Dragon’s Call: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  I stroked his head and scratched behind his ears. “Thanks for breakfast,” I told him. He purred madly, thrilled I’d noticed the still-twitching rodent—and the fact he hadn’t eaten it himself.

  No more sleep. Not for me. Not today. I moved the cat off to one side and placed the mouse on a small table that sat next to my sleeping pallet. I’d gut and skin it and add it to the community breakfast pot. We’d moved past our antipathy for eating rats and mice a long while back. Meat was meat.

  If my plan worked, the one I’d hatched yesterday, we’d be able to grow vegetables again. I’d have to kick it around with the witches. It would mean being up-front about who I really was, but most of them had known I wasn’t like them from the moment I showed up at their coven’s lodge.

  Like most buildings in the UK, the lodge had been a casualty of the Breaking. Not many structures could have withstood the rolling earthquakes, torrential electrical storms, and hurricanes that had battered Earth. It had taken months before the worst of them blew through. By then, very little remained.

  At the time, I’d marveled at how thin the veneer of human society really was. How little it had taken to bring it to its knees. Mortals would have been better served to remain in caves without all their fancy fossil-fuel-driven contraptions and electronic crap. Even in the throes of the Breaking, I’d overheard humans bemoaning the loss of the Internet. And their bloody phones.

  There had been too many of them—people, not phones. At least that little problem was solved.

  A soft tap sounded on my door. Mort skinned his lips back from his teeth and hissed, doing a decent feline imitation of a guard dog. For some reason, the comparison amused me.

  A quick scan told me Tansy stood on the far side of the door. I reeled in my warding and said, “Come in.”

  Leather hangings that served to close off the entry point to my small room fluttered as Tansy slipped through. She looked just as undernourished as she had last night, but something had changed. The vulnerable air that had dogged her was gone. She bowed her head but straightened quickly.

  “I was afraid I’d wake you,” she said.

  “Mort beat you to it.” I rolled into a sit and planted my feet on the floor. It left my knees bent at an awkward angle since my pallet was so low.

  Tansy walked closer to the cat. “Good kitty. You went hunting.”

  After one more hiss, Mort slithered beneath Tansy’s extended hand. He acted tough, but he was an attention whore at heart, although he picked and chose who he allowed to pet him.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked as I got to my feet. I hadn’t ever undressed last night. Made my morning preparations simpler. I smoothed my woolen leggings into place and pulled my streaked-and-spotted tunic low on my hips. Time to wash it, but not today.

  Crap. I hadn’t even gotten around to taking off my lace-up boots. No wonder dragons had dogged my dreams.

  “Not particularly,” Tansy muttered in response to my query about how she’d slept. “It’s all right, though. I’m sure tonight will be better.”

  I wasn’t, but I kept my mouth shut. Running up against the Hunt changed a person. Not that Tansy, young as she was, didn’t realize evil existed in the world, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things.

  She looked up from petting Mort. A quick glance that took me in from head to toe. “I am so glad you’re all right. The Hunt. They let you go?”

  “Yes and no. It’s a long story, and I’ll talk with everyone at breakfast.”

  “We’re all in the common room,” she told me. “I, uh, told them.” Before I could rebuke her for not minding my instructions, she hurried on. “I know you said to keep my mouth shut, but I was crying. Hilda came to me and tried to comfort me. When her spell didn’t work, she looked into my mind.”

  “It’s all right.” I gave Tansy a quick hug. Hilda was the girl’s aunt. Shared blood made mind reading possible for witches. Tansy’s mother was dead. She’d made it through childbirth, but nursing had depleted what few reserves she had left.

  “No. It isn’t,” Tansy said. “You saved my life. I—”

  I gripped her shoulder to stem the flow of words. “The main reason I told you to remain silent was I didn’t want any of the others coming after me in a misplaced bid to help. Witch magic is no match for Odin and his Riders.” I stopped before adding I had enough on my conscience.

