Dragon Redemption

by Valerie Emerson

  Yet…Dante didn’t want to be alone. He’d rather face more shocks than send her away at that moment. The feeling was dangerous but hard to ignore.

  He cleared his throat. “Okay.” He sank to the floor, sitting with legs crossed. She didn’t move. “Tell me about yourself.”

  She smirked. Maybe she saw through him, yet he didn’t care. “I told you my name. I am a soldier in service to the Archon. There is little more to say.”

  “Do you know why I’m here? Why they took me?”

  “If they wish you to know that, they will tell you.” The tips of her ears curled. “I imagine you will find out soon.”

  “It must be something specific, or they would have grabbed Jack too,” he reasoned. “So, it’s about me.”

  Tian didn’t answer, and she didn’t move, either. She listened, impassive, while Dante thought out loud.

  “How about a walk?” he asked. “Exercise is good for the mind too.”

  She shook her head. “We all know the story of how you vanished at Nexus. This will not happen again.”

  “I see. I’m too famous for my own good.”

  “Indeed.”

  “All right… let’s talk about something else. How’s Lady Xoa?”

  She didn’t move, and her expression didn’t change, but he was certain he’d offended her somehow. She stared him down, yet he didn’t change the subject or offer something else to talk about. Tian relented at last, but lowered her voice, as if she feared being overheard. “It is said that there was once a commander named Khiann Xoa. This commander no longer exists, if she ever did.” She lifted her chin. “Ask me something else.”

  “Why? Is she dead? What happened to her?” He felt a stab of guilt. If she was in trouble, it had to be because of him and Jack. She’d let them go right after an attack designed to destroy Earth’s population. If anyone had found out… “I’m pretty sure you can tell me. This has nothing to do with your plans and whatnot. Is Khiann Xoa dead?”

  She grimaced. “No one by that name has died.”

  “So…she’s alive?”

  “No one lives under that name.”

  Great. He had someone to talk to, and she spoke in riddles. Frustrating it may be, yet Dante felt better than he had ten minutes ago. He felt more himself than he had in days. “Does she live under a different name? Like witness protection?”

  That phrase seemingly puzzled her; her ears twitched before she answered. “You are asking me to speak of things above my rank. She dishonored her family and displeased the Archon. That is all I, or you, should know.”

  Dante nodded. He had to hope that meant she was alive.

  He spun his wheels around that topic a little longer, seeking a question Tian would answer, but she stonewalled him. When the guard came by with his alleged food, she passed it to Dante, but didn’t budge from her spot. It was impressive discipline, if only it wasn’t a part of keeping him locked up.

  He went on questioning her as he ate, getting snippets about her childhood and the Pirr religion, but there was a lot she wouldn’t speak of—the Archon, for one, and Khiann for another. She wouldn’t even name her commanding officer. He discovered he’d been a prisoner for four days. They’d been staggering his meal times to throw off his sense of time.

  After he’d talked himself hoarse, she left. The next day, Tian returned. He gave up on finding anything useful from her…for the time being. He interrogated her, instead, about Pirr entertainment. The next day was much the same, but at least she was honest about the time and date. Having a sense of time gave him solid footing and helped steady him in his hours alone.

  Funny how the Pirr sent pirates after helpless civilians, yet disdained torture. He mentioned that, but she wouldn’t discuss it. Her people had been embarrassed, and he decided Tian felt better pretending it never happened.

  She was never kind or friendly. Dante knew she was there only to fulfill her orders, yet he started to like her anyway. She didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. She had a job, she did it, and nothing less, nothing more. He looked forward to their conversations, so when someone else appeared at his doorway, he deflated. It almost felt like a violation.

  “Who are you?”

  Instead of answering, the soldier took a device from his belt and pressed his thumb into it. The floor flooded Dante with electricity. He collapsed as consciousness fled him.

  He marched through a familiar forest of thorny trees, his arms in iron grips, yet something else made his feet bear him forward; in fact, he’d come to already walking. It was the same slimy power that had forced him to leave Jack and Bava behind, unable to act as Pirr soldiers invaded the Yetis’ habitat.

