldn’t face living alone on this island, guarding its secrets. And now he’s dead.”
“So you knew all about the teshal and the Ark?”
“No, Princess. I knew nothing of either.” He shook his greying head. “We sometimes do foolish things in our youth. Could I have been trusted back then? I doubt it.”
“The Lord’s my shepherd,” Annakiya quoted, clearly far away in her thoughts.
Shioni, Abba Petros, and the warrior moved General Getu into a patch of shade. “Take care of him while we explore,” the Father instructed.
“Let’s see where this path leads us,” said the Princess, moving away from the church building.
Shioni limped after her best friend with her sword held lightly, ready. The beautiful sword seemed so fitting in her hand. ‘Sheba enslaved one of these? You are in terrible danger …’ the old man had said. He had called her one of the ancient ones. Here she was, clutching a clearly magical sword, and it felt … weirdly right, as if it were made for her. But how could that be? With a shudder, she sheathed the blade. Worry about that later. Right now, they had to find the teshal.
The path wound along the island’s brow for a few minutes. They caught secretive glimpses of the lake between the broad-leafed trees. They found at the path’s end a tiny patch of grass. Here,
three sheep and a goat grazed serenely as though a dragon had never menaced their island.
“Nice idea, Princess,” said Petros. “What’s next?”
“He makes me lie down in green pastures,” said Annakiya, scratching her head. “Shioni, what are you grinning at?”
She indicated the grass. “After you, my Lady.”
“Lie down in all that sheep poo? Yuck!” But the Princess of West Sheba had clearly been bitten by an adventure-bug. Without a further word, she lay down in the middle of the grass and gazed upward. A moment later, she pointed to her left. “That way. There’s an arrow carved into the crook of a branch.”
“Clever,” said Abba Petros, leading the way. “Look, a spring. He leads me beside still waters.”
The Princess said, “It’s the valley of the shadow of death part that I’m worried about. Shioni, why don’t you lead for that bit?”
Shioni decided that sticking out her tongue at the Princess of West Sheba was perfectly called-for.
They tracked the gentle tinkle of spring water over two successive ledges until they came to a pool at the edge of a cliff. It was well hidden beneath green ferns and overarching branches, creating a shady green dell. Rather than running down the cliff face as might have been expected, the water trickled back beneath an overhang and vanished into a dark space. From the way the sound echoed, there was quite a drop inside.
Shioni stopped. “I don’t like something here.”
“What? Shioni, it’s a beautiful spot. And what’s that lovely smell? These bushes?” Annakiya touched the bushes growing all around them. “These smell like Mama Nomuula’s medicine all on their own.”
Abba Petros climbed down into the dell. He peered beneath the overhang. Suddenly, he recoiled. “That’s the smell of death. We can’t go further. I need to think about this.”
“What smell?” asked Annakiya.
“I remember Abba Methuselah lecturing us about different types of mushrooms used in medicine. We had to identify some types by smell. There was one which always stuck with me–the odour was terrible. It grows only on this island. He called it the mephitic mushroom. It looks exactly like an edible mushroom, but the smell is a noxious gas. I’d imagine enough mephitic mushrooms in a cave could kill.”
“Mephitic?” asked Shioni.
“Deadly or poisonous,” said Annakiya, ever the scroll-worm. “Abba, you can’t go down there.”
“He can, if it’s something to with your rod and your staff, they comfort me,” suggested Shioni. “Or even something from the priest’s table which will protect him.”
“He prepares a table for me in the midst of my enemies,” quoted the Father. “You girls know your Scriptures. Although I’m a little startled your slave-girl’s so educated, Princess.” He smiled at their alarmed glances. “I think I can keep a secret, if those looks say what I think they mean. You’ve given me enough to go on. I must now proceed alone, for your sakes as well as mine.”
“Abba …”
“Be careful, will you?” Annakiya interrupted. “There might be more dragons.”
Petros climbed out of the dell. “I doubt it. Not on this holy island. But there are great and terrible mysteries, Princess. One of the great mysteries of the ages. That’s why I’m rather glad I have the two of you to watch my back. You must by now have some inkling of the mighty deeds accomplished here today. Mark my words, there are angels rejoicing in the heavens, even as we speak, at the magnitude of this triumph over evil.”
Shioni wondered how all that hacking with a sword could make angels rejoice. Defeating evil was a dirty, nasty, bloody business.
As the Father strode eagerly down the path back toward the church, Annakiya said to Shioni, “He’s going to stay here, isn’t he?”
“I think so, Anni.”
Shioni touched the sword pensively. Just in case, she tried to draw it again. It worked perfectly now. Please, oh God please, let there be no more dragons!
They spent the early part of the afternoon patching up the warriors, the General, and themselves. At Annakiya’s urging Shioni returned to the spring to wash off the dragon’s blood and clean out the deep puncture wound in her thigh. As she bandaged herself, she tried not to think about what dragon venom had done to General Getu, and his son Talaku, the Mad Giant.
Abba Petros appeared with bread, honey, and a pitcher of water. “Wish me well,” he said. “I’m going to look for the teshal.”
“We’ll pray for you, Father,” Annakiya corrected him.
