Dragon Rising: The Untold Story of Asher Grey (Eden's Root Trilogy Book 4)

by Rachel Fisher

But he couldn’t get the image of his father out of his mind, as if he’d transposed over the woman and it was he cowering behind her. When the bully had backed away, his father had leaned down and said, “Never use power to harm the powerless, Asher. Remember that.”

  For a split second time stopped as the details sharpened. His father’s blonde hair, then free of any grey streaks, fell in front of his same cornflower blue eyes, the pupils dark and serious. His father’s voice – a rich, comforting baritone – rolled through him like the tug of a warm ocean. His chest tightened. At the time he’d nodded, sure he knew what his father meant. But he’d never understood.

  Until now.

  Though his mental alarm system had risen to a deafening wail, his feet ignored it. They carried him, soundlessly, as he’d practiced a million times with his father, around the catwalk and down the stairs at the attackers’ back. He was still so far above that no one noticed his approach. The women dissolved, sobbing, as the man stood over them, relishing the meltdown almost as much as his eventual conquest. With each step that Asher took toward that terrible gun his heart should have beat harder, but instead, something else happened…

  …The opposite.

  With each movement toward his enemy his heart slowed, just a bit. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the target and settling on his neck, the blood surging in fleshy ropes. Asher’s sword hand itched, the palm pulsing, as his breath grew steady. This was strangely familiar.

  In.

  The inhale filled his chest. The sword swung as it had thousands of times, light…ready.

  Out.

  The air whooshed through him and he could no longer hear the women’s sobs.

  In.

  His fear left him with his breath, a nightmare evaporating with a flick of the light. The mother looked up and caught his eye over her attacker’s shoulder and Asher shook his head.

  Out.

  Her eyes widened as his feet hit the ground and the man in black whirled, firing. Bullets raced past Asher as he ducked, hot metal zings ricocheting at the edge of his focus, but his mind was fixed. After all of the running and hiding, and vomiting over bodies, it had all finally clicked.

  In.

  With a roar, Asher surged forward. The man in black screamed, his eyes and mouth becoming matching “O”s as the sword flashed and found its mark. Asher’s arms shuddered and he startled, wakened from his trance by the thunk as metal carved flesh and the man in black fell, his life leaving him in hot ribbons.

  Asher blinked, his eyes dropping to his sword, the weapon that had been lauded in exhibitions. Exhibitions. Now it was red and slick. He sank to his knees and swallowed a nauseous laugh, his eyes skittering over the twitching body at his side. He looked up just in time to see the women disappearing through a doorway, their screams lacing black streamers in their wake.

  A clap of thunder shook the heavens. His father’s face filled his mind and he choked back a sob. It was fading, even though it had been just seven months since he’d last seen him. It had seemed as clear as the sky in his memory only a second ago, but that was his father when he was five. What about his father now, today? What about the father who hugged him gruffly before he got on the plane to New York? With no pictures, no contact, he could only remember certain things, a shadow of blonde and grey scruff on a chin, a flash of laugh lines creasing a forehead…but they were all just snapshots. A bit here, a bit there. How long before he really couldn’t remember?

  His gaze fell to the body once again. Now still, the black t-shirt was stained with a new puddle of black, an installation of vacancy. Asher’s sword clattered to the ground and he bent over, gagging. It was the right thing, wasn’t it, Father? His breath came in erratic gasps as he heaved and his stomach turned up nothing. Please tell me it was the right thing…

  A New Dawn

  “Do you think he’s dead?”

  Asher stirred.

  “For the hundredth time, no, Cassie. He just moved, and he’s clearly breathing. Relax, sweetie.”

  Asher’s eyelids fluttered and then he sat up. “Bacon!” The unlikely word left his mouth before he could think, but the aroma was unmistakable. He squeezed his eyes tight, willing the dream to stay with him.

  “Yes, ‘bacon’, mystery man. Well, close anyway.”

