She knew she would bleed to death if she did not do the unthinkable. With her left hand she reached toward her thigh and touched the black pouch. Shaking hands wormed their way into the pouch and she wrapped her fingers around the figurine. “Forgive me Coleman,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she uttered a sacred prayer only her people had known. A golden illumination surged up her arm and throughout her body. The stream of blood coagulated around the protruding arrow.
She released the figurine and jarringly pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Tina,” she panted, “I am well.”
Tina continued to cry hysterically. Truth reached out and touched her child’s head. Tina raised her eyes to meet Truth’s.
“Tina.” She licked her dry lips. “Baby, I am well.” Truth struggled to remain sitting. She reached over and took a firm hold of the arrow shaft.
“Sweetheart.” she stared deep into Tina’s moist emerald eyes. “Mother must break this arrow to extract it from her arm. It will bring great pain. You must be brave. Do not cry out. Can you do this?”
Tina stared motionless. Slowly she lifted her head and nodded.
“Good. For I will cry out. You be brave, yes?”
Tina nodded slowly and stepped back from her mother.
Truth drew in a long deep breath, tightened her grip on the shaft, and twisted her wrist in one swift, hard snap she broke the arrow shaft. “Ahhhh!” she shrieked and fell limp.
Tina pressed her hand over her mouth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She swallowed hard but did not move.
Stars danced behind Truth’s eyelids as she curled up panting, willing the pain to a place deep inside her conscience. Arrows continued to fly over their heads. They must get out of range. She swallowed dryly and pushed herself back up.
“Honey,” she called to Tina. “I need you to do this for me.”
Tina shook her head, her feet frozen in place.
“Baby, we have to get out of here. Mother’s people are just over there.” She pointed weakly. “You can do this. I trust you.”
Tina stiffly stepped toward her mother.
“Good girl.” She feebly touched Tina’s golden-brown locks. “You must stand behind me, and when I count to three, pull this arrow from Mother’s arm,” she said between ragged breaths.
Tina’s stared at her. Tears poured down her pale face. She nodded and placed both hands on the shaft. “Good, honey! Pull it like cook pulls the butter churn; only pull it straight from Mother’s arm, yes?” Truth struggled to check over her shoulder for her daughter’s willingness. Tina’s lips were pressed together and her face was etched in determination. Truth counted, “One…two…” she sucked in a breath and spoke through clinched teeth, “three!” Tina pulled with all her might. The arrow slipped out of Truth’s muscle. Blackness enveloped Truth and she fell back into the forest carpet.
“Mother!” Tina called from far away. “Oh, Mother!” her voice came closer like a sweeping wind.
Truth opened her eyes. Tina crouched across Truth’s chest, sobbing. Truth forced her arm to move and reach up to touch her daughter. “Shhh,” she cooed. “I am well. You were so brave.”
Tina sat up. Tear swollen eyes searched her mother’s pale face. “Truly?”
“Yes, baby, truly!” Truth closed her eyes and summoned all her strength. She reached for the pouch, but stopped. She would not draw from it. Her wedding vow would remain unbroken. Slowly she forced herself up and with her uninjured arm, pushed against the tree.
Tina curled under her mother’s arm and supported her as best she could. Together they struggled out of the deadly arrows’ range.
Truth prayed protective prayers.
“Our people are just over there,” Truth reassured. “It is not far now.” She stumbled and came down hard on her knee, pulling Tina down with her. Pain permeated her being. She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lip. Tina pushed her up with a groan and the two fought their way through the thick woods. The sound of the arrows faded as they neared the clearing beyond the forest.
An open meadow of grass and wild flowers blanketed the expanse between the forest and the rocky, scrub-oak-covered foot-hills. Stately mountains carried the horizon off as far as one could see.
“There,” Truth croaked dryly, “Your father’s land ends there with this meadow. Beyond, our family awaits. In those hills, we will be safe.”
“I do not understand.” Tina began to cry. “I do not see—” A hiccup caught her breath, “anyone.”
