by James Maxey
“Hmm,” Jandra said.
Bitterwood stared at his hands. They were wrinkled, calloused, and scarred. Yet, they felt whole. The decaying purple sausages that had sat at the end of his arm were wriggling fingers again. It wasn’t just his hands that felt restored. He tossed aside the blanket, which was now clean. Beneath, he was naked. All the wounds inflicted by the long-wyrm were healed. His body was covered by a hundred smooth crisscrossing scars, but he felt fine. All traces of the fever and weakness were gone.
“I’m sorry about the scars,” Jandra said. “Once I got rid of the infection and repaired the deep structure damage, I simply accelerated your body’s own healing systems.”
Jandra wasn’t looking directly at him as she spoke, averting her eyes from his nudity. Bitterwood grabbed the blanket and pulled it back over his lap to hide himself.
“You must command the same magic Vendevorex used,” Bitterwood said. “He healed himself after being gutted. He should have died.”
“He did die, later, in the Free City. I’m not sure how much you know about what’s happened since I left you.”
“Not much,” Bitterwood said. “I’ve been traveling with Zeeky… Zeeky! Where is she?”
“Missing,” said Jandra. “Her brother said she went into the mines.”
“That fool girl,” he grumbled. “She’ll get herself eaten. Why didn’t you go after her?”
“I’ve been saving your life,” she said, looking hurt by his scolding tone.
Bitterwood looked around for his clothes. If Zeeky had gone into the mines, he’d have to go after her. “Where did you put my—?”
“Here,” Jandra said, lifting a folded bundle of leather and linen. “I took these off because I didn’t want to get the fibers entangled in your wounds. I repaired them as best I could. Nothing fancy. There wasn’t much to work with.”
She tossed the bundle to Bitterwood. He caught the familiar fabric, recognizing at once the linen shirt and buckskin pants he’d worn for so many years. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d been so completely free of blood stains. The tattered blanket he’d worn on his journey had been fashioned into an actual cloak, complete with a drawstring hood.
“I didn’t know you were a seamstress as well as a witch,” he said. He took a sidelong glance at her. “You’ve changed your hair again.” Her long brown locks hung freely past her shoulders from beneath the silver skullcap. In the Free City, her hair had been black, and barely shoulder length. Her clothes also caught his attention, as it looked like dragon hide. The material clung to her body in a way that seemed part of her. Elaborate flourishes of feathery lace around the cuff and collar seemed more appropriate for a palace than for a cave in the wilderness. “Your clothes look like something that peacock you consorted with might have worn. What was his name? Pet?”
Jandra frowned. “Pet wasn’t my consort. I don’t appreciate being judged simply because I want to wear something nicer than rags.”
As she spoke, Bitterwood sniffed the air. “It’s not my imagination. There was a sun-dragon here.”
“Hexilizan,” said Jandra. “He likes to be called Hex.”
“Ah. The disgraced first-born.”
“You’ve heard of him? I lived in the castle all my life and didn’t know who he was.” She turned her back to him. “Put your clothes on so we can go see the others.”
“I know Albekizan’s family well,” said Bitterwood, unfolding the bundle. “He had six sons and four daughters. Only two of the sons survive—Hexilizan and Shandrazel. Lancerimel followed the Dragon Road beyond the Cursed Mountains and never returned. The other three I killed… though only Bodiel’s body was discovered.”
“Don’t brag about that to Hex,” she said. “In fact, before we go further, I want to lay down some rules. Back at Chakthalla’s, you gave me your word not to kill Vendevorex, and you kept it. Now, I want your word that you won’t kill Hex. He’s my friend, and I won’t have him become another notch on your bow.”
“I don’t carve notches in my bow,” said Bitterwood, struggling to pull his pants over his thighs. The buckskin had tightened. “It would weaken the wood.”
“You know what I mean. At Chakthalla’s castle, you didn’t take sides. If it had scales, you put an arrow into it. But all dragons aren’t alike. Hex has done nothing to hurt you.”