  He startled, his eyes flying open. Cassie and her mother were crouched beside him, huddled by a small fire topped by an equally tiny pot that was producing smells that actually made him drool a little. The women smiled and he flushed, wiping his mouth. Then it occurred to him that they had managed to find him and his flush deepened. They’d obviously followed him from the warehouse and that meant…

  …That meant they’d watched him crawl into this basement apartment and cry and slash the curtains and scream and curse before falling asleep in the fetal position in the middle of the floor. Real “white knight” shit. “Um, hi,” he said, reaching for his sword. His hand found only air. “Hey!” His heart hit his throat. Nothing else mattered but his sword.

  “About that,” Cassie’s mom said, spooning something from the little pot and into a cup. “We couldn’t just let you have that thing until we were sure you were safe.” She handed him the cup. “It’s just baked beans, but I know how to really cook that bit of ham-hock they put in there. I’m Virginia, by the way, by place and name, but you can call me Ginny.”

  Asher reached for the cup slowly. It was an excruciating effort not to rip it from her hand so hard that she’d lose fingers. His eyes darted, still seeking the sword. He relaxed when he saw it resting at Cassie’s feet, just a few steps away. “Thanks…Ginny,” he said cautiously. “But weren’t you worried that I’d just overpower you both and take it back?”

  “Not really.”

  Her brown eyes crinkled at the corners and Asher’s heart squeezed. It had been a long time since he’d shared a simple smile with someone. She tilted her head and he finally noticed the item nestled at Cassie’s side: the man in black’s sawed-off shotgun.

  He smiled. “Touché.” He took a bite of his food and tried not to whimper. The sweet smoky beans filled his mouth and tears filled his eyes. “Thish ish amashing,” he murmured. He knew it wasn’t polite, but he couldn’t stop shoveling the next spoonful into his mouth before the last one was down his throat.

  “Yes, well, take your time, mystery man. You can get sick if you eat too fast when it’s been a while.”

  Though she was teasing, Ginny’s tone was kind, and his chest tightened. Her admonishment reminded him of his mother. He couldn’t help but settle beneath the comfort of a mother’s touch…even someone else’s mother. “Assher,” he said, garbling words with food. “My name ish Assher.”

  “Well, Asher,” Ginny said, handing a cup to Cassie. “You’ll have to forgive us. I know you saved us…saved her…” her eyes filled and she took a deep breath, smoothing her hair. “Sorry. I’m just...I’m sorry we ran away.”

  Asher stopped eating, his stomach twisting. He set down the cup. “About that.” He echoed her words and then paused, his teeth working his lip. How could he explain himself? That he’d never killed anyone before? That almost cutting somebody’s head off was as screwed up a thing as he could possibly imagine and yet he’d done it? That he was really a nice guy on the inside? No wonder they ran.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Cassie broke the silence.

  He looked up and met her eyes for the first time. They were cinnamon, a warmer tone than her mother’s. Her dark bob hung past her chin when she ducked her head. She was a pretty little tween. A very vulnerable thing in this world. The thought brought memories racing back that he wished he could slice out of his brain. He coughed, clearing his throat to stop the rise of bile.

  “We’re the ones who have something to say.” Cassie stood, presenting him with the sword. “Thank you.”

  He was stunned. Her hands were trembling, but she stood with pride, holding the last remnant of his soul. It could have taken her life and her mother’s and yet she offere
d the weapon to him freely.

  THIS was bravery. He bowed his head, humbled, as he took his sword. “You’re welcome.”

  A Million Ways to Die

  July 8, 2033

  It turns out that there are still decent human beings left on Earth. Their number? Two.

  Virginia (Virginia Jane Mitchell, “AKA Ginny, Thank you very much.”), and her daughter, Cassie (Cassandra. “Like in mythology,” she told me. Yes, I’m aware of the irony.)

  You know what they made me realize? I’ve been missing a purpose all this time. Just staying alive…it was starting to seem pointless. (It probably didn’t help that I wasn’t doing that well at it on my own. It wasn’t just not having food. I need people. I need conversation. I just…I don’t make it as the last man on Earth, that’s all I’m saying.)