“You will.” Truth smiled as she pushed herself to walk into the open meadow.
Tina toiled to support Truth’s weakened body. They moved forward toward the refuge of the hills. Tina’s eyes roamed across the foot hills. Truth felt her daughter’ struggle as young knees buckled under her mother’s weight. Doubt and fear flooded Tina’s face.
“Tina, darling,” Truth said. “Never have I lied to you.”
“No Mother.” Tina answered. Truth could feel her daughter trembling.
“But there are things I have never told you.”
Tina stopped and looked up into her mother’s face. Her eyebrows knitted together, “Such as what, Mother?”
“Such as, who my people are. Who I am. Who you are.”
Tina tilted her head but remained silent.
Truth smiled. She reached down and pulled the black pouch from her sash. Tina’s eyes followed Truth’s hand as she reached inside and pulled out the golden statue of a dragon. The golden light surged once more through Truth’s hand and up her arm. She closed her eyes against the healing balm of its power.
“It is like my baby!” Tina exclaimed and squeezed her doll dragon closer to her chest.
“Yes, it is. And now you will know why. Hold my arm, here.” Tina reached up and grasped her mother’s elbow. Truth turned the dragon over and lifted the thin golden shape from her necklace. Tina’s eyes widened as she watched her mother insert it into the statue’s base.
“The key, it is also a dragon,” Tina squealed.
Truth nodded and turned the key three times.
Truth turned her head and twisted her neck as her body moved back away from Tina. She opened her mouth and pressed her face forward. Her nose elongated as red scales rapidly immerged from beneath her skin and ran down her lengthening neck and onto her shoulders. Her shoulder blades protruded from her dress, ripping fabric with its growth, as long webbed bones stretched up and out. She took a slow deep breath as she opened the wings and shivered. The last of the red scales flowed down her legs from under the human skin that fell to the ground as she stepped back to catch her balance.
She glanced at Tina, who simultaneously completed her transformation and shivered. The human skin lay at her feet along with the torn travel tunic. Truth pointed her snout toward the foothills, and Tina’s eyes followed her gesture.
Hundreds of red and silver dragons, now visible, reared and stamped their feet, watching for Truth’s signal to release them from their obligations. Truth lifted her head and growled, “Father!”
The larger of the dragons stepped onto the meadow.
“I am no longer bound,” the breath caught in her enormous chest, “to my betrothed vow.” Truth stepped toward her father.
Their long iridescent necks nuzzled in affectionate greeting. A silver tear fell from her father’s sunset-orange eye. Tina stood motionless.
“Tina, darling,” Truth’s rough voice surprised herself, “this is your grandfather, my father.” She flapped her strong wings and stepped backward. “And this,” she made a sweeping gesture and said, “is our family! Your family.”
Tina stared wide-eyed. “Wow!” she mouthed as she followed her mother’s eyes down to the statue in Truth’s talon.
Truth smiled. Tears filled her eyes as she regarded her daughter in their true form. “Come, daughter, come meet your family.” Her tail flicked gracefully as she led Tina toward the throng of dragons waiting at the edge of the field.
Absent of thought, Truth let the statue fall
from her claw. It rolled in the long blades of grass. Truth glanced back to see it halted by an ant hill. “Good riddance old friend.”
Tina followed her mother’s gaze. “Momma?”
“All is well, dear one, we shall never have need of it again.” Truth turned, lifting her snout high in the pristine air, and strode into the loving embrace of her dearly-missed family.
*
Black mist rushed across the vast region of arid nothingness. All it sought was rest, but alas none could be found. On and on it searched for a suitable place, an unoccupied house. A wind-swept grass field, cool to the mist’s underside, beckoned it to float with the undulating breeze. Tall blades of grass disguised mounds of regurgitated soil, laboriously built by huge troops of ants. The poisonous venom inside each insect intrigued the mist as it hovered above the scurrying workers. A glint of gold poked through the meal-like dirt. The mist stopped and stared. What is this? It twisted itself into a dirt cloud whipping the soil away from the golden object.