  Mort slithered between the skins and out the door. I grabbed my hairbrush, something I’d crafted myself from boar bristles from the last wild pig we’d managed to catch, and worked on my hair. It had tangles on top of tangles.

  “I’ll do the back, but you need to sit so I can reach it.” Tansy pried the brush out of my hands. Witch magic settled around me as she worked on my unruly locks, braiding sections as she finished with them.

  “Thanks.” I stood and picked up the mouse. “Shall we join the others for breakfast?”

  Tansy nodded. I was touched she’d waited to eat to check on me. The witches were fair. They’d have saved her portion. And mine. Enough of us had faded away from starvation and illness, we’d lost a third of our numbers.

  I kicked the jewelry I’d discarded the previous night into a corner before I followed her out of the room.

  We made our way down branching corridors deeper into the cave system. I’d led our band to this place. I’d known about it from Celtic history. Ben Nevis had been a sacred spot since the British Isles had risen out of the North and Irish Seas. As I’d hoped, the caverns had kept the witches safe, offered us a place to live where earthquakes couldn’t touch us.

  No one had questioned how I’d found this spot. Almost as if they hadn’t wanted to force me into a lie. It wasn’t the type of place I’d have stumbled upon. The primary entrance was so well hidden, no one who didn’t know about it could have found it.

  The witches called out greetings as we ducked beneath the low lintel and into the common room. A peat fire burned smokily in a hearth at the far end of the space. One of my distant ancestors had built that hearth—and vented it. More likely, he (or she) had located the hearth beneath an existing flue leading somewhere no one would notice smoke.

  “Go and get your breakfast.” I gave Tansy a small shove and pulled my belt knife, intent on gutting and skinning the mouse.

  “I’ll take that,” Patrick said. “I had cooking duty this morning.” Short with thinning blond hair and blue eyes, he held the same ragged, half-starved look as the rest of us. Frayed woolen breeks hung off his slim hips, and he wore a patched flannel shirt that had once been a green plaid. I handed over the mouse and tucked my knife away.

  Tansy brought me a bowl before getting another for herself.

  I spooned some of the gruel mixture into my mouth. Wild grains, roots, and bits of a stringy squirrel, it was better fare than we usually had. Once my dish was empty, I set it aside and walked to the front of the common room. There was no way to ease into what I had to say, so I dove in. Worst that would happen was they’d kick me out of the coven, but I didn’t believe they’d do that, not after all the years I’d bided with them.

  I scanned the room. Maybe fifty witches remained. Mostly women, but there were still a dozen men. “I have things to tell you,” I began. “You may have questions. Many of you will feel I’ve wronged you, but please let me get through what I have to say.”

  Murmurs of assent swept through the room.

  “All of you figured out I wasn’t a witch a long time ago,” I said. “You were kind enough not to pry. I am a Celt. Ceridwen is my mother. I have no idea who my da was.”

  The murmurs changed in tone and timbre. At least I had everyone’s undivided attention. “Last night, Tansy and I ran into the Hunt. I bargained for her freedom, and Odin allowed her to return here on the condition I showed back up out on the moors.

  “When I did so, two Valkyries jumped me. I killed one. The other surrendered. I’ll spare you the details, but Odin and my mother were in cahoots. Once he realized who I was, he sent me on a bog
us journey to locate her. It was stupid since he knew where she was all along.

  “She’d offered him a bounty for locating me because she was too lazy to show up on Earth and hunt me down herself. Or maybe too proud. It doesn’t matter which. Anyway, I met her in what’s left of Inverlochy Castle. Back in the day, it was the Celts’ primary domicile, and it’s still standing.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out before continuing, “I propose we go take a look at it. Much like this cave system, it’s shrouded by magic. Unlike the cave, it offers courtyards where we could grow grain and vegetables.”

