Dragonforge da-2

by James Maxey

  In the tomblike silence, Pet's attention was drawn to a scratching, clicking noise nearby. A rat? No, the scraping was more metallic, like long needles tapping against iron. A moment later, a loud clank echoed through the chamber, the distinctive sound of a padlock opening. The hinges of the iron door groaned as they inched open. Dim light seeped through the ever-widening gap.

  Two women squeezed into the doorway, their faces barely visible in the light of a small vial that glowed with a yellow-white phosphorescence like an oversized firefly. The women had shaved heads tattooed with serpentine designs; their bodies were hidden beneath heavy black cloaks. They moved barefoot across the floor toward Pet.

  A yard away, they drew to a sudden stop.

  "That's not Deanna," one said.

  "Help me," Pet whispered, his voice sounding like someone else's as it passed through his damaged mouth.

  "Kill him," the sister who carried the light said, drawing her dagger.

  "Wait," the sister on the right said. "I've seen him before. He's the one they chained before the crowd in the Free City. His face is messed up now, but I remember his hair."

  "That's me," Pet said, summoning the strength to sit up. "I was the one Albekizan tortured. You were in the Free City?"

  "Yes," the girl said bending down to take a closer look at his face. "Is it true? You're the great dragon-slayer?"

  Pet turned his head, ashamed that these girls were staring at his damaged face. He felt like a monster. "I'm not a great anything anymore," he whispered.

  "We should free him," the woman said, kneeling and grabbing his chains.

  "Are you crazy?" the other one hissed. "This isn't the mission."

  "Missions change," the woman answered as she started working her lockpicks within the manacle that bound Pet. With a snick, the band loosened. He rubbed his free arm. It felt cold as ice.

  "Were you here to save the other girl?" said Pet.

  "We heard that Deanna was captured," the girl said as she worked on the lock binding his ankle. "Blasphet wanted us to make certain she was finally able to complete her suicide mission."

  "Shandrazel completed it for you," Pet said. "He killed her trying to make her reveal Blasphet's location."

  "Did she?"

  "No."

  The girl holding the light-vial grumbled. "We were going to kill one of our own, but we're rescuing some stranger now? This is going to be difficult to explain."

  The first girl finished working on the manacle. She stood up as it clattered to the floor. "My name is Shanna," she said. "My companion is Lin. She wasn't at the Free City or she wouldn't question why I'm doing this."

  Pet tried to stand, but his feet were numb, and he wound up flat on his back. He sighed, and said, "I was there, and I'm not sure why you're doing this."

  "All survivors of the Free City will forever be connected by our shared hatred," said Shanna. "If you go from this dungeon and kill even one more dragon, you will be fulfilling your life's most sacred purpose."

  Pet started to point out that Sisters of the Serpent worshipped the very dragon who'd designed the Free City, but decided that this was a bad time and place to launch an argument.

  Pet again tried to stand. By bracing himself against the slimy wall, he was able to once more find his footing. His head felt heavier than it should be, swollen and throbbing. He was a foot taller than either woman. Shanna looked up at him with a curious emotion in her eyes. Admiration? Pet was used to seeing attraction in the eyes of young women, but admiration was something new. Lin didn't seem so impressed. She scowled at him with an expression that told him he would need to watch his back.

  "If Deanna is dead, we're finished here," said Shanna. "We'll take you back to the leader. He can no doubt find a good use for the hero of the Free City."

  Pet found the idea of being to put to good use by Blasphet a rather ominous one.

  Lin, the scowling girl, said, "He can't be Bitterwood. He's too young."

  "Anyone can be Bitterwood," said Shanna. "He's not so much a man as a spirit. Anyone can open their hearts to him and become the Death of All Dragons, the Ghost Who Kills."

  "Are you Bitterwood?" Lin asked Pet.

  Pet tried to smile, to make some charming quip, but couldn't. His torn lips reminded him of what he'd lost. His whole life, he'd been little more than a doll, a living plaything valued for his pretty face. And now, he was broken. He wanted to lie, and tell these women what they wanted to hear, but couldn't summon up his old talents.

