“Most of them lost their parents long ago, at Pinegrove,” Xavier explained. “Creepers tended to cluster in the outskirts of the town, and these families were the first to die. Since the attack came outside of a crescent moon, and we did not have the benefit of the silver moon elm at that time, the newolves were the only thin line of defense we had. It was enough to save some families. But we lost the town.”
“And an enormous part of our heritage,” Jonathan added. “Dad told me there were only a few elder creepers that survived. Most of those died shortly afterward, in subsequent ‘revenge’ raids. Before long, Dad was the only one left. He probably thought he had more time than he did to pass it on.”
“Even with him gone, can’t today’s elder creepers experiment?” Jennifer asked. “If I knew that elder dashers could cause explosions, or elder tramplers could summon huge swarms of fire hornets, I’d tinker until I figured it out.”
“We could do that,” Xavier agreed, “if we knew what exactly the elder creeper skill was.”
“What?”
“Nobody knows what it was—not even the oldest children of Pinegrove.”
“How is that possible? They must have seen it.”
“If I knew how it was possible,” Xavier explained with barely restrained impatience, “then I would know the skill, wouldn’t I?”
“You’re old enough to remember seeing it, aren’t you?” Susan asked.
Jonathan could see Xavier’s reptilian head snap about, then pause as the elder tried to collect himself. “For a girl who supposedly has no extraordinary talents, you do seem to have a gift for asking annoying questions.”
Susan leaned up against Jennifer with a wry smile, fingers tangled in her own hair. She caught Gautierre staring at them about the same time Jonathan did. She gave Jennifer a wink as the boy quickly bowed his head. “Thanks.”
“I know for a fact that I’ve seen it,” Xavier told them. “In the same way that I know I saw the world for the first time when I was born. I cannot remember one any better than I can remember the other. I can’t explain how this is possible.”
“Any written record of the skill in beaststalker lore?” he asked Elizabeth.
She shook her head. “None that I know of. Glory and her followers are more interested in wiping out dragon heritage than studying it. There’s someone we might ask . . .”
“Who?”
Wendy and Eddie Blacktooth appeared on the porch. Jonathan was struck by a revelation: Whereas he’d always thought of Eddie as a carbon copy of his heavier, angrier father, seeing the two come in together from the cold reminded Jonathan how much the boy’s sparrowlike features and sharp eyes (though brown, instead of blue) had more in common with his mother . . .
“Wendy,” Elizabeth said on cue, as the porch door slid open with a blast of snow and air.
“What?” The woman’s voice was pleasant but cool, as if it had glided over an ice-coated throat. She stomped her boots and motioned to Eddie to do the same, as they found a spot to put their guns. “Hey, a paint store threw up on the lawn. Is everyone okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Jonathan assured her. “Liz was just talking about you. She suggested you might know something about a special skill elder creepers might have.”
“Here, Eddie, I’ll take that. Special skill—you mean beyond the obvious, like fire-breathing and camouflage? Wouldn’t you be the expert on that, Jon?”
“Not really. Lots of elders who used it died long ago. I wouldn’t ask, but Liz said—”
“Oh, right. Hank. Yeah, Lizzy’s right. Hank had a run-in with it. Back in high school. He always said we ended up together because I was impressed by his coming-of-age ritual, but it was . . . something else.” Her face soured at an untold memory. The fingers of her left hand worked around each other.
Elizabeth twitched. “Did his ritual have to do with an elder creeper?”
Wendy shrugged off her coat. “So he said. He never gave more details than that, though. Said it was a ‘top-secret’ mission for Mother herself.”
“Mother?” Xavier asked.
“Glory,” Jonathan explained. Liz and Wendy both insisted on that term of endearment, for reasons Jonathan knew were too complicated to explain here.
Wendy continued. “All I could get from him was how he learned a lot of dragons’ secrets—how they fight and plan and such. When I’d press him for details, he’d clam up. I always figured he was full of shit, so eventually I got bored and stopped asking.”