They whiled away the hours of sunlight in various postures of exhaustion. Shioni kept jerking awake, thinking she had heard Abba Petros return. Later, she did hear voices, but it turned out to be Captain Yirgu and a dozen of his men.
“Found a bridge the villagers constructed across the Gumara River, my Lady,” he said, eyeballing the church courtyard and the state of his companions. “Got boats and got here as fast as we could. What happened to the General?”
“First he killed Haile, and then he was eaten by a dragon,” said Annakiya. “That’s when he lost his foot.”
Shioni poked Azurelle with her finger, curled up deep in her pocket. Leaping hyenas, the little Fiuri was still sleeping. Had she slept through the whole battle? What -she must be seeing things. Had Zi changed colour? But she was distracted when Captain Yirgu asked how the General had escaped.
“Look at these tracks, sir!” exclaimed a Gondari warrior.
Annakiya added, “Haile’s staff turned into a two-headed dragon. So Shioni cut open its stomach to rescue Getu, and then she slew the dragon after that.”
Captain Yirgu sucked in his cheeks. “Sounds like a fine battle, my Lady, especially when you describe it so vividly.”
Shioni stifled a snort of laughter. Annakiya’s ears reddened.
“I’ll relate the parts I saw, Captain,” Abba Petros declared from the archway, “and maybe the Princess can fill in the rest. My Lady,” he paused to beam at her delighted cry, “I have the teshal your father the King needs.”
“Look at his hair,” whispered one of the warriors.
Indeed, Abba Petros’ hair had turned as white as a pelican’s wing. His face was ruddy, as though he had faced a blazing fire for too long, and his eyes appeared inhumanly bright. He wore different priestly garments, and bore a golden, cross-topped staff which Shioni had not seen before. Perhaps it was Abba Methuselah’s staff.
“I have two doses and a drop more,” he said. “What would you have done with them, my Lady?”
Annakiya’s hands trembled as she accepted three tiny, stoppered gourds from the priest. Abba Petros’ eyes moved around the circle of men until they settled on Shioni. He nodded slightly. So he had found the Ark of the Covenant! She let out a breath she had not realised she was holding. And he had returned changed, but alive. Perhaps this secret was better kept in the hands of a priest.
“Getu should have one,” Annakiya said.
“And the drop for Shioni to combat the dragon venom?”
“Give it to Zi, Abba,” Shioni countered. “She needs it more than I do.”
“We’ve no idea what it would do to her kind,” Annakiya pointed out. “Mama Nomuula gave strict instructions.”
“That reminds me–”
“Which reminds me,” Captain Yirgu broke in, and handed Shioni his shirt with an exaggerated flourish. “Please, o mighty dragon-slayer. My hardy warriors gave those rebels a thumping they’ll not soon forget, but they nearly fainted at the sight of your bellybutton.”
Shouts of laughter from the warriors, and a burst of teasing this way and that, turned Shioni’s cheeks into twin bonfires. She pulled the shirt over her head with a sigh.
“It’s the second time she’s pinched my shirt this week,” Yirgu continued. “Princess, don’t we Shebans clothe our people?”
Annakiya moved over to the General. Yirgu helped her tilt his head back as the Princess ever so carefully dripped the contents of the gourd onto his tongue. “Phew. Smells like … one of Mama’s be
st brews,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s made from that herb you saw in the dell,” said Abba Petros. “It’s called Teyn’adam, or the Health of Adam, which is meant to have helped Adam live for 930 years. The entire crop of this island is distilled over a period of seven years in the tears of the saints, and combined with extracts of a number of other ingredients. It’s quite a process.”
Shioni could smell the lime-green drops right across the courtyard.
When at her turn she tried to turn up her nose, Annakiya said, testily, “Take your medicine, you disobedient slave-girl.” And then she grinned. “I had to say that. I mean, how many more times am I going to get to call you ‘slave-girl’?”
“More than enough, I’m sure.”
A green, glistening drop slipped out of the gourd and into Shioni’s mouth. Her tongue went cold, then numb. Fire burned down her throat, but it was good fire. “Ooo-wheee!” she wheezed and coughed.
“Could I take a cutting of this Teyn’adam herb back for Mama Nomuula?”
Abba Petros’ beard bobbed up and down. “As you wish, Princess. I’ll write up a scroll of instructions.”
Shioni licked her lips. The teshal was amazing. She could feel it working throughout her body now, liquid fire filling her veins and spreading warmth from her stomach. She felt like running to Gondar and back just for fun. If she spread her arms, she might be able to fly there.
A wriggling in her pocket reminded her of someone who had missed most of the fun. When she peered inside, a sleepy voice said, “I’m hot. Where’s my nectar?”
Shioni offered a finger. “Ride?”
“Cheeky slave-girl. How can I convince Annakiya to smack you?”
She beckoned the others closer. In a moment, Abba Petros, Captain Yirgu, Annakiya, and half a dozen Sheban warriors all crowded around as Shioni brought Azurelle out into the daylight. Everyone said, “Ooh!” and “Ah!” and caught their breath.
Azurelle blinked. “Huh?”