  So, in the dim, chill dungeon, with the stench of death still tainting the damp air, the truth spilled out of him: "My name is Petar Gondwell," he said. "I'm the man everyone rallied around at the Free City, though I've never killed a dragon. But, as you say, I'm young… and I'm eager to learn."

  Chapter Eighteen:

  Big Problem

  Jandra and Hex waited on the shore of the island while Bitterwood and Adam rode Trisky down the steep, rocky path from the high ledge to the lake. As Jandra looked around the cavern, she easily picked out what was real and what was illusion now that she knew to look for it. The restored sky was fake, but the sands they stood upon were real enough, despite their exotic appearance. The sands were made of fine black gravel mixed with sparkling flecks of gold. Jandra surmised the gold was iron sulfide. The waters of the lake should have been highly acidic given the volume of sulfur leaching into them, but the sulfur had been bound with iron to create enough fool's gold to build an island out of, apparently. The effect of the gold as it glittered under the water line was quite stirring. A person less knowledgeable in chemistry would no doubt think the goddess lived in unimaginable wealth.

  The waters of the saline lake were full of strange fishes. Albino, eyeless minnows no longer than her pinky swam in the shallow waters near the shore, but further out dark gray-green creatures as long as sharks knifed through the water. Yet they weren't sharks, despite their prominent fins. The creatures surfaced from time to time to breathe through a long mouth full of teeth. They were covered with scales that seemed more reptilian than fishlike. Some sort of water-dragon? Jandra had never heard of such a thing, but she'd never heard of the long-wyrms either, and by now Trisky was striding confidently across the surface of the water toward her. She could see the water beneath the long-wyrm solidifying into a thick sheet of ice as the beast loped forward. It was the same sort of phase transition she was able to invoke in water. Was the long-wyrm responsible, or was the goddess doing it remotely?

  As Adam guided Trisky to the shore, Jandra noticed the look on Bitterwood's face-it was a mix somewhere between awe and terror. She imagined the effect that this strange place must have on a mind less trained than hers. It angered her to think that this so-called goddess was only a human like herself, taking advantage of the ignorance of others to make her seem more powerful than she truly was. Not that the goddess wasn't powerful, of course. Jandra knew she was up against someone with more experience in using the technology. Also, the goddess definitely had more imagination than she or Vendevorex had ever applied to their abilities. Turning invisible, starting fires, changing water to ice or steam-these seemed like parlor tricks compared to building an island paradise deep in the bowels of the earth.

  "I would speak with you in my temple," an ethereal voice said, coming from all directions at once. The bright golden flakes in the sands shifted and congealed, forming a path of gleaming bricks that led into the interior of the isle, vanishing amid the broad-leaved vegetation. Jandra took the lead in stepping onto the path with Hex following close behind. Jandra didn't feel afraid. Ever since donning the helmet, she'd noticed that her actions were more confidant and decisive. Was the helmet suppressing her fears? Or had her adventures in the previous months simply toughened her so that nothing bothered her now? She only used to feel this confident whenever she'd been around Vendevorex. It had made her feel safe to know that he was watching out for her. Perhaps her growing friendship with Hex was providing a similar boost to her confidence. It wasn't
so hard to walk down strange paths in unfamiliar jungles knowing there was a sun-dragon watching your back.

  The air was humid and warm as they moved past the thick foliage walls along the pathway. Butter-yellow birds flitted among the leaves, eating a collection of exotic beetles with carapaces gleaming like jewels. Snakes green as algae draped over branches like vines. Flowers in countless hues perfumed the air.

  They soon arrived at the temple, a thicket of tall trees surrounding a platform of aged marble. Jandra walked up the steps to a gap in the trees. In the large chamber beyond a tall mahogany statue stood. It was a carving of the same woman they'd seen before. The figure was disturbingly immodest by Jandra's standards, with no attempts at concealing the nipples or genitalia. The face of the figure had full lips and a seductive stare. She'd heard rumors that followers of the goddess celebrated the solstices with ritualistic orgies. The statue looked as if it would approve of such unbridled passion. Jandra was surprised Pet had never tried to become a high priest in such a religion.

  Adam stopped when Trisky reached the steps of the temple.

  "I can go no further," he said. "I haven't had the proper cleansing."

  "The goddess invited us," said Hex.