Jennifer chewed her tongue. “I think I’m going to go with Ms. Blacktooth’s ‘full-of-shit’ theory here, Mom. It sounds promising.”
“Hush, honey. So nothing, Wendy?”
Wendy shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. I could try to ask him—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted, feeling grotesque for pumping this woman for information from her estranged husband. “If he knows nothing, there’s no point. If he does know something, he’s not going to tell us. Not even you, Wendy.”
“So we’re back to square zero,” Susan summed up with a pout. “How can Jennifer and her dad learn something that no one knows anything about?”
There was a long pause in the discussion, during which Eddie kicked off his boots and squeezed onto the couch between Jennifer and Susan, making Susan (and Gautierre, Jonathan noticed) squawk in protest. Wendy kicked off her own boots, ambled into the kitchen, and brought back a cup of hot chocolate to sip while she leaned on the bookcase, all during which Jonathan stared at Eddie and Gautierre. What was it about these boys that irritated him so? Skip Wilson was an easy kid to dislike: He practically begged adults, dragon or no, to find him objectionable. But these two boys here were nice enough. Either of them would treat Jennifer properly. Heck, they both hung on her every word.
“Maybe you could call all of the elder creepers together and brainstorm,” Susan offered.
Jennifer’s support for her friend was immediate. “I like that idea, Susan.”
Then came the hormonal choir. “Yeah, that’s a good idea!” Gautierre said, in the same instant that Eddie said, “Yeah, that’s worth trying!”
The fresh twinge of resentment Jonathan felt gave him further insight into his own feelings. Not only did these boys hang on Jennifer’s every word; they didn’t dare challenge her. And if they never challenged her, how would she ever grow?
“Actually, that’s a bad idea,” he retorted, more angrily than he meant. “The elder creepers are in Blaze, with Winona. They’re not going to help us.”
“You mean they’re not going to help you,” his wife clarified. He spotted her reproach for shooting their daughter and Susan down so quickly. “They might help her.”
His reflex to argue with the woman had almost kicked in when Xavier finally cleared his throat. “There is the possibility of Smokey Coils.”
“What’s a smoky coil?” Eddie asked.
“Smokey isn’t a what; he’s a he,” Jonathan corrected. “Xavier, we don’t even know if Smokey’s still alive. Nobody’s seen or talked to him in over fifteen years.”
“That’s not completely true. Winona maintains intermittent contact, through messenger. Fire hornets, I believe. In any case, I am certain he is alive.”
“Where?”
“Deep in Crescent Valley. An island to the southeast, over the ocean.”
“That’s not the most precise bearing.”
“Dad, maybe we should try.”
“Can’t hurt,” Susan pointed out.
“That’s right!” Gautierre agreed. “We should try it!”
Jonathan squinted at Gautierre. How could this boy possibly offer his daughter anything special? The Scales line held the blood of the Ancient Furnace. Who knew what kind of children she might have someday, if she found a young man as extraordinary as herself? And while Jonathan couldn’t know that man’s identity today, he was certain it wasn’t this toadying . . .
Wow, he thought. I’ve evolved into a bloodline snob!
“Gautierr
e, that’s enough,” Xavier intoned. “We aren’t going to try anything of the sort. Smokey Coils is a recluse. He hasn’t seen another dragon for years, by choice. If four dragons suddenly crash on his doorstep, he will quickly find another island to disappear into.”
“Assuming this elder creeper skill isn’t enough on its own to deal with you all,” Elizabeth added. “Jonathan, this Smokey Coils doesn’t sound like a good source. A dragon that goes into hiding and hates other dragons . . . Maybe we should let this idea go. Jennifer can always—”
“No.” His own urgency surprised him, but he couldn’t deny the reaction to the idea that he might let Jennifer down. Again. “We should try. Jennifer and me. What Xavier says about the island makes sense.” It did. Smokey didn’t go hiding. He went looking. Like in Dad’s story about Roman Candlelight.
What was Smokey looking for? Jonathan thought he knew.
“Jonathan, be reasonable. We should be practicing . . .”