  But now I have people. I have conversation. And I have purpose. My purpose used to be journalism, documenting the truth, righting wrongs. Now I have no idea what documentation will do for us. Can telling the story make a difference at this point? I don’t know. But maybe I can still right wrongs. Maybe I can make sure that Cassie’s story isn’t a tragedy.

  “She’s real you know, she’s not a ghost.”

  Asher flushed, dropping his gaze. He hadn’t meant to stare. “Sorry.”

  Ginny laughed. “I know it’s not like that. It’s the same when you look at me. Like you’re seeing a ghost.”

  “Aren’t I?” He’d wanted to stop the words from leaving his mouth, but somehow they clattered into his lap anyway. He couldn’t look at her. It was enough to listen to her voice fall apart.

  “Probably.” Her fingers twisted and pecked, worrying at her sleeve. “You know what I was before this?”

  Asher shook his head, his words swallowed by her sorrow.

  “A pageant mom. Cassie had sixteen local and state titles, including ‘Little Miss Tomorrow.’” She bit back a laugh, the sound ending in a hollow cough.

  “So...how is it that you’re both…”

  “Alive?”

  “Yeah.” He had to know. The only women he’d seen since Foodmageddon began were either victims or prostitutes to gang leaders. There was no other way to survive.

  “Well.” Ginny straightened and he looked up. “Never underestimate a Southern woman. Scarlett O’ Hara was just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Cassie snorted. “Well, that’s definitely true. At least with my mama it is.”

  “Don’t be rude, Cassie. It’s unattractive.”

  Asher’s eyes flicked between them. Were they kidding?

  Cassie slid off the couch and settled beside her mother. “We’re Crawlers. That’s the real way we survive.”

  Ginny’s hand wound into her daughter’s hair, her fingers gently combing its length. Cassie laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. Asher bit his tongue and looked away. He wondered if either of them noticed, if they even understood the value of the casual touch that screams, “Family!” What would happen if either part of that balance disappeared? Could the hand survive not finding the hair, the small head? And what of that head? What if it leaned and found no shoulder? What if the ritual of love disappeared on the wind like so much dust?

  He swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to focus on the conversation. Though Ginny and Cassie weren’t his family, they were the closest thing he’d had in…too long. He dug his nails into his palms. “What’s a Crawler?”

  Cassie wiggled beneath her mother’s fingers and settled with her head in her lap. “S’what they call the night people, like us.”

  “Who calls us that?” he asked, frowning.

  “The gangs and the Lifers,” Ginny murmured.

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah,” Cassie said, “They call us Night Crawlers.”

  Asher’s nails dug deeper. Is that what he was then? Scrabbling around in the dark?

  “It’s not a pretty name, but it’s better than what they are,” Ginny sniffed.

  “But it sounds bad, Mama. Like we’re just hiding in the shadows.”

  “Aren’t we? And what’s wrong with that?” Ginny’s brow creased, as she turned to Asher. “Let me ask you a question. You obviously know what you’re doing in a fight. Why aren’t you in a gang? Or in charge of one? Seems to me like you could kick most of these thugs’ hineys. And believe me, they could use it.”

  Hineys? A laugh bubbled in Asher’s chest and he swallowed it, thrilled to find his sense of humor still alive. What a sweet lady. “Honestly? Didn’t seem like my kind of people.”

  She nodded.

  “Plus,” he patted his sword, “this baby doesn’t do me much good against a gun.” He didn’t need to add that there were still a LOT of guns floating around the City. When the media used to say that there were two guns per American they didn’t clarify that half of Americans didn’t own them at all and that those who owned them in large numbers might not be so savory. Of course, they couldn’t have imagined an apocalypse where the bad guys simply gunned down the weaker of the species. But maybe they should have.

  “What about being a Lifer?” Cassie sat up. “No guns allowed. You could earn food instead of starving and finding what you can.”

  “No way,” he scoffed. “I’ve watched the Lifer fights from the shadows. Those guys are all in the gangs. It’s no different, believe me. All it takes is one weapon to be pulled and all hell will break loose.”