A dragon made of precious metal lay half exposed in the destroyed ant hill. The mist laughed and pressed itself into the unoccupied center of the golden statue.
“This is where we shall go in and make our home,” the demon said. Then it called seven other spirits who were more wicked than itself and together they occupied the statue.
And that is how it was for many centuries.
Death Without Shoes ~ Lynn Donovan
A terrible sense of dread told Nella Scott to turn around—go home. If she hadn’t promised her two daughters she’d be there, that was what she would’ve done. She navigated the unfamiliar residence, an obvious visitor. She slowed at every street corner, straining to read the signposts. Tilting her head back she peered through her glasses, searching for the spot intended for distance. Darn bifocals! She hated searching for anything, especially addresses.
Why was she going in the first place? This was her daughters’ thing. She was too old for such a gathering. From their explanation of the event, it sounded stupid. Some sort of party, a get together of friends who shared a fantasy for—she tried to put a suitable word to it—morbidity. But Lisa and Amelia insisted, so here she drove, looking for the right house.
The home was indistinguishable from the others with the exception of the address. It was an average-sized house—window shutters matched the trim, cedar shingles, bay windows, pristine lawn. Exactly like the one next door. She walked up the curved, white begonia-framed walk and entered the house, then froze. Her cropped golden-brown hair swayed at her shoulders.
On a white cloth-covered platform, her ex-husband laid, pale-white and still. Yellow Canna lilies lined the sheet, encircling his silver hair. The heady aroma of too many assorted flowers assaulted Nella’s nose. Dillon’s callused hands were folded across the chest of a dark blue, double-breasted suit. Brown, sock-covered feet protruded from the starch pleated pants.
Everything about this spectacle was wrong. Nella had never seen him in a business suit. Overalls would be more fitting. She stared at the oddity of the wrong colored socks.
Her daughter, Lisa was petite, blond, and pretty among several of her friends who stood around her father. She looked up as Nella entered the house. Lisa slipped over to her and reached up to softly kiss her cheek. Sorrow emanated from her quiet voice. “Mother, so glad you could come.”
Nella stared at Dillon. Finally, she forced her mouth to close. Lisa moved back into position at her father’s side. His head turned as he stole a side-ways glance toward the new entrant. He sat up and swung long, socked feet over the edge of the platform. Nella staggered back, gasping.
“Come on in,” he said barely above a whisper. A curt smile creased his mouth, then faded. He closed his eyes and eased himself back down.
Nella raised her eyebrows and gingerly walked past the strange gathering. That sense of dread fought for a position with confusion. Nella’s eyes roved over other groups standing around their supposed dead. Her throat tightened as a hint of bile stung the back of her tongue.
A large curly-haired man in a black, pin-striped suite and thin, tan socks giggled and sat up among his mourners. “I’ve got recordings of Jack Black doing his stand up,” he said louder than the normal suppressed decibel of the others.
Nella stiffened as his voice penetrated the otherwise hushed atmosphere. He pulled a small device out of his pocket and pointed to it. “This guy cracks me up!”
His mourners hissed at him with fingers against their lips and guided him back down.
“Oh,” he nodded, returning the device to his breast pocket. Seriousness resumed in his pallid expression as he closed his eyes. His breathing became shallow in his horizontal position.
Nella suppressed a smile at his obvious cheating—listening to something that entertained him. Why would he relax by listening to Jack Black? So vulgar.
She drifted into the next room, which might have been a formal dining room in a normal home. Her other daughter, Amelia, stood taller than the three other young people. Her long brunette hair flowed down her back like a shampoo model. Nella stood on the balls of her feet to peer over the shoulders of Amelia’s group. A lightning bolt shot through her nervous system. Her three-month-old granddaughter lay on the pristine sheet.
A pink one-piece romper loosely clung to her granddaughter’s small frame. Tiny Roses of Sharon outlined the baby’s entire body. A white bow with garter haloed her short dark curls. The baby slept motionless on her back, her head limply turned away from the on lookers.
