Demon Lord 6: Garnet Tongue Goddess

by Morgan Blayde

  Malevolence—in Goth black jeans and shirt, a ball cap on her head—looked particularly impressed. “Wow, a real dragon.” She walked around for a new angle. “Big.”

  Glad we’ve got that settled.

  At least I was distracting her from her grief over Rooster, her dead father. I wondered how that song she’d been writing had come out, and when I’d hear it on the radio.

  The Old Man pointed out the ghost-yantra that had imprisoned my hand. Thorn nodded at the ghost-fire grid. She said, “Yeah, saw that coming.”

  And you didn’t bother telling me? I mentally added her name to the list of people who needed to get bent. Soon.

  “I can resolve this situation,” Thorn said. “But not with the results you expect.”

  The Old Man was so much taller, he dropped down to one knee to look her in the eyes. He smiled. “Will my plan get him killed or seriously maimed?”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  My dragon touched thoughts with me. He said: I’m not sure I like that answer.

  The Old Man said, “Will it complete the mission and get us paid?”

  Thorn paused, thinking over her answer. “He will suffer a bit more, I think, but he won’t lose his paw, and the gate will close. Eventually.”

  The Old Man smiled. “Well, that’s all right then.”

  Malevolence returned to Thorn, tugging on her shirt. “What does he want you to do with Godzilla, here?”

  My dragon dropped his jaw. His eyes bugged out. A growl hung in his throat as his tail swished. Oh, come on! I’m much better looking than him. And do I look Japanese to anyone?

  Those talking at our feet ignored us. Thorn said, “I’m supposed to make a mystic barrier above the trapped paw, right on top of the dimensional flux. Then, I slide my barrier down into the earth.”

  Malevolence’s face brightened. “Like having several bracelets on. You move a back one to slide off the front one without your fingers actually touching it.”

  I stared, having followed a very clear explanation. From Malevolence of all people. I felt a burst of hope in my dragon heart.

  That could actually work.

  Izumi drifted up behind them. Unknowingly she echoed me, “That could actually work.”

  Thorn looked up at my reptilian face. “It won’t go that smoothly. Things will go badly, then worse, but you will ultimately triumph.”

  The Old Man nodded, his face serene. “I say we try it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Izumi said. “Maybe there’s a way Ryella can leach away the ghost-energy. How strong is it anyway?”

  The Old Man stood, and turned to Izumi. “The ghost-yantra is drawing power from its altered space. Waiting for it to fail won’t work.”

  “You should let him do this before the poison reaches his testicles and they fall off,” Thorn said. “This is the only path I see to you two having a child.”

  Izumi spun and stared up at my dragon form. She called out, “We’re doing this. Give it your all and remember I love you!”

  And that’s how I got outvoted.

  Thorn shooed everyone else away from me. Looking up she said, “I’m going to want another donation from you for my college fund.”

  I had the dragon nod his head.

  Her face went very sober. Her eyes darkened. It seemed for a moment she aged a few years. “It’s going to get very bad. Do you remember the knife I told you to keep hold of?”

  I nodded.

  “You lost it.”

  No, it’s around here. Someplace. I think I dropped it by the fountain.

  Thorn said, “It needs to stay where it is for now. I just want you to remember it. The knife is keyed to you by magic and blood. Don’t forget that. It’s important.”

  I shrugged and nodded.

  She smiled and became her younger self. She held out her palms and stood like a mannequin. Nothing seemed to be happening. Then a disk of Tiffany blue light appeared, the color of her eyes. The disk had a slightly darker pattern of runes that ran in a circle. The symbols really ran as the disk began to rotate. The spin started slow, but lurched ever faster until the runes blurred together.

  Thorn sang something in Elvin. The words escaped me, sounding silvery and liquid. She lifted both hands. The disk rose to match her motion. Her hands slammed down. The disk dropped down my wrist, hitting the ghost-yantra. The ghostly-fire was pushed underground. The disk sank as well.