  "Her invitation wasn't directed at me," said Adam.

  Bitterwood dismounted and followed Jandra up the marble steps, his eyes wide with a look she could only interpret as reverence. Bitterwood crept toward the mahogany idol. He stared at it in silence.

  "Have I been wrong all these years?" he asked softly. "Did Hezekiah's lies turn me from the truth?"

  At his words, the statue came to life. The goddess tilted her head and looked down at Bitterwood. A smile crossed her lips. The expression of sexuality changed into the gaze of a mother looking at her child.

  "A faith untested is no faith at all, Bant Bitterwood," the goddess said. He voice was soothing and gentle. "You've faced many trials since you left my fold, dragon-slayer. What have you learned? Tell me of your wisdom."

  "I-I've been a fool," said Bitterwood, dropping to his knees, staring up at the living statue. "There's nothing wise about me."

  "Knowing this is a step toward wisdom," the goddess said.

  Bitterwood lowered his head and stared at the goddess's feet as she stepped down from the pedestal and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "Forgive me," he said, his voice on the verge of tears.

  It was more than Jandra could take. She could see what was happening quite plainly with her finely tuned senses. The statue was crawling with the same tiny machines that gave life to Jandra's own illusions. It sickened her to see Bitterwood so callously toyed with. It was obvious from his voice he was in tremendous emotional pain.

  "This has gone far enough," Jandra said, lifting her hands toward the statue. She reached out with mental fingers and grabbed at the machines that animated it, attempting to wrest control. The statue jerked in response, its arms falling limp, its head flopping back and forth, as if someone had taken it by the shoulders and given it a good shake. Jandra felt needles of pain prickling against the interior of her skull as something fought her control. She'd never experienced this feedback before; always in the past, her mind had been the only mind in command of the invisible engines. Now, a second force resisted her.

  The eight-foot-tall mahogony statue marched toward Jandra in slow, forceful steps, as if walking against a powerful wind. The fingers of the statue's right hand extruded into long wooden spikes. Jandra's muscles strained as she fought to keep the statue from moving nearer. She knew if she relaxed her concentration for even a second, the statue would spring forward and bury the spikes in her heart. Bitterwood still sat on his knees, dumbfounded, watching in useless bewilderment.

  "A-a little help here, Hex?" she said, as the statue drew ever closer.

  "Of course," Hex said, as his long scaly neck shot over her shoulder like a jet of red flame. The sun-dragon's teeth crunched into the statue's head, splintering it. The statue stabbed upward with her spikes but Hex easily caught the attack with his fore-talon. With a crack, he ripped the wooden arm free of the torso and tossed it across the room. He whirled, catching what was left of the statue with his tail and batting it. It crashed against the living trees that formed the walls of the temple, then clattered to the floor, lifeless.

  "Okay, bitch, it's on," a disembodied voice growled. The air in front of Jandra was suddenly full of rainbows, and the largest of these rainbows ripped between the yellow and the green revealing a black void beyond. A woman's arm shot out from the darkness and grabbed Jandra by the wrist.

  "Nobody fucks me like this," a voice on the other end of the darkness shouted. The slender arm yanked Jandra from her feet with superhuman strength. The walls of the temple vanished as Jandra fell into the rainbow. Beyond the colors, everything turned dark. Somewhere in the distance behind her, seemingly miles away, she heard Hex bellow her name. Then the rainbow closed, and she could hear and see and feel nothing at all.

  Bitterwood rose from his kneeling position as Hex stood gaping at the empty space where Jandra had stood. Biiterwood charged across the room and grabbed the broken wooden torso of the goddess. He gripped the statue's shoulders with both hands and cried, "What did you do to her? Bring her back!"

  His voice trailed off as he realized that the thing in his hands was only a heavy lump of polished wood, utterly lifeless. Had he once more slipped into the dreamland between life and death? Was he sleeping, to have imagined this statue had been alive only seconds before?

  "Jandra!" Hex bellowed, the force of his lungs causing the leaves of the surrounding vegetation to tremble. "Where are you?"

  "This was real?" Bitterwood asked Hex.

  "I saw it," Hex said.

  Bitterwood raced toward the steps of the temple. Adam was still outside, sitting astride Trisky. "What happened to Jandra?" Bitterwood shouted. "Where did she go?"