“What in God’s name is Christine doing lying out like this?” Nella demanded. Her eyes bore into Amelia’s sorrowful tanned face.
Amelia’s dark-brown irises met Nella’s golden-brown eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see what she would look like laid out like that.” Amelia said and an empty smile lifted the edges of her otherwise down-turned mouth. Her eyes were emotionless.
Nella shoved her arms between two people she didn’t know and pulled her grandbaby into her arms. The child stirred in her sleep, but did not awaken. “What are you thinking?” Nella said through clinched teeth. Her jaw ached from the force with which she pressed together her molars. “Why would you want to see your daughter dead?”
Startled shame washed over Amelia’s face, and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know, Momma.”
Nella stared at her for a moment that felt like ten minutes. Complete confusion filled her mind. Nothing made sense about this activity. The whole atmosphere pressed in on her as if the air had been removed from the room. She cradled her granddaughter over her shoulder and searched for an exit. Through an open doorway, she darted into a kitchen. The oppression lifted, and she drew in a ragged breath. Strong lemon-scented cleaning solution filled the room.
The baby stirred and turned her face toward Nella’s neck. Christine nuzzled into the warmth. Nella swayed the familiar mother’s swing, lulling the baby. The baby’s body grew heavier as she breathed slower and deeper. Nella drew in the familiar scent of her granddaughter and sighed. Her taunt neck muscles released their tight, burning grip.
Amelia and Lisa entered the kitchen. Nella glared at the strangers she knew as her own flesh and blood who stood before her. Her face drew into a scowl. “What are you two doing?”
“Mom, it’s no big deal.” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“No big deal?”
Nella’s voice startled the baby.
“Shhh,” she spoke softly in the baby’s ear and resumed swaying. “No big deal,” she whispered. “What are you getting out of pretending to be dead?”
“It’s not real,” Amelia said, placid nothingness in her face. “It’s death without shoes.”
“Death without shoes? What the dickens are you talking about?” Nella fought to control her volume for the baby’s sake.
“It’s not real.” Amelia rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“I get that you know it’s not real, but why are you doing it?”
“It’s—it’s celebrating death,�
�� Lisa said, glancing around the room as if she looked for something. Her eyes never settled on anything until she returned her gaze to her mother’s disapproving face.
“Why on earth would you want to celebrate death? You’re alive, girls! Celebrate life!” She let her voice rise above the morose hush. No longer did she care to follow the correctness of this activity. Pushing through the girls she stepped forward, determined to leave. The room tilted and her breath caught in her chest. She grabbed her daughter’s arm to steady herself. Her body rooted in its place. A wave of something dark and evil emanated from the other room. She closed her eyes against the disturbing sensation and prayed protective prayers.
A small golden dragon illuminated in her mind—a vision. An evil aura swelled from it and lit up the shelf on which it sat. A crystal wind chime tinkled a delicate sound as yellow-gold scales lifted as if a gentle breeze were rustling them. Nella’s jaw tightened as the sound penetrated her ears. She ground her teeth as pain grew from the intensity of the noise. A Bible verse came to mind about divine dominion and putting demons in their place—stepping on scorpions and snakes.
She handed the baby to Amelia without meeting her eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the offensive object. Her limbs stiffened as she crept closer to the dragon. She prayed under her breath a mysterious prayer she herself had never heard. She knew its origins were from Heaven. Ruby-red eyes flashed as the figurine’s head twisted as if it were in pain. The dragon stood from its pedestal-like position. Its tail whipped violently around its back and hips. Nella stared at the writhing creature without empathy. The words of her prayers erupted from her lips and she continued to inundate the creature with the powerful articulation. A column of fire twisted above her head and penetrated through the ceiling. Its non-consuming flames surrounded Nella. She continued the assaulting barrage of prayer.
Creeden, Pauline - The Clockwork Dragon Page 5