  Thorn turned and ran away very fast.

  Then a huge blue pool of light opened under my feet and I fell. The blue swallowed me. A universe of it. And then I dropped out of the blue, onto a mossy bank by a great roaring river. There were bronze trees like fuzzy, spotted caterpillars and beyond them, ziggurats made of mastodon skulls. The sky was black velvet, without stars, broken only by the blue disk that had dropped me here.

  As I stared upward, crouching, wings spreading for a launch—the disk compressed and vanished, leaving me lost, abandoned.

  I should have seen this coming.

  Like thorn had.

  1

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “Promise me treasure, or let me go home.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I really need to kill something, the dragon thought.

  As a passenger in his head, I had to agree. A lot of somethings.

  Then we’ll feel better.

  Sure, I said. Until we remember we’re still stuck in some nameless pocket dimension on the far side of a snake’s dream.

  I hate snakes. He picked up a boulder and bounced it in the palm of his clawed paw.

  I hate snakes more.

  But you fuck them. He lobbed the boulder into the river and watched it splash.

  Not when the nagi are actually turned into snakes. That’s just icky. I have a few standards. One or two, anyway.

  The dragon flicked his tail, letting rage swirl in his heart, but holding the fury in check. So, how do we get home?

  Why are you asking me that?

  You have really good ideas. Sometimes.

  Sometimes? Damn. I don’t even respect myself. I looked through the dragon’s eyes at the surrounding world. Despite the nightfall and the sky with no stars or moons, the scene was bright. The spongy moss underfoot gave off a gray-green light. The fuzzy, bloated pipe-cleaner trees weren’t much taller than me as I sat on my haunches. The trees’ spots were luminescent as well.

  I made my point. You notice there are no bird sounds?

  The dragon held still, listening. Nothing moving. Nothing making a sound but us. Maybe the birds are asleep.

  There are night birds. Nightingales, owls, stuff like that. In fact, everything might be night. This dimension doesn’t necessarily have to have a sun. Natural laws can be different.

  What’s your point? the dragon asked.

  The silence of native life might be significant. I used my dragon body’s sharp sense of smell, classifying all kinds of odors that were unique to here. I listened for every scrap of sound. Places go silent usually when a predator’s around.

  Maybe it’s because they sense us. We’re a predator.

  True. But as I look at those bleached-white ziggurats over there—made from mastodon skulls—I can’t help asking myself an elephant joke.

  My dragon groaned. Gods and demons spare me!

  I posed my question anyway. What does it take to kill a herd of mastodons and eat them for breakfast?

  Oh, fuck! My dragon said.

  Also, if one of those ziggurats is a single-family dwelling, it could mean the so-called people around here are at least as big as we are.

  The dragon growled, baring teeth. His tail thudded into the moss, dislodging and scattering some half-buried bones, something once the size of an elk. I bet whatever’s around here can’t spit lightning.

  It could crap kryptonite for all we know. Don’t get cocky. We should probably lay low until we figure an exit strategy.

  Too late.

  There was motion to the side. The dragon turned towa
rd it. And here was the punchline to my joke. There were three of them: komodo dragons, or close enough to be inbred cousins: blunt heads, rounded snouts, serrated teeth, poison saliva, stubby legs, and club like tails. In scale to me, they were the size of large dogs.

  They grinned, happy to see me, black tongues forked and flickering. I wondered if they were hungry. Damn, I was hungry. This big dragon body of mine needed a lot of calories to fuel it. And my so-called friends had been stingy with the pizza.

  They were creeping in from the trees, moving to encircle me. Their gray-green coloration blended in with the moss but the dragons didn’t glow. This meant that they cast upward shadows as they neared. Their black eyes, ringed with yellowish folds of skin, were locked on me with steady purpose.

  Wings, I said.

  Huh?

  Fly away, unless you think you can take on all three without getting damaged. We’re damaged enough. I don’t turn dragon all that often, but I could tell that my alter-ego was poor in stamina and down in strength. My poisoning had taken a toll on him, too.