  Trisky skittered backward at the sound of Bitterwood's voice. Adam looked taken aback. "What do you mean? I know less of what's happened than you."

  "Your goddess attacked Jandra," Hex said, his head jutting out parallel to Bitterwood's shoulder. "She was simply standing there when the statue attacked without provocation."

  "The goddess knows our hearts," said Adam. "Perhaps Jandra was corrupted beyond redemption."

  "Jandra was a good-hearted girl," Bitterwood said, stepping toward Adam, clenching his fists. "She cannot possibly be as corrupted by this world as I've been. Make your goddess bring her back."

  "Father, choose your words carefully," Adam said. "The notion that the goddess can be made to do anything other than her own divine will is blasphemous."

  "I've committed sins much worse than blasphemy," said Bitterwood.

  "The goddess is the embodiment of wisdom," Adam said. "If she acted in a hostile fashion, you must have faith that your companion was deserving of this judgment."

  Bitterwood wanted to leap over the head of the long-wyrm and tear Adam from his saddle. Perhaps if he beat him to a pulp, Adam would agree to pray for Jandra's return. Bitterwood was chilled to discover his violent rage rising against his own blood. The memory of his brother Jomath dying at the foot of a temple much like this one rose in his mind. His hatred had ended his brother's life. Would the darkness within him demand a similar fate for his own son?

  Bitterwood let out a long, slow breath. It wasn't his son who needed to be beaten until he prayed. He slowly sank to his knees. He bowed his head, aware of Hex only inches away, fully cognizant of his vulnerability if the great beast chose this moment to take his revenge. In an act of surrender, he closed his eyes and whispered, softly, "Goddess, please. Show mercy upon Jandra, just as she showed me mercy. Return her to us."

  Above him came the sound of giant wings flapping. It wasn't Hex-even with his eyes closed, Bitterwood could sense the sun-dragon looming over him.

  Bitterwood opened his eyes and looked up.

  A bare-chested angel in black pants dropped from the sky toward him, his desce
nt slowed by gentle flaps of gleaming golden wings. The angel carried something in his arms: a human form, judging from the legs jutting out-a girl? Jandra? No, the legs were too small and spindly.

  As the angel landed on the steps of the temple, Bitterwood at last caught a flash of blonde hair as the girl lifted her head from angel's breast.

  "Zeeky!" Bitterwood cried, his heart swelling to discover she was alive. He experienced a strange and unfamiliar sensation. Could this be joy he felt, after so many years of knowing nothing but hatred and regret?

  "Mr. Bitterwood!" Zeeky shouted as she dropped from the angel's arms and ran toward him. "You're okay!"

  Bitterwood caught the girl as she sprang up to hug him. Her arms around his neck stirred memories of his own daughters, now dead. Yet somehow the memories were altered by the presence of Zeeky, becoming bittersweet rather than simply bitter.

  "Where's your pig?" Bitterwood whispered.

  "Poocher's okay," Zeeky said. "We gave him a bath."

  Hex cleared his throat. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

  Bitterwood lowered Zeeky to the ground.

  "This is Zeeky," he said. "She's my… friend." The word felt foreign to his tongue. It had been many years since he'd used it. "Zeeky, the dragon is Hex. The man on the long-wyrm is-"

  "Adam!" Zeeky said, waving. "You made it back!" She ran down the steps and hugged the snout of the long-wyrm. "Good to see you, Trisky!"

  Bitterwood looked up from Zeeky to once more study the angel. The creature had long white hair and stood as tall as the statue that had just attacked Jandra. The angel's wings folded in an elaborate origami, the feathers tinkling musically as they furled up behind his broad shoulders until they vanished. The angel took the long piece of black cloth draped over his shoulders and shook it, revealing it to be a coat. He pulled the coat on and from somewhere within its folds a hat appeared in the angel's hands. It was broad-brimmed and black-exactly like the hat Hezekiah used to wear. Indeed, Hezekiah and the angel were almost identical in stature and garb, with only hair coloring and tones of skin to differentiate them. Bitterwood tensed. The only thing he despised more than dragons was the prophet Hezekiah. Of what relation was this angel to him?