  The Lifer fights had started initially as an alternative to joining gangs, while there were still survivors with strength who didn’t want to torture each other for food, but perhaps, just win it fair and square. Stashes were put up and fights decided who got to eat. But then, like everything else in the City, the gangs overran the fights. Now, they had all the food, all the guns, and all the fighters. And being in a gang gave you no better lifespan than not being in one. Even the name of the fights changed from the “Food Fights” to “Lifers” because perpetual losers were often summarily executed. “Lifer” was, “Life – or…” Asher didn’t need the “dot-dot-dot” to know that being a Lifer was a great way to die.

  “You could win, though,” Cassie said quietly. “You could win food.”

  He startled and his eyes darted between the women, taking in their state of starvation for the first time. Ginny had almost doubled her belt to keep her “Mom jeans” from falling off. Her high cheekbones, once no doubt an aspect of youthful beauty, now jutted like an underfed model’s. And then there was Cassie. Cassie’s hair was brittle and thinning at the crown. Her eyes stared from her shrunken face like an owlet’s.

  His heart sank. Sure, when he awoke these ladies had a lucky can of beans that they’d found. The first in two weeks, Ginny said. And they shared it with him because he’d saved their lives. For a day. But they needed more than that.

  No matter what he’d thought before, with these two ladies everything was different. The Lifer fights were better than the gangs. At least there were supposed to be some rules. If it really was hand-to-hand instead of guns… His mind stopped, pulling up short before the futility of it all. If he’d had his journal in front of him, he knew what he would scrawl right now. What does it matter? There are a million ways to die. “I’ll do it. I’ll fight for us.”

  Ginny flinched. “You have to understand. We had a chance once…a gang…they seemed different at first, but…” her voice trailed off. Cassie lay her head in her mother’s lap again, silent. The hand drifted, finding the small head once more, winding into the hair, desperate to comfort. Then it stopped. “The price was too high.” Her lips trembled. “We can’t be an ‘us’ at that price, even though we have nothing to give.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You ladies…” he stopped, his mind racing back over days and days of solitude, punctuated only by running for his life. His eyes stung and he took a deep breath, bowing his head. “You’re giving me back my humanity.”

  “And now we’re asking you to give it up again.” Her eyes filled. “For us.”

 
Asher shook himself as if from a dream and rose, gripping his sword. He took a long, slow swing, his eyes following the weapon’s path, his heart slipping into its rhythm. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he murmured, more to himself than to Ginny. “It’s always been human to fight. What makes it right is what you fight for.”

  Despite his doubt that any of them would survive for too much longer, it felt good to want to try. He sank into his fighting stance and swung the sword again, turning more quickly this time. His muscles were weak and his timing slow, but the dance was achingly familiar. He could swing through its steps with his eyes closed. His father was there in every move of his blade. He heard his voice in its song. For the first time that he could remember, he felt purpose.

  He stopped, turning to the two women, a grin tugging at his lips. “Now let’s go kick some ass and eat!”

  Cassie sat up with a whoop and Ginny pressed her hands together, tears spilling over.

  #############################################

  The evening’s optimism gave way to a lowering dawn and an equally heavy weight in Asher’s chest. His doubts returned, now more deeply grooved than any other thoughts. “Dammit!” He cursed and shifted, the bones in his feet protesting. The carpet in this crappy apartment was thinner than his shirt.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He spun on his knees, embarrassed by Cassie’s furrowed brow.

  “Nothing,” he said, settling again, despite the protest in his joints. Had it really been that long since he’d meditated? Or was he just bonier now?

  Cassie padded beside him and sat, cross-legged, her frown deepening. “Are you sure?” A cascade of hair hid her gaze as it fell to the floor, her fingers picking at the faded carpet. “Maybe you shouldn’t do it. Fight, I mean.”

  The shake in her voice as she tried to be brave enough to let him off the hook broke his heart, sending all thoughts of aching feet and ankles melting into the background. What was his pain, really, compared to hers? A father dead, a future sealed in every way but the good ones…