He slammed his foot down, considering ripping the moon leaf off his throat so he could snarl smoke. “Liz. Paintballs can wait. Diplomacy can wait. This is more important, to all of us. I am doing this. People are depending on me.” He held her eyes with his own, hoping she would understand. I don’t want to let everyone down again. Not like I’ve let them down before—Mom, Dad, Dianna, Evangelina, even you.
Elizabeth gave a slight nod, right before Jennifer stood up, which caused Phoebe to scramble out of her way and seek shelter near Gautierre. “Okay, we’re in Supersecret Mode again, and it’s ticking me off. Who is Smokey Coils, and why is he all alone now?”
Xavier sneered. “Both questions, Ambassador, have the same answer.”
She chewed her tongue for a few seconds before giving her father a dark look. “This has something to do with you, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Smokey is—”
“You know what? I’ll ask him myself.” She pushed by the others on the couch and headed for the stairs, snapping her fingers at Phoebe to follow. Once she was a few steps away, she paused and sighed. “Dad, is there a dragon anywhere that you haven’t pissed off somehow?”
He did some quick, glum math on his fingers. “No, I think I got them all.”
“Fabulous. I’m going to have a snack. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
For reasons not entirely clear to Jonathan, Jennifer asked Xavier to borrow Geddy the gecko before they left. The only explanation she gave was that “Geddy steers well.” Xavier seemed to understand, and so the tiny red and green shape clung to the girl’s reptilian skull as they soared over the dark, twilit ocean.
“You’re saying that lizard can show us where Smokey’s island is?”
“I’m saying he’s going to do better than ‘somewhere southeast. ’ ” She sighed. “I told you: Geddy has a sense for these things. You have to trust him. I do.”
Great, Jonathan mused. For all the boys I’ve been worried about, my daughter has formed an emotional bond with a reptilian Global Positioning System. Never saw that coming.
Following what seemed to be silent signals from the tiny lizard’s claws, Jennifer occasionally modified their course. With nothing else but the sparkling water below to guide them, Jonathan went along. After a few hours, though, he began to doubt his daughter’s system.
“Look, ace. I don’t want to sound critical—”
“It’s coming up ahead. See the volcanic peak?”
“Huh.” He could see it now. A pale glow gave away the rise in the horizon. As they approached, this glow took a clear shape upon the water. It came from plant growth, which covered the narrow landmass. He estimated the size of the island at less than ten square miles.
Jonathan had heard tales of tropical islands in Crescent Valley, but he’d never seen one before. In fact, he wasn’t one for southern climates at all. Long ago, Dianna Wilson had tried to talk him into running away together to Florida, or Mexico, or southeast Asia. None of these locations held much appeal for him—he was a man who enjoyed four distinct seasons.
That said, the closer they came to the island, the more he could appreciate its natural beauty. He could make out enough details to recall an exotic watercolor book he’d enjoyed once in a college art class. Rather than the moon elms and lichens in Crescent Valley’s temperate forest, the island featured moon bamboo, moon palms, and moongroves, all smothered in luminescent vines. Faint southern breezes swayed the glowing vines, and for a fanciful moment the south beach appeared to dance.
After circling the small island, they spotted the only possible source of freshwater—a small lake surrounded by the densest vegetation. It was not easy to land, but after some careful steering through the canopy, they were on the floor of the jungle with the lake’s edge in sight.
Jonathan and Jennifer both took deep, appreciative gulps. The island smelled alive, lush, and green. It reminded them that they hadn’t eaten since leaving the cabin.
“Xavier seemed certain he was still alive,” Jennifer remarked, brushing a palm frond off the back of her wing and sniffing the ground. “He also mentioned he was pretty old.”
“Old enough to have fought in Pinegrove. Xavier figures Smokey was thirty or so then.”
She frowned. “That would make him older than Winona. So why is she the Eldest?”
“It’s an honorific title, ace. Not a scientific description. If the oldest dragon doesn’t want to have anything to do with other dragons, the Blaze doesn’t hunt him down and crown him.”