  He crouched and leaped, wings beating furiously for height. He roared, using the sound as a deterrent. Undaunted, the dragons came waddling in at twelve miles an hour. Since they were built like wiener dogs, I didn’t think they could jump well. This was proved out as I rose, pulling my hind feet up out of their reach. They hissed in disappointment. One of them went for my tail.

  I clubbed him in the head and smashed him into the river.

  Heh-heh. Fun. My dragon self said.

  As we soared above the trees, I had to agree. Better than tipping cows.

  No tipping of cows. We save our money. Cows don’t give good service anyway, he said.

  Damn! I felt a mental kick of amazement. He’d made a joke. I was rubbing off on him.

  The dragon wheeled above the trees. They didn’t make a real forest, being too sparse, with too much open land around. He angled toward the closest ziggurat. We headed that way with a WTF attitude.

  Think those pups back there built the skull-mounds? My dragon side asked.

  I stared through dragon eyes, appraising the structure. I doubt it. They don’t seem designed for that kind of work.

  Hmmm.

  I could tell it worried him. Hell, it worried me.

  Nearing the ziggurat took longer than expected. The thing turned out to be much bigger than it seemed. The skulls were mastodon but of a size Earth had never known. And they weren’t bleached, which reinforced my feeling that there was no sun here, just the weird phosphorescence that all plants seemed to possess. Actually, now that I’d almost reached the ziggurat, I could tell some kind of gummy white-wash coated the whole thing.

  I stared at an albino giant, the mother of all daddy long-legs. The cellar spiders—often found in cellars—were also called vibrating spiders. They had a habit of bouncing in their webs to blur their bodies, making themselves hard to see by things that might eat them. It came over the flat tip of the ziggurat. Looking delicate, fragile. I couldn’t see the creature building the ziggurat though it had twice my size.

  My dragon body back-winged a little, slowing our speed. My tail cracked like a whip.

  It ignored me, turning on super-thin spider legs. The motion reminded me of the yantra in its spider form.

  I still gave warning: They can throw silk, and they have venom though its low-grade—of course that’s in our world. This world’s variety might be a lot more dangerous.

  The long-legs took a dump on the flat top of the ziggurat. Its cylindrical abdomen shot out globs of white sludge that it spread around like manure. Actually, that is manure. That’s what’s coating the building: spider shit. Sticky spider shit.

  My dragon-self backed off, wrinkling his snout—our snout. So that’s what that smell is.

  Long-legs finished his business and scuttled off the way he’d come.

  Our wings were getting tired. We needed to land and kill something to eat.

  My dragon-self said, I’m not landing on that. He banked into a turn and spiraled toward the fuzzy ground. The wind flowed over our wings, cooling them. We reached the base of the ziggurat, catching the mossy surface, legs bending to absorb the impact. Where the side of the structure had been solid before, an oval hole now showed itself, a door thrown open.

  “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.” I couldn’t help the quote.

  Hell no, my dragon-self said. It’s a trap if there ever was one.

  Probably, but I don’t really think long-legs is behind this. I think it was just doing maintenance on someone else’s house.

  This is a fucking weird world. Something snakes would think up.

  Then maybe it’s the snake goddess inside, offering us an audience. That was my best guess.

  So we just stroll in?

  Yeah, and we stay ready to spit out a helluva lot of lightning if trouble comes.

  Trouble always comes, that slut.

  And so we trotted into the lair of possible doom. The open door was the mouth of a hallway that forced us to keep our wings folded to our back. Where skulls had lined the outside, the inside was cold granite blocks. They surrounded me. There were wall sconces, little hanging baskets with balls of glowing moss inside. The sections of light didn’t overlap. We went through zones of darkness that were separated by ten feet of space. Nothing really, not at the size of my current body. But the hall went on. And on. And on some more. Finally I growled. I know the fucking ziggurat wasn’t this deep.