“You know nothing of the real world, girl,” Bitterwood answered, finally getting the pants up to his waist. Despite the snugness of the buckskin, Bitterwood could tell he’d lost weight during his time of fever. The skin of his belly lay tight against the muscles beneath, all hint of fat eaten away in an effort to keep him alive. “As Albekizan’s son, Hex trained in the art of hunting humans. Your so-called friend has feasted on the meat of slaves he’s brought down. No dragon is innocent.”
“Sun-dragons’ reputation for eating humans is vastly exaggerated,” Jandra said. “Most of them eat the same stuff people do—fish, beef, bread—just a whole lot more of it.”
“Foods produced by human labors, which the dragons steal. You don’t know that because you’ve led a sheltered life, protected by a dragon who treated you as affectionately as some men treat their dogs.”
“I’m not naïve,” said Jandra. “I’ve killed dragons. I’ve killed humans. Nothing about my life is sheltered anymore.”
Bitterwood silently pulled his shirt on, weighing her words as he laced the front closed. Jandra was forever corrupted by having been raised by a dragon. However, he knew he wouldn’t be alive without her. She would also be helpful in finding Zeeky. Despite being a witch, she seemed to have a kind heart. Finally, he sighed. “What is it that you want of me?”
“Don’t kill Hex. Or Shandrazel, should you meet him. We’re at the dawn of an age when dragons and humans can finally live in peace. I don’t want you destroying that with your blind hatred.”
“My hatred is far from blind, girl,” Bitterwood said. “It’s clear-eyed hatred, seeing the world that is, not the world you wish it to be. Still, I will honor your request… for now.”
Jandra looked relieved. She moved toward the edge of the cave and leapt onto a rock below. “Come on,” she said, motioning for him to follow.
They were several hundred feet above the ruins of Big Lick. The mountain here was a series of rocky shelves and overhangs, some quite deep. Jandra navigated the narrow path that led between the ledges with the sureness of a mountain goat. Bitterwood sensed that the change in her since last they’d met was more than just a change of wardrobe. He strained to keep up with her. She definitely hadn’t been this strong or fast when they’d first met. Then, she’d been little more than a child in a young woman’s body. She’d been brave, yes, but also irrational and overly emotional. She seemed more in control now. When she’d told him not to kill Hex, she hadn’t been pleading or bargaining. She’d simply been telling him the rules he would live by in her presence.
He wondered if she’d laid down the same sort of rules with Hex.
They walked up a wooden ramp toward the great gaping mouth of the mountain. Judging from the picks and shovels laying around, this was the entrance to a mine. Inside the shelter of the mine a fire burned, and beside this fire sat Killer and the boy. Killer looked healthier, though the ox-dog’s hide was now as scarred as his own.
“Did you heal the dog before you healed me?” he asked.
“His wounds were mostly superficial,” Jandra said. “After he was better, I had Hex bring him and the boy here. The first cave was too small for Hex, and I wanted us to have a little privacy after you woke.”
It was getting dark outside, and the roof of the cave was so black with the soot of centuries it looked like a formless void.
“Where’s Hex?” Jandra asked.
“I don’t know,” the boy said. “He smelled something strange. Said he’d be right back. He only left a minute ago.”
“Where’s Zeeky?” Bitterwood asked.
“We found her footprints,” the boy said, pointing toward the
rear of the shaft. “She’s looking for our folks.”
“You’re related to her?” As he asked this, Bitterwood saw that the family resemblance was undeniable. The same cornsilk-blond hair, the same evening-blue eyes. The boy’s face was a bit more angular, however, his nose sharper, his chin more prominent. Bitterwood guessed the boy to be about twelve. He had the same wiry limbs that Zeeky possessed, a body shaped by poverty and the physical demands of climbing over this harsh landscape.
“Ezekia’s my sister,” he said. “I’m Jeremiah.”
“You’re older than your sister,” said Bitterwood. “Why did you let her go?”
“Ain’t nobody can stop Zeeky when she sets her mind to do something.”
Bitterwood nodded. He knew this from experience. “Jeremiah and Ezekia… these are names from the Bible.”
“Yes sir,” the boy said. “My great grandfather was converted by a prophet named Hezekiah. He came to these mountains as a missionary.”