  He attempted pulling out of the soldier’s grasps. They surprised him by letting go. He stumbled to the ground and no one forced him to stand. He looked up, his relief evaporating. Dante knew this place. Cavey.

  And the tunnel in front of him was where the ancient dragon tore a hole in the Astral Plane—through him. It seemed different now. He spied strange equipment set up along the cave’s mouth, and uniformed Pirr stood guard nearby.

  His captor entered his view, smiling. “Hello again.”

  “Who are you? What do you want with me?” Dante demanded.

  “I want you to open a door.” His captor viewed him with all the emotion of an exterminator surveying an insect. “My name would mean nothing to you, but the Pirr call me Shaia.”

  Dante’s dragon stirred. He was thankful to feel its return. He stood, torn between running and going on the offensive. He didn’t know where the shuttle would be, or where he’d go if he got off the surface, yet his dragon didn’t care about any of that. It just wanted him away from here.

  “You’re right. Your name means nothing. So…what door?”

  “Your impertinence amuses me,” Shaia said, though his smile left his face. “Long ago, the dragons imprisoned my people in a place beyond this dimension, beyond its Astral Plane. They locked us in darkness with no escape, with no relief, just as I considered doing to you on the journey here. But I am more merciful than the dragons.” The Pirr sauntered over to Dante, fixing the plastic smile on his face once more. “Now we have a key in the shape of a mortal. You, Mystic First Class Dante.” The man said his name like it was a joke.

  Dante leaned back; something sick roiled off this Pirr. If evil had a texture, it would match this slippery feeling. Dante stared at the Pirr. His stomach churned, but he didn’t want to betray another iota of weakness to this enemy.

  The Pirr continued, holding Dante’s stare with amusement in his gaze. “I wish you to cut your way to that prison. The first cut will take you to the Astral Plane. The next will take you all the way to our prison. Do you understand?”

  “Sure. But I won’t do it,” Dante said.

  Shaia didn’t bat an eye. “How are you so certain, Mystic First Class Dante, your dragons are the ones to side with? Did they not get you exiled? Manipulated you into doing, into being, just what they wish? They use you, and you willingly let them.”

  “You can talk all day, I’m not turning. I know what you are…Wyrm.”

  Annoyance flashed across Shaia’s face. He sighed. “I must say I am disappointed. It’s more fun when they cooperate, but we just do not have time for this frivolity. You will do as I say, human.”

  “No, I won—”

  Shaia’s will crashed down. Dante’s knees bent and nearly buckled, but he bore up under the weight. He wasn’t going to get taken again, not this easily. He shoved back.

  Invisible claws dug beneath his flesh and pulled. Shaia bent his fingers into hooks, turning his right hand into a claw. He jerked his hand back, tearing through the air, and yanking Dante’s Astral form from his body.

  Dante gasped and blinked. He was in the Astral Plane, swaddled in icy darkness. Shadows constricted him as the Wyrm increased its pressure. Dante twisted, trying to break free, but the Wyrm was an ancient monster. Dante was a mere man. It was pointless to resist.

  No.
The thought of doing one simple task soaked into him, but the thought was not his. He attempted to extract himself from the Wyrm’s clutches, and then a furious screech rent the ether. His dragon crashed, Stars-first, into the Wyrm.

  The Wyrm’s grip on Dante came loose. He spun free and moved away at top speed, giving his dragon room to fight. The Wyrm twisted, snapping at the dragon’s shoulder and slashing with its claws. The dragon sank his teeth into the Wyrm’s neck, his own Stars tearing rents in the Wyrm’s wings. The Wyrm slowed, weakening as shreds of its shadow form split away. It collapsed into nothing.