  Magic? the dragon asked. Jedi mind trick?

  Maybe an altered space within this altered space.

  So what do we do?

  I mentally shrugged. Push on. There has to be an intelligence around here somewhere. There wouldn’t have been a door if it didn’t want to see us.

  The passage descended gradually at first, then became steeper and steeper until I had to dig in my claws with each step to keep from sliding into a fall.

  I hate this.

  I know.

  The walls grew slick with condensation. Patches of crusty grey-yellow lichen spotted the passageway, eventually obscuring the stone. The light went from gull green to a dull yellow. I had the uncomfortable impression that the planet had swallowed me and I was heading toward its stomach. The walls had also closed in enough so I was sure this dragon body couldn’t turn around. I thought of backing up most of the distance we’d already covered, I didn’t like that either.

  My dragon persona said, Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this? I’m getting closet-phobic.

  Me too. And I occasionally sleep in a coffin, too.

  The dragon paused, tail smacking walls behind us, dropping a cloud of dust and grit past us. Why?

  It makes sex a challenge when you’re sleeping with the undead.

  I didn’t want to know that.

  You did. You just don’t like the answer.

  Dragon and I continued the descent, happier when the floor leveled out, then widened, letting us emerge in a cavernous space with a high, flat ceiling. There were echoing water sounds: dripping, splashing, and a lot of dankness. Darkness kept us from seeing side walls, if they were even there. There were round, yellow-gray pillars to either side of us that formed rows going forward. The pillars were thick with luminescent lichen, but I could still discern carvings underneath, not-quite human figures, some of them quite slithery. I was reminded of the naga temple I discovered under the chapel, behind its basement wall.

  I have a very bad feeling, I confessed.

  Dragon stopped and fanned wings, getting the kinks out. Might be tricky flying in here. I’ll have to go slow so I don’t hit a column or a wall or something.

  I interrupted. It seems to me—

  He interrupted my interruption, walking forward at a faster pace, as if to leave me behind. You know, my night-vision has been screwed up for a while now. I wonder if—

  Listen, I said.

  We certainly can’t risk lightning in here. Could bring the whole place down on our head
s. I really don’t want to be laid out forever in a place like—

  Shut up! Why aren’t you letting me talk?

  His mental voice crackled with agitation like a jag of electrical fire. I’m tired of you warning me of bad stuff and then having it happen right away. Haven’t you ever heard that ignoramuses are blissed out of their freakin’ mind? I’d like to give that a try for a while.

  The water smell grew stronger. I heard voices murmuring. The light ahead was brighter.

  Dragon sighed. Fine. What is it?

  Remember that idol that I took the garnet tongue and rubies from?

  Yeah.

  I think we’re about to meet the garnet tongued goddess it represented—in person.

  Dragon continued on, his thoughts whirling like kaleidoscope flashes. He seemed suddenly a lot happier than I’d expected. A bounce returned to his steps. Hey, Caine?

  Yeah?

  Think she’s got any more of those rubies lying around? I’m still hungry.

  I didn’t know, but I did smell spices: clove, garlic, red pepper, coriander, cumin, paprika…

  It wasn’t surprising this altered space had elements from Earth; naga faith on earth had created this reality in ages past.

  The dragon drew in a deeper breath and we savored the smell of fish, eggs, and rice as well. Somewhere close, some serious cooking was going on. I just hoped dragon wasn’t on the menu.

  1

  THIRTY-SIX

  “And so my cock fell upon the hand

  grenade and saved us all. All right,

  so the hand grenade won.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  We entered an open court ringed by pillars. At the center was a raised dais covered with cushions and seven reclining women wearing silks and heavy veils across their mouths. The women had yet to see me, laughing among themselves, helping themselves to chalices of wine and silver trays piled with assorted nameless delicacies.

  Wait, I called to the dragon, they don’t have legs. Some of the rounded lumps among the cushions were actually coils. These are nagi.