“I see,” said Bitterwood. “People in this area are usually devotees of the goddess Ashera. I saw her temple in the town of Winding Rock.”
“If you know the Bible enough to know our names, are you a follower of the Lord, mister?”
Bitterwood felt anger stir inside him at the question. He knew the boy meant no harm in asking; no doubt he was merely looking for common ground with a stranger. The boy couldn’t know that the only thing Bitterwood hated more than dragons were the words of the so called prophet Hezekiah.
Apparently, the boy sensed Bitterwood’s anger, because he turned his face toward the floor and grew quiet, as if he was afraid.
“I didn’t know you were such an expert in religion,” Jandra said to Bitterwood. “Of course, almost anyone would know more about religion than I do. Vendevorex didn’t teach me anything about spirituality.”
“If you stay in these mountains long,” the boy said, “you’ll learn more than you want to know about spirits. These mountains are full of devils.”
“Some people think these mountains are the home of the goddess,” said Bitterwood, not so much to argue with the boy as to explain things to Jandra. “Jeremiah’s people think the place is full of devils, but in the village where I was born it would have been unthinkable to mine these mountains—this was sacred ground. The goddess both lived in the earth, and was of the earth. Digging a hole this deep into her would have been like digging into her heart.”
“Hmm,” said Jandra. “When I get back to the library I’ll have to read up on theology.”
“Don’t you carry the books inside your head?” asked a deep, strong voice from the growing darkness outside the cave. Bitterwood spun around, his body instinctively steeling itself for combat.
Jandra looked toward the shadows outside, and said, “I can only recall books I’ve actually seen. This wasn’t something I studied.”
The shadows at the mouth of the cave took on shape and substance as the ruby hide of a sun-dragon slinked forward. Bitterwood surveyed the room for a weapon. He’d never killed a sun-dragon barehanded. The pickaxes that lay at the entrance could do the deed.
However, the way this dragon moved gave Bitterwood a reason to relax. This dragon was no threat; he was limping, and there was a hint of freshly spilled reptilian blood in the air. Indeed, more than a hint—Hex must be bleeding freely to unleash such an odor.
As Hex moved nearer the light of the campfire, it became apparent that he wasn’t limping. He was dragging something he grasped with his fore-talons, something quite heavy. From the corner of his eye, Bant saw Jandra toss a handful of silver dust into the air. Suddenly, the room was as brightly lit as if the noon sun was overhead.
The burden that Hex dragged behind him was copper colored and its body seemed to stretch on forever out of the mouth of the cave. It was studded with muscular legs ending in fearsome claws.
“I heard what you were saying about the goddess,” said Hex, as if the fact he was dragging a slain beast into their presence was hardly worth mentioning. “We dragons don’t believe in gods exactly, though we do believe in a life flame that endures beyond death, and we believe in spirits. These mountains are said to be haunted; perhaps the strange noise that permeates these rocks causes both men and dragons to seek supernatural explanations.”
“What noise?” Bitterwood asked.
“What in the world is that?” Jandra said, walking over to the beast, ignoring Bitterwood. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m not sure what it is. I smelled something odd in the wind earlier. I found this thing emerging from one of the nearby caves. It attacked when it saw me; I killed it in self defense.”
“Those are demons,” Jeremiah said. “They live in the underworld.”
“This isn’t a demon,” said Hex. “It’s an animal, and it was being ridden by a man. Unfortunately, he escaped as I was fighting the beast.”
Bitterwood nodded. “There was a man on beast I slew as well. He didn’t escape. I’d never seen anything like it either. But I’ve heard about a lot of legendary beasts over the years, and once was told of a race of long-wyrms that lived in the mountains. This must be one of those.”
Jandra ran her hands along the long-wyrm’s hide as Killer, the ox-dog, drew up beside her and started to sniff. “A creature like this shouldn’t exist,” she said. “I’ve been studying biology since I was old enough to hold a book. All vertebrates are limited to four limbs. It’s biological law.”
“The beast must not have read the same books,” said Hex. “If it can read at all. Despite its draconian head, I didn’t get the feeling it was intelligent. It didn’t speak during the battle, although its rider let out a string of scatological commentaries as he departed.”