  A muted cheer rippled through the witches. Hilda stood. Short with steel-gray hair, she had keen blue eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. A colorful skirt fell to the ground, and she’d wrapped a black woolen cape around her upper body. “When can we go visit it?”

  “As soon as I’m done.” I swallowed around a thick spot in my throat. This next was tough, but I’d be damned if I’d cover for my mother. Not with the knowledge I had.

  “One more thing,” I went on. My voice had a harsh, raspy edge, but I didn’t bother modulating it. “The Breaking was my fault. Mother apparently thought I’d get over my ‘witch fascination’ and return to her and the other Celts. When it didn’t happen, she set a spell in play to hurry me along.

  “I have no idea if she expected it to be so extensive or so destructive, but she’s never given two fucks about mortals. In her mind, whatever damage she did to Earth was collateral and totally justified if it achieved what she wanted.”

  Breath steamed through my teeth. “Nearly done here. Last night, she made a bid for me to return. I threw her offer back in her face. Before, my exile was voluntary, but I bet it’s permanent now.”

  I uncurled hands I didn’t realize I’d fisted and dropped my habitual glamour. “No reason to hide what I am any longer.”

  Already on her feet, Hilda hustled to me and threw her arms around me. “Och, you poor child,” she said.

  I hugged her back, touched by her caring.

  One by one, every witch in the room came to me and either touched me, kissed me, or gripped my hand.

  “You are one of us,” Patrick announced. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.” A chorus of yesses and we agrees rose around me.

  I blinked back tears, grateful for every single witch. How different they were from the Celts I’d grown up with. “Shall we go take a peek at Inverlochy Castle? It’s not far from here.”

  “We know, lass,” Patrick said. “All of us do not need to come. Perhaps ten or so. We’ll gather in the lee of the entrance.”

  Wise of him. We’d be exposed to goddess only knew what as we walked the few kilometers north of Fort William proper. Or what was left of it. I made my way to the meeting point. Mort materialized and jumped onto my shoulder. He probably hadn’t liked it that I’d been gone last evening, and was doing his best to ensure I didn’t give him the slip again.

  Like all cats, he only pretended to be independent.

  Nine of us began the trek across the moorlands. I tried to dislodge Mort, but he dug his claws into my shoulders, so I relented. I draped the best ward I could dredge up around our group. My magic was still depleted from the previous night and my nearly nonexistent amount of sleep.

  Where had the dragons come from? I’d had dragon dreams before, but nothing as vivid as last night’s visitation.

  I kept my magical antennae extended, searching for any sign of threats. It was early enough in the day, I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. There was a time when the bad things didn’t come out until after dark, but I’d met everything from Vampires to Furies to Trolls in broad daylight. Guess it depended on how hungry they were.

  The Vamps had surprised me. I always thought they reverted to being dead as soon as the sun came up, but maybe the Breaking had altered enough in the warp and weft of Earth’s harmonics, sunlight wasn’t a deterrent any longer.

  It might have taken us an hour to cross to the ruins of Inverlochy Castle. It sat on the banks of the river Lochy. Hilda stared at the piles of stones and looked at me. “Is there a secret way inside?”

  I stood next to her. “If you look through your third eye, what do you see?”

  I felt her power kindle and flare around her. “More of an outline of what used to be here, but I still don’t see a doorway.”

  I walked to the perimeter of what had once been the castle walls and placed the flat of my palm on it. A rapid intake of breath from Hilda told me my magic made a difference.

  “Hold on a moment,” I said to the witches. While I saw the castle quite clearly, and it was simple for me to duck through the illusion holding its secrets, that was probably because I had matching magic.

  The trick that made Inverlochy look like nothing beyond piles of tumbled stones had been forged by Celtic enchantment. I hadn’t counted on it requiring the same power to unlock it, but apparently it did.

  Could I dismantle it? If I did, would every passerby view the castle as a prime target to raid? I had an idea, and I moved back from the walls. I crooked a finger at everyone and said, “I’m not sure this will work, but if it does, it’s easier—and far less risky—than me taking down the wards that render this place invisible.”