She took in the jungle around them. “So he’s a creeper, he wants to hide, and he’s probably really good at it. How do we find him?”
Jonathan silently entertained the tactics of Roman Candlelight searching for his lost love. Boil the lake, burn the trees. He dismissed the idea and adopted a more conventional tactic.
“Smokey Coils!”
With ten square miles around them, Jonathan didn’t think he’d get a bite off his first attempt. And he didn’t—at least, not from Smokey Coils. His newcomer’s voice nevertheless set off something inside the jungle. In the periphery of his vision, something large stirred. It moved like a strange animal’s shadow against the luminescence around them. He caught his breath and whirled around, but it was gone.
“Jennifer, did you see . . . ?”
“What?” She looked at him with genuine confusion. “See what?”
“I thought I saw . . .” A spider was how he was going to finish the sentence. Impossible here! Especially since the spider he thought he had seen was Otto Saltin, the thug who had died attacking the Scaleses a year ago.
Something groaned deep within the moongroves, and he heard thick branches snapping. He stepped forward; again, there was nothing to see.
“Geez, Jonathan,” he whispered to himself. He was starting to feel like a busty coed in a horror flick. “Relax already.” Then, in a louder voice, he resumed calling. What else to do? Ask the gecko for a duck boat tour? “Smokey Coils!”
Jennifer joined in occasionally. Their voices carried a little, before the thick vegetation around them absorbed them. Once or twice Jonathan thought he saw a shadow or heard a sound. But nothing cast a shadow; nothing made a sound. His uneasiness increased.
“Dad. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.”
His daughter gave him an anxious glance. “You’re making me nervous. Stop twitching!”
“I’m not—” Quick as a thought, he looked back . . . and saw nothing once again. He faced front—and caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw what might have been a large lightning bug, perhaps the size of a coin, flashing at waist height. His ears picked up a tinny rubbing and clicking sound—zeep, zeep, plick . . . zeep, zeep, plick. When he stepped toward it, it blinked off and then reappeared a few feet away, among the ferns. Zeep, zeep, plick. Another step forward, and it vanished and reappeared again, this time below a head-high branch from a moongrove. Zeep, zeep . . . zeep, zeep . . . plick.
“Smokey Coils?”
&
nbsp; The rough voice answered from behind the small, shimmering object.
Little Jonny Scales.
I know about you now, son.
I know about you.
An unseen force slammed into Jonathan’s jaw. By the time his vision returned, he was looking up at the glowing jungle canopy, and his daughter’s concerned expression.
“Dad. I’m worried.”
“Me, too.”
“He’s going to speak in haiku the entire time, isn’t he?”
He rubbed his pounding cheek. “Give me a wing claw up, will you?”
She hoisted him up, about three seconds before Smokey knocked him down again, this time with a blow to the back of the head.
He woke up shortly afterward. Jennifer was spitting invective into the jungle. Normally he would have chastised his daughter for using the words now pouring over her forked tongue. This time, he had to admit a few of them had occurred to him as well.
“It’s okay, Jennifer.” He pushed off his wings and stood up again. His vision was blurry, but his mind was clearing. “Obviously he’s heard from Winona. Right, Smokey?”
The disembodied voice answered.
Winona works fast.
But I had already known—
You’re no dragon’s friend.
Jonathan thought it might be coming from the left and a bit above, and he turned to see the small flash.
“I’m not your enemy, Smokey. My daughter and I are here because dragons are in danger, and you can help. If you want to help dragons, you could—dammit, knock it off!” He barely got the last out, since this time the blow hit him straight in the stomach. He was pretty sure it was Smokey’s tail.
Even Jonathan, who had always prided himself on his camouflage, had to admit this was out of his league. There was not even a shift in the ambient light to announce movement, nothing but the small sparkle of what Smokey was holding. Knife? Key? Finger cymbals?
He heard a soft whistle and flattened himself to the ground. From Smokey’s impressed humming, he figured he had avoided another tail blow. “Smokey, can you please give me two minutes? You can pound on me all you want after that.”
Seraph of Sorrow Page 8