  Dante whooped. They’d won! He rushed to his dragon’s side, seeking to examine the wounds. The dragon screeched at him—a ‘go away’ if Dante had ever heard one—but he couldn’t. If his dragon was grievously hurt…

  Claws and teeth slashed from behind. The Wyrm reappeared, tearing shreds from the dragon as it howled. It took advantage of its rear attack to latch onto the dragon’s neck. Dante threw a lance of power at the Wyrm, searing a hole through it, but it closed up again. The dark beast had fed on its Pirr host, healing itself.

  Dante threw another lance, but the creature shrugged off his attack.

  A second Wyrm appeared in the ether, then a third. They surrounded Dante’s dragon, hissing as they attacked. The Mystic shuddered inside, fear taking hold. The dragon fought its attackers with a will, yet despite its strength, three older and stronger Wyrms against one dragon was no contest. More of a slaughter.

  Dante yelled and flung more lances, trying to draw them off, but the Wyrms focused on the bigger threat. If he could get to his dragon, he could make a difference, yet there was no way to get past the writhing wall of darkness.

  His dragon vanished. Dante felt it shelter within him, strengthening their bond, drawing on him to heal. He welcomed it, then realized the three Wyrms encircled him.

  Shaia’s Wyrm skewered Dante with a dark, malevolent stare. The Mystic’s astral form dissipated, and he entered the physical world, standing now, feet apart, his arms raised overhead. Under the influence of an alien will, Dante brought his hands down, and, as he did so, the air split as if he’d ripped the sky open. He cut again, digging deeper within himself, until he sliced through the final barrier and into an unfathomable cold.

  His strength deserted him, and he collapsed on the stony ground. With tears occluding his eyes, feeling his dragon curled and wounded within, Dante blinked at the new rift in the sky. Angry reds and purples bled from the tear, and a titanic Wyrm emerged, mouth open in a triumphant roar that shook the ground and echoed across the forests and mountains of Cavey.

  Someone hefted Dante, slinging him over their shoulder. He struggled to fight, to pull himself free, but the Pirr handled him like a baby.

  “Return him to the cell,” came Shaia’s smug voice. “We may have need of this human again.”

  Fourteen

  “Look at this. The Lost Ones have returned…and in my lifetime!” Unnua crowed, shaking in his excitement as he pointed at the wall screen. The video had enraptured the old priest since its release. He watched and made copious notes on his personal device. “Look, my ward. Are you not amazed?”

  “I’ve seen nothing like it,” Khiann agreed. She didn’t like to pretend, but her shock wore off hours ago. “Might we see what’s happening now? There must be even more of them in the world.”

  “True, true. I’ve been so caught up in this first moment that the rest have passed by without me.” He chuckled and moved the recording to the last moment they’d seen, when the Wyrm thrust its head through the rift, and Dante collapsed to the ground.

  The image raced through time as the Wyrm left the rift, leaving room for more to come through. Khiann watched with her jaw clenched, scanning for signs of Dante, or any other humans. She couldn’t blame herself for being weaker than a god, but she blamed herself for putting those protocols in Night Thorn and not turning them off when she had the chance. She just hadn’t wanted to let go of something that was hers.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked the priest. “Water, perhaps?”

  “No. Stay and watch this with me. You are only my ward now, but one day you may join the priesthood. Of the Order, only you and I can say we were here on this auspicious day.”

  She gave a wry smile. Unnua was optimistic about her future. She didn’t want to disabuse him of the idea, either, if it made him happy. He’d been one of the few to show kindness to her since they had assigned her to the Stone Tower, and the only one to treat her like a worthy person on this ship. She didn’t want to throw that away. Not yet.

  “I suppose that’s true…” she stopped when the camera slowed to real time. A Wyrm lazed outside the camp, watching as others trampled the ancient forest, tearing up trees by the roots and throwing them. They were playing, she realized—destroying the countryside for their own amusement. Her mood soured as she watched, wondering how many other natural wonders were being despoiled at that moment.

  A Pirr soldier approached the Wyrm, his head bowed. He made all the right signs to show obeisance. The Wyrm watched him, then yawned. The soldier spoke, Khiann saw, either praising it or asking some boon. The Wyrm’s eyes wandered as the soldier clicked his teeth together.