“Jeremiah, what else do you know about these creatures?” Jandra asked.
“Not a lot, ma’am,” the boy answered. “Occasionally the menfolk of my village spot the demons when they’re in the mine. The demons shy away from light. But they weren’t scared of fire when they attacked Big Lick.”
“Why did they attack?” Hex asked. “What provoked them?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeremiah. “They just came in during the night and started dragging people from their beds. I don’t think they killed anyone, their riders just tied us up like hogs and carted us back to the mountain. I’m lucky to have got away. Luckier still to find Zeeky.”
“And now Zeeky’s gone into underworld to find your parents,” said Bitterwood. “Can you lead us through the mines?”
“I… I’m afraid to, mister,” the boy said. “They say these things don’t just eat you… they also eat your soul.”
“If you live a life of cowardice, your soul has already been chewed up,” Bitterwood scolded.
The boy hung his head in shame.
Hex said, “Zeeky’s footprints are easy enough to spot in the coal dust. I can smell where her pig walked. We won’t need the boy to guide us.”
“You’re crazy to go into the mountain,” Jeremiah said, directing his words at Bitterwood. “That one demon right near killed you. There were at least a dozen that came to Big Lick.”
Bitterwood smiled grimly. “I’ve faced stiffer odds. I only fared badly because I was already injured. If Jandra can make me a bow and some arrows using her—” he stopped suddenly. Killer had lifted his head with a jerk, and turned to face the back of the cave. He let out a low growl toward the darkness.
“What is it, boy?” Jeremiah asked.
“I hear something,” Jandra said, looking in the same direction. “Something’s moving back there.”
Hex dropped to all fours and strained his neck forward, sniffing the air. “Another long-wyrm,” he said. “More than one, in fact.”
Bitterwood’s eyes searched the darkness. The back of the cave was a tangle of rock and shadows, and the light Jandra had created only made it more difficult for him to see what was approaching. Then, at the edge of his vision, a patch of shadow moved closer, until its eyes caught the light and flas
hed golden.
“Jeremiah,” Bitterwood said, as a second pair of eyes joined the first. “Now would be a good time to run.”
Jeremiah darted toward the entrance of the cave and, having barely traveled twenty feet, skidded to halt. Bitterwood glanced back. Three more long-wyrms and their riders were at the entrance of the cave. This brought the total number they faced to five, plus the riders.
The middle long-wyrm at the front of the mine had two riders. “That’s him,” the hindmost rider said, pointing toward Hex. “He killed my mount.”
The long-wyrms crept closer, eyeing the sun-dragon. Their riders carried loaded crossbows. All possessed the same pale skin of the earlier rider, and all wore the same shimmering white tunics and strange visors. Though Bitterwood couldn’t see their eyes, it was apparent from the tilt of their heads that the riders were focused on Hex.
Jandra said firmly, “Don’t come any closer. I’m sorry we killed your mount. There’s no need for further violence.”
“The hell there isn’t,” growled the rider whose mount had been slain. “The goddess was furious when Fondmar and his wyrm were killed. I’ll not face her without bringing the head of the dragon who killed my mount.”
“Why did you attack the town of Big Lick?” Jandra asked. “What have you done with its people?”
Bitterwood noticed that as she spoke, Jandra had dipped her hand into the pouch on her belt and was now allowing the fine silver dust to trickle through her fingers and vanish into the air. The atmosphere around Bitterwood began to faintly hum. What was she doing? There was already enough light to see by. Too much light for his taste. He fought better in the shadows.
Of course, in a second, it would no longer matter. In unison, all the wyrm-riders lifted their crossbows. Everyone aimed their weapons at Hex.
Bitterwood tensed, waiting for the triggers to be pulled, so he could spring into action before they reloaded. In his head, he was already mapping out the path he would follow, which wyrm he would attack first. He could have one long-wyrm dead in twenty seconds; a second would fall half a minute later. Beyond that, the situation had too many variables to plan. Hopefully, his attack would be enough of a distraction for Jandra to turn invisible and get Jeremiah to safety. He wished he had a second to share his plan. He would have to trust her instincts.