  I led the witches around to the back of the castle. An extensive graveyard peppered with family crypts spread around us. Many had probably caved in during the Breaking, but the larger ones had sported underground passageways into the castle, so the wealthiest families could visit their dead undisturbed.

  “Fan out and check the crypts,” I told everyone.

  “What are we looking for?” Tansy asked.

  “Passageways into the castle proper,” Patrick answered her.

  We’d been at it for maybe half an hour when I stumbled across exactly what I’d hoped to find. It hadn’t been obvious. No. But I’d been searching with magic in addition to my eyes and hands. One of the back walls in the MacLinn crypt didn’t feel right to me, so I cleared away debris. Sure enough, I spied a rounded passageway. Iron staves blocked my way, but the metal had rusted through and a stout kick sent the pieces clattering to the dirt floor.

  I stuck two fingers into my mouth and whistled. It was safer than deploying more magic. As it was, I was amazed our combined power hadn’t drawn a flock of curious sprites or faeries.

  Or something far more malevolent.

  Once the witches were crowded in around me, I stepped to one side and motioned them through the rounded corridor. I wanted to make certain they could get inside this way without my magic greasing the way. It wouldn’t do much good for us to unearth a better lair if no one could enter.

  Or leave.

  I followed them through a winding passageway. We had to clear cave-ins in two spots, but neither was too serious. Finally, we stood in the lower hall. “Smells like Celts in here,” Patrick muttered.

  I took a long, deep sniff. It did, indeed, but very faintly to my nose.

  “Are we certain your, um, kin, won’t be returning?” Hilda asked.

  “No. I’m not certain,” I admitted, “but they haven’t used this place since they left right after the Breaking. Earth isn’t very pleasant these days, so I don’t know why they’d return.”

  “If they did, we could go back to the place we are now,” Patrick said.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him it had once been a Celtic stronghold as well. If my kin were feeling territorial, they might well lay claim to both places. My memory of the Celts was that they might not have strong feelings about a particular item—until they thought someone else wanted it.

  Then the gloves came off.

  The witches had scattered, each intent on exploring what Inverlochy Castle might have to offer. I wandered outside into the extensive courtyards that had once been gardens. They were near enough to the river, we could rig up watering systems, and if we were smart about things, we could plant in raised beds that would maximize our yield.

  My mouth flooded with saliva a
t the prospect of spinach or lettuce or carrots or radishes. Surely, we could locate seeds in the wreckage of one of several garden shops in Fort William.

  Patrick and Hilda and Tansy found me hunkered next to a broken planter box running my fingers through rich dirt. I got to my feet and faced them. “What do you think?” I asked.

  “We like it,” Hilda said.

  “Very much.” Tansy smiled, soft and shy. After last night, I was delighted she still could smile.

  A muted wahoo sounded from within.

  “What is it?” Hilda cupped her hands around her mouth.

  “Clothing chests. Lots of them. And boots. And cloaks.”

  “Is it all right for us to appropriate Celtic possessions?” Patrick screwed his face into a concerned expression.

  I took my time answering. Finally, I said, “If my kin never return, obviously, there is no problem. If they do, however, you’re bound to run into someone who’s out for blood because you took their favorite cape.”

  “We could give it back,” Tansy said.

  “They wouldn’t accept it,” I told her. “The Celts can be petty bastards, and at that point they’d be more invested in making you pay for transgressing than in seeing reason.”

  “How did your mother seem last night?” Hilda asked.

  The question surprised me. “Worse than usual,” I replied. “She doesn’t like it when she believes she’s been thwarted.”

  “Mmph. How likely is she to return anytime soon?” Patrick narrowed his eyes to slits.

  I considered it. “I honestly don’t know. Given how many years it’s been since the Breaking without her making an appearance—and how angry she is with me—I’m not expecting her back period. But I could be wrong.”