  The soldier forcibly knelt, and the Wyrm huffed, its breath so powerful it bowled the solider over. The Wyrm’s jaws closed on the hapless Pirr, and swallowed him whole.

  Khiann shouted, moving toward the screen as if she could stop the Wyrm from the orbiting space station. This was what her people had brought back into the world? Creatures that viewed all other beings as property, who destroyed and killed for amusement. This moment, more than any that had passed in the last several months, told her she’d been right all along.

  They would never rule beside these monsters. They’d be first among a legion of servants; that they would bring order to the galaxy was laughable. Folly.

  “Unacceptable,” Unnua snapped. Khiann turned to apologize if she’d offended him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He gazed at the screen, deep lines on his face. “Clear the room. I must speak with the High Ones.”

  The soldiers moved out, and Khiann went to follow when the old priest put his hand on her arm. She stayed by his side until the door closed behind the soldiers.

  “I would have you hear this.” He motioned toward the corner, outside the cam sensors’ range. She hid her confusion as the priest queued a hailing frequency.

  A scientist from the surface came on screen. Khiann recognized the name but couldn’t put a face to it.

  “Boura here.”

  “I would commune with the Lost Ones. They have put me off long enough.” Unnua drew himself up, an authority coming over his bearing, one Khiann hadn’t seen before.

  Unnua frowned at the silence, putting deep furrows between his brows.

  “Holy One.”

  A new speaker, one she knew. Shaia’s voice addressed the old priest with the same disdain she’d heard him use on her. She saw the priest sag upon hearing the possessed one’s disrespect, then he shook off the effect.

  “I asked to speak with a Wyrm. The Lost Ones have not heard from their priest yet.”

  Shaia chuckled. “But we have. I am the voice of the Wyrms. My spirit commingles with theirs. What would you say, O Holy One?”

  “I wish to meet them for myself. I understand they wish to celebrate their freedom, but this—”

  “You seek to chastise them? You?” Shaia laughed. Khiann shivered, though this time her anger rose to burn away her disgust and fear. “Only the Exalted may speak to the Wyrms, unworthy priest. All of you are unworthy.”

  “Then I would be Exalted. I wish to know these creatures are truly our gods, not the crude beasts I am witnessing!” Unnua pushed up and strode toward the screen, bristling. “Tell them I request their blessing. Tell them I would be Exalted, so I might speak to them.”

  “If they wanted to bond with a decrepit old body such as yours, you would already know,” Shaia sneered.

 
“I will not have this…” Unnua stopped. The connection had severed. His face went gray, and he examined his gnarled hands, still clenched into fists.

  Khiann watched solemnly the utter destruction of Unnua’s status. She knew how he felt, yet nothing she said would salve his wounds.

  The priest drew a sudden breath and turned his back on her. “I will meditate upon this, I think. Come for me when they bring dinner.”

  “I will.”

  “Perhaps meditate yourself, my ward. Clear your mind of all that has happened today.” He crossed the room, headed for his meditation chamber.

  “As you wish,” she answered.

  She drew in a breath and let it out once Unnua exited the chamber. The floor should not still be solid under her feet, not when the foundation of her world had shattered. The revered priests of the Stone Tower were nearly akin to the Archon himself. But their gods had just treated him as dishonored, worthless trash. She felt as if she stood in his shoes.

  Khiann’s gaze drifted to the control screen on the chair seat, left behind by Unnua. It had been so long since she was alone with any device, much less one connected to a starship’s communication system. She took a tentative step, her ears sharp as she listened for the soldiers outside the chamber, but the priest had sent them away, and they, at least, remained gone until he called for them. Still, she moved cautiously until she could snatch up the priest’s device and return to the corner, out of sight of the sensors.

  Her fingers flew across the screen. She disabled protocols that might disclose her intent, adding others to make it look as though her messages were going to the Stone Temple, not away from it. Khiann had been undercover for so long in the years before, her hands acted on their own. After she had isolated and camouflaged communications, she pulled up the video of the Wyrm and Dante and began her message: